Kill Shot*

An expertly executed bank shot sank the eight-ball to end the game and Edward Pender-Hagen accepted congratulations from his opponent, ordering a snifter of brandy to celebrate.

"Your game has diminished since your trip to Africa, old man."

"I was a little off tonight."

"I almost ran the table," Edward stated with a short laugh.

"Yes, well, as I said." Cecil put his cue away, left his friend, and strolled away into the Paramount Club's traditional, English styled dining room.

A moment later Edward caught up. "I say, interested in taking a meal, I hear chef has prepared one of his famous kidney pies?"

Cecil stood silently in the entryway, pointing.

The room was empty except for one lone diner, and he was face down in his plate of kidney pie.

"Good Lord, it's Carswell!" Edward ran forward, felt for a pulse, and stepped away."He's dead!"

"Dead? How?" Cecil approached cautiously.

"I don't know . . . heart maybe?"

"He looks a little green."

"I'd say it was more bluish."

"Must be the lighting." Cecil huffed.

"I'll ring the police." Edward hurried off to find the telephone.

***

Cecil had left the dining room and Edward stood studying the body, a frown adding deep creases to his features.

"So, Carswell, was it chef's recipe?" He mused aloud.

"I heard that, Mr. Pender-Hagen." Chef strode into the room carrying a tray with a dessert selection, his face a study in annoyed anger. "What did you do?"

"Why nothing, old boy. My friend and I came in for dinner and there was Carswell as you see him."

"And a fitting end too - the old reprobate." Chef wiped his hands on his apron.

"I say, rather harsh considering."

"Harsh be damned! He was constantly trying to coax my Hermione into an act of congress, the dirty-"

"Hermione?"

"My daughter. She helps me in the kitchen. An innocent young woman she is."

Cecil came back in time to hear the last of Chef's statement.

"Police are on their way up. Who's an innocent young woman?"

Edward explained what was said and gave Cecil a knowing look.

"Your daughter should be present when they do arrive, Chef," Cecil said, with a curious pleasure.

***

DI Haslett huddled with the coroner after the latter finished his examination of the body, making copious entries in his little notebook.

"What we have, lady and gentlemen is a murder most foul. The victim was poisoned and the coroner attributes the method to snake venom."

"Appropriate," Chef muttered.

"One of your condiments, Chef?" Edward suggested.

"My dad didn't do anything." Hermione blurted, drawing everyone's attention.

"Care to elaborate, Miss?" DI Haslett poised to write.

The tale Hermione related astonished everyone. She told how Carswell used to visit the kitchen to see what her dad had planned for meals. They talked and he was always a gentleman. It was Mr. Cecil, she said, who always hung around, acting sweet as sugar and making all kinds of suggestions.

When she spurned his advances he became violent, smashing the kitchen door on the way out. When she heard that Mr. Cecil had left for Africa she thought it was all over, and she lied to her father about the damage and arranged for a carpenter to make repairs.

"But then he returned tonight it began again and Mr. Carswell walked in on our argument, confronting Mr. Cecil, berating him for his despicable behaviour, and threatening to report him to the members."

Edward stared at his friend. "That's why your game was so atrocious tonight. Cecil, what did you do?"

"I'll ask the questions, sir, if you don't mind," the Inspector said, turning to Cecil. "What did you do?"

Cecil glared venomously at the girl, his mind scrambling for a way out of the jam he found himself in. In a panic, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing a small snake. He opened it and held it up, warning the others not to stop him.

***

"Well played, sir." DI Haslett said, looking down at the inert form and bluish skin of Cecil on the floor of the billiard room. "You might say you potted that eight-ball with some inside English."

Edward sighed in agreement. His aim had been spot on during the chase that took place. Cecil had fallen from the impact of the billiard ball and his snake had chosen to bite the hand that held him.

"You never really know about people, sir."

"No," Edward said, sadly.

"Well, rack up another one for justice," the DI chuckled. Edward gave him an icy look.

"Guess that's my cue to go, eh?"

"Bollocks!" Edward snarled.

*In billiards a shot intended to slow down or "kill" the cue ball's speed

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