The Crime Classics Box Set by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Agora Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

6

The Landlord Of The Silly Billy

IT only needed a glass of water to put Mrs. Twigg right and then Littlejohn left her. He did so with puzzled feelings. The fainting fit hadn’t seemed quite genuine. She had sagged down on a soft spot on the hearthrug and recovered too easily. Had it been that she had wanted to put a stop to further questions? Or, had the perpetual topic of coronary thrombosis begun seriously to upset her? The whole business seemed to be a muddle. Switching first to Cromwell, then to Twigg, with Mrs. Twigg rapidly becoming suspect number one and Cank running a close second.

Littlejohn took the small police car and drove himself to Manchester. On his way, he stopped at a country pub for lunch. There wasn’t much peace there. There was a wedding-party in progress and they even sent a glass of champagne to Littlejohn’s table, and he drank the health of the loving couple. The head waiter confided to Littlejohn that he was fed-up and going back to London as soon as he could, and the pretty waitress, finding him courteous and cheerful, told Littlejohn she was only there learning the ropes and wanted to be an air-hostess; perhaps he could help? As he left, the landlord asked him if he knew anybody who wanted to buy a good pub as he himself was fed-up, too, and anxious to get out.

In Manchester, Littlejohn met his wife and Mrs. Cromwell. They were both more cheerful. Cromwell had now recovered consciousness and was getting along nicely.

“But you can only stay five minutes; rest is essential,” said the sister, a nice girl who was relieving the regular one whose day-off it was. She was dark and good-looking, but when she wasn’t busy her face wore a scared, melancholy look. A young American doctor who had been in the hospital on study-leave for a year had written on his return to Texas to say that he couldn’t settle down without her. Would she cross the Atlantic and marry him? She was off at the end of the month. She dreamed at night and had visions by day of vast sandy wastes sprouting enormous cactus bushes, and huge rocks like nightmare cinema organs, and chains of purple mountains peopled by gun-slingers and men who spoke in a strange, drawling tongue. Her education about her new home had been derived from the picture-house down the road, which she frequented when off duty.

“Have you ever been to Texas, Superintendent?” she asked Littlejohn, à propos of nothing at all, and when he looked surprised, she told him it didn’t matter and that he mustn’t talk to Cromwell yet.

The surgeon arrived to have a word or two with Littlejohn. He had just finished an operating session and still wore his white gown.

“How is he, sir?”

“Getting along fine, now. He’s a lucky man. Another fraction of an inch and he might have died, or, at least, been badly damaged for the rest of his life.”

“Could I have a word with him? He needn’t reply.

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