Crime à la Carte by Cynthia Manson

Author:Cynthia Manson [Manson, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0451180526
Publisher: Signet
Published: 1994-11-30T21:00:00+00:00

In Vino Veritas

A. A. Milne

I am in a terrible predicament, as you will see directly. I don’t know what to do. . .

“One of the maxims which I have found most helpful in my career,” the superintendent was saying, “apart, of course, from employing a good press agent, has been the simple one that appearances are not always deceptive. A crime may be committed exactly as it seems to have been committed, and exactly as it was intended to be committed.” He helped himself and passed the bottle.

“I don’t think I follow you,” I said, hoping thus to lead him on.

I am a writer of detective stories. If you have never heard of me, it can only be because you don’t read detective stories. I wrote Murder on the Back Stairs and The Mystery of the Twisted Eglantine, to mention only two of my successes. It was this fact, I think, which first interested Superintendent Frederick Mortimer in me, and, of course, me in him. He is a big fellow with the face of a Roman emperor; I am rather the small neat type. We gradually became friends, and so got into the habit of dining together once a month, each in turn being host in his own flat. He liked talking about his cases and naturally I liked listening. I may say now that Blood on the Eiderdown was suggested to me by an experience of his at Crouch End. He also liked putting me right when I made mistakes, as so many of us do, over such technical matters as fingerprints and Scotland Yard procedure. I had always supposed, for instance, that you could get good fingerprints from butter. This, apparently, is not the case. From buttery fingers on other objects, yes, but not from the pat of butter itself, or, anyhow, not in hot weather. This, of course, was a foolish mistake of mine, as in any case Lady Sybil would not have handled the butter directly in this way, as my detective should have seen. My detective, by the way, is called Sherman Flagg, and is pretty well known by now. Not that this is germane to my present story.

“I don’t think I follow you,” I said.

“I mean that the simple way of committing a murder is often the best way. This doesn’t mean that the murderer is a man of simple mind. On the contrary. He is subtle enough to know that the simple solution is too simple to be credible.”

This sounded anything but simple, so I said, “Give me an example.”

“Well, take the case of the magnum of Tokay which was sent to the Marquis of Hedingham on his lordship’s birthday. Have I never told you about it?”

“Never,” I said, and I too helped myself and passed the bottle.

He filled his glass and considered. “Give me a moment to get it clear,” he said. “It was a long time ago.” While he closed his eyes, and let the past drift before him, I fetched

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