Pitman had been
an Englishman, and I had got into the habit of having a cup in the
afternoon, with a cracker or a bit of bread. But they refused. Mr.
Howell said he had promised to meet a lady, and to bring her through
the flooded district in a boat. He shook hands with me, and smiled at
Mr. Holcombe.
"You will have to restrain his enthusiasm, Mrs. Pitman," he said. "He
is a bloodhound on the scent. If his baying gets on your nerves, just
send for me." He went down the stairs and stepped into the boat.
"Remember, Holcombe," he called, "every well-constituted murder has
two things: a motive and a corpse. You haven't either, only a mass of
piffling details--"
"If everybody waited until he saw flames, instead of relying on the
testimony of the smoke," Mr. Holcombe snapped, "what would the fire
loss be?"
Mr. Howell poled his boat to the front door, and sitting down,
prepared to row out.
"You are warned, Mrs. Pitman," he called to me. "If he doesn't find a
body to fit the clues, he's quite capable of making one to fill the
demand.
Pages:
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55