Death of a Fool by Ngaio Marsh

Author:Ngaio Marsh [Marsh, Ngaio]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: C429, Extratorrents, Kat
Published: 2010-01-22T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VIII

Question of Fact

When afternoon closing-time came, Trixie pulled down the bar shutters and locked them. Simon Begg went into the Private. There was a telephone in the passage outside the Private and he had put a call through to his bookmaker. He wanted, if he could, to get the results of the 1.30 at Sandown. Teutonic Dancer was a rank outsider. He'd backed it both ways for a great deal more than he could afford to lose and had already begun to feel that, if he did lose, it would in some vague way be Mrs. Bünz's fault. This was both ungracious and illogical.

For many reasons, Mrs. Bünz was the last person he wanted to see and, for an equal number of contradictory ones, she was the first. And there she was, the picture of uncertainty and alarm, huddled, snuffling, over the parlour fire with her dreadful cold and her eternal notebooks.

She had bought a car from Simon, she might be his inspiration in a smashing win. One way and another, they had done business together. He produced a wan echo of his usual manner.

"Hullo-'llo! And how's Mrs. B. today?" asked Simon.

"Unwell. I have caught a severe cold in the head. Also, I have received a great shawk. Last night in the pawk was a terrible, terrible shawk."

"You can say that again," he agreed glumly, and applied himself to the Sporting News.

Suddenly, they both said together, "As a matter of fact--" and stopped, astonished and disconcerted.

"Ladies first," said Simon.

"Thank you. I was about to say that, as a matter of fact, I would suggest that our little transaction--Ach! How shall I say it? -- should remain, perhaps --"

"Confidential?" he ventured eagerly.

"That is the word for which I sought. Confidential."

"I'm all for it, Mrs. B. I was going to make the same suggestion myself. Suits me."

"I am immensely relieved. Immensely. I thank you, Wing-Commander. I trust, at the same time -- you do not think -- it would be so shawkink -- if--"

"Eh?" He looked up from his paper to stare at her. "What's that? No, no, no, Mrs. B. Not to worry. Not a chance. The idea's laughable."

"To me it is not amusink but I am glad you find it so," Mrs. Bünz said stuffily. "You read something of interest, perhaps, in your newspaper?"

"I'm waiting. Teutonic Dancer. Get me? The one-thirty?"

Mrs. Bünz shuddered.

"Oh, well!" he said. "There you are. I follow the form as a general thing. Don't go much for gimmicks. Still! Talk about coincidence! You couldn't go past it, really, could you?" He raised an admonitory finger. The telephone had begun to ring in the passage. "My call," he said. "This is it. Keep your fingers crossed, Mrs. B."

He darted out of the room.

Mrs. Bünz, left alone, breathed uncomfortably through her mouth, blew her nose and clocked her tongue against her palate. "Dar," she breathed.

Fox came down the passage past Simon, who was saying, "Hold the line, please, miss, for Pete's sake. Hold the line," and entered the parlour.

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