The Flavia De Luce Series 1-4 by Alan Bradley

Author:Alan Bradley [Bradley, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Fiction, Historical, General
ISBN: 9780345545404
Publisher: Delacorte Press
Published: 2013-06-03T04:00:00+00:00

• TWENTY-EIGHT •

“Pigeon droppings?” Inspector Hewitt said, for perhaps the third time. “You’re telling me that you concocted an antidote from pigeon droppings?”

We were sitting in the vicar’s study, sizing one another up.

“Yes,” I said. “I had no other choice. Pigeon guano, when it’s left outdoors in the sunlight, is remarkably high in NaNO3—sodium nitrate—which is why I had to scrape it from the outside perch, rather than using the older stuff that was in the chamber. Sodium nitrate is an antidote to cyanide poisoning. I used the whites of pigeons’ eggs to produce the suspension. I hope she’s all right.”

“She’s fine,” the Inspector said, “although we’re seeking an opinion about whether to charge you with practicing medicine without a license.”

I studied his face to see if he was teasing, but he didn’t seem to be.

“But,” I protested, “Dr. Darby said he couldn’t have done better himself.”

“Which isn’t saying much,” the Inspector said, looking away from me and out the window.

I saw that I had him beaten.

Inspector Hewitt had flagged me down on my way back to Buckshaw, and asked me to account for my presence at Culverhouse Farm.

A hastily fabricated story about fetching eggs for Mrs. Mullet, who wanted to make an angel food cake, seemed to have got me off the hook. At least for now.

The Inspector had assured me that Grace Ingleby was still alive; that she had been taken to the hospital at Hinley.

He did not say that my antidote had saved her life. I supposed only time would tell.

The vicar, having given up his desk and chair to Inspector Hewitt, stood like a black stork in the corner, rubbing at his eyeglasses with a linen handkerchief.

As Detective Sergeant Woolmer stood at one of the windows, pretending to polish an anastigmat lens from his precious camera, Detective Sergeant Graves glanced up from his notes just long enough to give me a beaming smile. I’d like to think that the almost imperceptible shake of his head that came with it was a sign of admiration.

And even though they’re not yet aware of one another, I also like to think that Sergeant Graves will one day marry my rotten sister Ophelia and carry her off to a vine-covered cottage just far enough from Buckshaw that I can drop in whenever I feel like it for a good old gab about murder.

But now there was Dieter to take into account. Life was becoming so complicated.

“Just begin at the beginning,” Inspector Hewitt said, suddenly back from his reverie. “I want to make sure we haven’t missed anything.”

Was I detecting a note of sarcasm? I hoped not, since I really liked the man, although he could be somewhat slow.

“Mrs. Ingleby—Grace—was having an affair with Rupert Porson. Rupert had been coming to Culverhouse Farm for years because … Gordon supplied him with marijuana. It eased the pain of his polio, you see.”

He must have sensed my hesitation.

“No need to worry about betraying him,” he said, “Mr. Ingleby has been most frank with us.

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