Dead Opposite the Church by Francis Vivian

Author:Francis Vivian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2019-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

9

DISCUSSION AT TOP LEVEL

Neither Lisbeth Ann nor Crompton learned anything from Frances of her interview with Crossley, except that Crossley came alone and was regarded as a gentleman of a very high order. The interview lasted an hour and a half, and when Crossley left Frances had to wake Lisbeth Ann, who had gone to sleep on the hearth with her head resting on Crompton’s settee. Crompton was still dead to the world, and was most apologetic when Frances roused him next morning with a cup of tea. He was not told that his long sleep had been assisted from the medicine chest, and he apologised again and again for his discourtesy in falling asleep.

“Must have been dog tired,” he said. “I feel very scruffy, too. Think I could have a wash?”

“A shave as well if you can use my husband’s cut-throat razor. I’ll show you the bathroom, and give you twenty minutes before breakfast is served.”

It was a much-refreshed Crompton who drove back to town an hour and a quarter later with Lisbeth Ann. They went straight to the office, and before going to his room Crompton called in the general office and took over his pay packet and the envelope left for him by Davidson.

“Isn’t it copy?” Lisbeth Ann asked as Crompton ran his finger under the flap and took out a single sheet of notepaper.

“It is not,” Crompton said slowly as he read the note. “Here, read it for yourself. Davidson has left. He doesn’t fancy working for a dirty murderer, the mistress of the late boss, the teenage niece of the late boss, and a churner-out of crime novels.”

“Why, the rat!” Lisbeth Ann exploded. “Gone to Manchester after a job, and will send his address to the police when he gets one.”

Crompton strode through to the reporters’ room, and back again. “He hasn’t left his copy. I’ll have to ring Tranter, the secretary, and ask him if he’ll lend me the record book to work from.”

He thumbed the directory, and then dialled the number of the Cage Bird Society secretary.

“You’ll realise the difficulties we are up against,” he explained, “and our reporter has gone away without leaving his report of your show. I was wondering—eh?”

Lisbeth Ann nodded her head wisely. “He never went!”

Crompton listened as the secretary told him what he thought about being let down by the non-attendance of a representative of the Borough News. It was the first time in the history of the society that they had been ignored in this way, and his committee were—

Crompton cut into the diatribe, and after three or four minutes of heavily applying a reporter’s best flannel he calmed down Tranter and was assured of the utmost cooperation in preparing a report of the show. The secretary casually sympathised for the death of the editor.

Replacing the handset, Crompton ran a hand round the inside of his collar. “So that’s that! The next thing is to work out how he did it.”

“You really think it was Davidson, Johnny?”

“I’ve been suspicious since yesterday.

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