The Tipster (Robert Budd Mystery Book 10) by Gerald Verner

Author:Gerald Verner [Verner, Gerald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

I

GORDON CROSS woke up to the sound of his wife’s voice calling to him: “Gordon,” it said, sleepily. “Gordon . . . Wake up!”

He rolled over in bed, and, without opening his eyes inquired irritably what the trouble was about.

“Wake up,” persisted Vicky. “The telephone’s ringing . . .”

“Well, why don’t you answer it?” he demanded and sat up, yawning. “Lord . . . I’m tired . . .”

“It’s stopped now,” said Vicky. “How about a cup of tea, Gordon?”

“Jolly good idea,” he said, snuggling down again into the pillow.

“Suppose you get up and make some?” she suggested.

He groaned.

“I thought you meant you were getting up,” he said.

“Don’t be lazy,” she began severely, and then the telephone bell started again.

“Damn . . . there’s the phone again,” he grunted unnecessarily.

“You’d better see who it is,” she said. “It may be important.”

He got out of bed grumbling and rubbing his head. Still only half awake he stumbled into the sitting-room and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” he called.

The voice of Jacob Bellamy came out of the earpiece.

“Good mornin’, cock,” he greeted cheerfully. “Ain’t it a grand mornin’, eh?”

“What’s the matter with you, Jacob?” demanded Gordon. “Night starvation?”

“Wotcher mean, boy?” asked the old man in surprise.

“Ringing up at this hour . . .” grunted Gordon.

“Got yer out o’ bed, did I?” said Bellamy. “He chuckled. “Blimey! It’s ’alf-past eight, cock . . . Listen! I think I got some news for yer—about you-know-what.”

“The Tipster?” asked Gordon eagerly.

“No names, no pack drill, boy,” said Jacob. “What about you an’ the missus poppin’ into the club ternight, eh? Round about nine . . . Got ter be out o’ town all day . . .”

“Right you are, Jacob,” agreed Gordon. “You’ve really got something?”

“Tell yer all about it when I see yer, cock,” said Jacob Bellamy. “Now yer can go back ter bed . . .”

“What time did you get up?” asked Gordon.

A throaty chuckle rumbled in his ear.

“I ain’t up, boy,” he said. “Got the phone beside me bed. So long, cock. See yer ter-night . . .”

Gordon hung up and went back to the bedroom. Vicky had snuggled down again and was half asleep. She opened one eye and looked over the eiderdown drowsily.

“Who was it?” she asked.

“Jacob,” he answered. “He’s got some news. Wants us to go and see him at the club to-night . . .”

“About the Tipster?” she said.

“He wouldn’t say over the phone, but I gather that’s what he means,” said Gordon, brushing his hair. “Cautious old devil, Jacob . . .”

Vicky sat up in bed, pushing the hair out of her eyes.

“I say, Gordon,” she said, blinking at him, “the Tipster hasn’t done anything about Mr. Tidmann, has he?”

“Not yet!” he replied.

“I don’t see how he can,” she said. “Not with two detectives guarding him day and night . . .”

“That didn’t stop him getting Dukes, did it?”

“No, but this time it’s different, isn’t it?” she said. “They’re not letting Tidmann out of their sight for a moment.

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