Case for Sergeant Beef Read Online Free PDF Page B

be rather a bore. Her house is painfully untidy. She keeps no servant and her dining-room table nearly always has an opened tin on it. And she shouts so that conversation is trying. But she’s a good-natured woman. It won’t be difficult to establish the kind of relationship I need.
    Of course, when I do take the gun, if anything goes wrong I postpone the whole scheme and then think of a new method altogether. No chances for me. But if she misses it a few days later and informs the police, all the better.
They
will have to discover after the murder how it came into the possession of the man who apparently shot himself with it. That’s just the sort of thing that will suit the police. They’ll work out some sort of theory to account for it, you may be sure.
    Another thing I have to obtain in a way which will prevent its being connected with me is some kind of string, cord, tape, or ribbon with which to fake the suicide. You see how careful I am? Just that piece of cord could hang a man. And I’ve had a delightful idea about this, too. Red Tape! My victim shall be killed with red tape, just as it will be the red tape of the police force which will prevent his murderer being caught.
    There’s a lawyer in Ashley, and in a few days’ time I will call on him and arrange a new will. I suppose I shall have togarden and look in at the window of the room to call Mrs Pluck. ‘Oh, Mrs Pluck,’ I would say, ‘have you the right time? Half-past six? Thank you,’ Then I would pull my line and away in the wood there would be a report. ‘Someone shooting,’ I would smile. ‘They’ve no right to, but let it pass. A rabbit or two won’t hurt us, will it, Mrs Pluck?’ And later, when the body is found and it is believed that the man had been shot that afternoon – well, there’s my alibi! Simple, isn’t it?
    Of course I shall remark to Mrs Pluck that I’ve stupidly left my line in the garden. ‘Must bring it in,’ I’ll say. ‘Someone might trip over it.’ Always the considerate old gentleman, you see. Then I’ll pop out and draw in the garden line and by drawing only one side of the double string pull in the other one from the gun. Then all I’ll have to do is to go out that evening and get the gun or bring it back next day. Wait, though.
I
can choose
my
day. So it will be on Mrs Pluck’s evening out, and when she has gone to the pictures over at Ashley – as she always does – I’ll bring the gun in. Splendid. I’m beginning to enjoy this.

    S.B.—2

CHAPTER FIVE
Journal of Wellington Chickle
Continued
Thirteenth Entry
    Another piece of luck has come my way, this time of a rather amusing kind. That pasty-faced curate came and asked me if I could manage to look in at the Jumble Sale at the Village Hall, and true to my benevolent character I agreed. There was the usual litter of rubbish – old books and clothes and ugly vases – and the usual crowd of tiresome people trying to find something on which they could spend a few shillings without wasting them.
    There was a stall for old clothes over which the curate’s sister, a plain and meaty girl who resembles her brother, was presiding. Right in front of her I saw a clothes-basket full of old boots and shoes, and on top of them a pair of the most enormous woman’s walking shoes I have ever seen. They must have been size twelve at least, though there was a pretence of the feminine in their design. Under them was a pair of carpet slippers of my own size which I picked up and in which I pretended to take an interest.
    â€˜How much are these?’ I asked, though my brain was already busy with a new idea suggested to me by the woman’s shoes.
    â€˜Well, we were rather hoping to sell the whole basketful. As a lot, you know,’ said the curate’s sister.
    Just what I hoped.
    â€˜Oh, dear!’ I said good-humouredly. ‘Whatever