Two-Faced Death by Roderic Jeffries

Author:Roderic Jeffries [Jeffries, Roderic]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2017-03-20T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

The sunshine which filtered through the louvres of the shutters was reflected off the highly polished dressing-table on to the ceiling in blobs of light which danced. Watching them, Alvarez was reminded of a dance he had gone to with Juana-Maria, when for the first time he had dared to hold her tightly to himself even though her duenna had been sitting very upright on a wooden bench against one of the walls. Duennas! What would the modern youngster, chewing gum, pockets filled with pesetas, sophisticatedly certain the world owed him a living, say if his girl-friend came with her duenna?

Any mechanical thing could go wrong, then right itself for no apparent reason. Was there a television owner who hadn’t suffered a fault which never repeated itself when the repairman arrived? If the Purdey now ejected every single time it was fired, this wouldn’t prove that it had been opened by someone after it had fired the fatal shot … Yet the odds must surely be …

He looked at his watch. In ten minutes’ time, he must get up. His indecision made him swear. Forget the cartridge which hadn’t been ejected and the case was over and done with, bar the paperwork. But start asking questions, questions which could surely only have initially occurred to a mind awash with brandy, and there was no knowing where it would all end …

He slept wearing only a pyjama bottom. He sat upright and put his feet on the tiled floor. For a while his head pounded, but then it eased off sufficiently for him to consider moving further. A happy man was a wise man (who didn’t drink too much) and a wise man always tried to find the easiest possible passage through life. He would forget the Purdey which had once not ejected and he would write his report to Palma, saying he had carried out his investigations and Señor Calvin had committed suicide by blowing half his head off.

*

The Guardia post in Llueso was in an old building which was in urgent need of renovation — a new post, with quarters for married families, was being built down in the Port — and cockroaches were a frequent fact of life. Alvarez had a primitive, illogical, and unthinking fear of them. He leapt back as a black shape scuttled away from the bicycle which had just been moved.

The Guard who was in charge of the exhibits room roared with laughter. ‘Run, man, or he’ll have your guts for garters.’

‘Bloody things,’ muttered Alvarez.

‘They’re deadly, right enough. I knew a bloke who fell asleep in his office and when he woke up they’d eaten shoes, socks, and all the flesh on his feet and he was looking at his own bones.’

‘So they transferred him to the skeleton staff … Come on, cut the cackle and reach over for that gun.’

‘All right, all right. There’s no need to get sharp. Or are you going shooting? Bring us back a plump partridge if you are.

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