Free Appleby's Answer by Michael Innes Page B

mean.’
    â€˜Confidentiality? Prying eyes, steaming letters open and so forth? Perfectly true.’
    â€˜In our conversation, Captain Bulkington, we have been led into talking at times almost as if we were contemplating real crime–’
    â€˜Good Lord!’ The Captain looked much shocked. ‘But you’re entirely right. Extraordinary thing.’
    â€˜A mere shorthand, of course.’
    â€˜Just that. You express it deuced well.’
    â€˜A façon de parler , in fact.’
    â€˜Quite so, quite so.’ The Captain sounded a little vague on this one. ‘So you would suggest–’
    â€˜My own letters will be strictly about the writing of a book. And I have no doubt that your own’ – and Miss Pringle bent upon the Captain what in print she would have described as a subtly ironical regard – ‘I have no doubt that your own will observe a similar discretion.’
    â€˜Not a doubt about it. Bear it in mind. Damned good tip. Comes of being a pro.’ Captain Bulkington’s admiration had drawn him into even more than commonly staccato utterance. ‘All plain sailing, eh?’
    â€˜I certainly hope so.’
    â€˜And about the money, now. Remember some mention of £500, my dear? Would that be about right, if we brought the thing off?’
    â€˜For the mere technical know-how for a single simple murder,’ Miss Pringle said with gruesome facetiousness, ‘it would be a most adequate remuneration.’
    The accomplices (as they might whimsically have been called) now made their way into the garden of ‘Kandahar’, and thereafter the Captain courteously proposed to escort his visitor to the front gate.
    â€˜Where shall we begin?’ he asked.
    â€˜With the outline of a story turning on arson, I suppose, since you tell me you have taken a fancy to that.’
    â€˜Arson and murder.’ Captain Bulkington was emphatic. ‘And – do you know? – I think we might have at least a dodge or two in the murdering way first. Yes – I think I’d feel happier with that.’
    â€˜Then so be it,’ Miss Pringle said composedly. And she shook hands graciously, and returned to her car.

 
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7
    It had been a tiring morning, however, and Captain Bulkington’s madeira hadn’t really taken her very far. At Lechlade (near which lived a mythical Rural Dean) there was no doubt a hotel and the prospect of a substantial lunch. But here in Long Canings she had noticed a pub – no more than a pot-house, but bound to respond to a robust call for bread and cheese and a half-pint of bitter. Moreover it bore rather a mysterious name – the Jolly Chairman – and she was always attracted by mysteries. So why not drop in? She might even pick up some useful gossip from the locals as they tanked up before their Sunday dinner. Something of the sort had been, after all, part of her original plan of campaign.
    Miss Pringle turned away from her car, and walked over to this promising hostelry.
    She chose the public rather than the saloon bar, for she was a woman who knew the ropes in such matters. Four village lads were playing darts, and two of them were so young that a magistrate would certainly have frowned upon their frequenting licensed premises. But she knew that in such trivial matters the rule of law does not always obtain in places like Long Canings, since a just entitlement to free beer is attractive to village constables. There was, of course, the graver point of Sabbath Observance, upon which Miss Pringle commonly held unbending views. The darts ought to be locked up. But in the interest of the serious investigation upon which she was engaged it might be reasonable to disregard this.
    The tortoise was also present. A solitary man, he was engaged in feeding sixpences into a fruit machine, tugging the handle, and then standing back to stare at the consequent gyrations of the silly little symbols with