Herring on the Nile by L. C. Tyler

Author:L. C. Tyler [Tyler, L. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781937384029
Google: C8rDTpdsF-4C
Amazon: B00545QFUU
Barnesnoble: B00545QFUU
Goodreads: 15927336
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Then I noticed a bulge in Purbright’s pocket, a bit smaller than a mass-market paperback and narrower at one end. To a crime writer this meant one thing and one thing only. I edged my hand slowly and cautiously into the pocket and made contact with warm metal. I had written about guns more often than I could remember. Normally however they were a loud bang somewhere offstage – or a brief TFFFFTTT noise, if a silencer was involved in the crime. Once my fictional detective had arrived, he (or the SOCO) got to examine the blood spattered on the wall and picked the gun up carefully on a ballpoint pen to examine it. I too examined the weapon now in my possession and wondered exactly what it would do to somebody if fired at close range.

‘So, where’s the safety catch?’ I asked myself. Probably the little lever there – but which position was likely to be ‘off’? Assuming that Purbright would have placed it in his pocket intending that it should not go off unexpectedly, I flicked the safety catch upwards and, with the gun held tightly in my right hand, carried on round the corner.

I had become slightly disoriented and was surprised, when I checked the lighted window on my right, to find I was looking again into the dining room. I had worked my way round the outside of the room, crossing from port to starboard. On the other side of the glass, Elsie, Proctor and Miss Watson seemed to be conducting some sort of animated dumbshow. Proctor was shaking his head from side to side, then Miss Watson suddenly stood up and headed for the far door. The others followed and passed from my view.

I continued walking, feeling an urgent need to move but not entirely certain where I was going. It was at that point that the engines finally gave up the unequal struggle. The boat slowed immediately and, for a moment, seemed to hang where it was, before beginning to drift back downriver.

My immediate priority had been to find somewhere to make a quick call to the number I had been given. In the silence I felt more vulnerable than ever – as if taking another footstep might give me away. My own cabin was some way off, but the one next to the dining room was very close and (I knew) empty, because Miss Watson had rejected it earlier. I speculatively tried the handle, expecting it to be locked, but the door opened smoothly and silently. I slipped inside and fastened the catch. I could make out, in the semi-darkness, a double bed, a chest of drawers, the wardrobe and the door to the bathroom. I moved across the room carefully, away from the window to a point where I hoped I could not be seen. In the silence, I dialled the number on my new mobile.

‘Yes?’ said an English voice. There was a pause that indicated I would get no more until I identified myself.

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