Free Bohemian Girl, The by Cameron Kenneth Page A

writing suggested that anybody was very hopeful about Number 14 Millman Street. Denton looked at the house and thought he saw why: too small, too old, too poorly maintained. Had he ever known whoever had lived there before? He didn’t think so.
    At nine, cursing the time off from his work, he was at Messrs Plumb and Angevin in Russell Square. Plumb, an eager, smiling, rabbity man too young to be so familiar, was astonished that somebody had been attacked in one of his houses, shocked that the house had been invaded.
    ‘That’s breaking and entering,’ he said. ‘You should have apprised us!’
    ‘There was nothing to apprise you about.’
    ‘You have a duty under the law!’
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
    ‘That’s a valuable property!’
    ‘And I’m the King of Siam. Now look, Mr Plumb, it appears to me this man was spying on me from that house.’
    ‘You admit it’s your fault, then.’
    Denton considered taking Mr Plumb by his revers and lifting him off the floor. However, at that moment, a detective walked in and showed his credentials, and Denton backed off a step and said, ‘Is this about Number 14 Millman Street?’
    The detective, who was young and clearly afraid he didn’t project enough authority, rapped out, ‘Who’re you?’
    ‘I live in the house behind Number 14. I’m the man who was attacked.’
    ‘Oh, are you?’ He glanced at some notes. ‘You Mr Denton?’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘We want to talk to you.’ He touched Denton’s arm as if he were going to seize him. ‘My name’s Markson. Detective.’
    Twenty minutes later, Denton was answering questions in the back garden of Number 14, and Mr Plumb was standing against the house, looking cold and worried. A policeman who had been standing there part of the night looked dour. After some minutes of answering Markson’s questions, Denton was relieved to see Munro, who hove into view around the corner like some large animal. He was carrying his hat - he had been hurrying, he said - and his hair was plastered down as the policeman’s had been last night. He nodded at Denton and loomed over the young detective. ‘What’ve you got?’
    ‘Just examining the man Denton.’
    ‘In aid of what?’
    ‘He was the victim of the attack.’
    Munro rolled his eyes. ‘Have you been inside the house yet?’
    ‘Proceeding deliberately. I was told to be alert for fingerprints.’
    Munro exhaled noisily and glanced at Denton. Munro and the detective walked quickly over the turf near the cellar door, which Markson called ‘the crime scene’, Munro saying ‘Yes, yes,’ every few seconds as if he’d heard it all before. Then Munro grabbed Denton’s arm and walked him towards the back of the garden. ‘You think somebody’s been watching you from this house, that true? Didn’t see anything for a couple of nights, then this - true? Saw somebody at a window once maybe , then a “glow” at night, maybe - true? That it?’
    ‘The ladders.’
    ‘Ah, ladders.’ Denton led him to the ladder, which Munro mounted and from which he looked down into Denton’s garden. ‘You going to do something for those roses?’ he said.
    ‘Hadn’t given it a thought.’
    ‘Roses are the thing. Now, they’re difficult, mind, but they give great satisfaction. Looks as if the soil would be all right. I could give you some slips - cuttings, you know. Rather pleased with my roses.’
    ‘Atkins wants to grow vegetables.’
    ‘He has no soul.’ Munro looked at a notebook. ‘Yes, the ladder’s been cut in two and propped like that - not your doing or your man’s, true?’ He sniffed. ‘The notes from the first copper on the scene were on my desk at seven with a note from Georgie Guillam - “Look what your pal is up to now.” I thought I’d best get over here before somebody decided you were a vicious criminal.’ He put his hat on and lowered his voice. ‘I told you that Georgie could be trouble. This isn’t even his manor, but he must have had somebody looking