Duck Season Death Read Online Free PDF

like a trusted bank clerk, entered. His small eyes behind bi-focal glasses were both watchful and observant as he was as insistent on checking the American’s identity as Jeffrey had been in checking his. “We have to be very careful in our business, Mr Jeffrey,” he said, more as a statement of fact than by way of apology.
    â€œSit down,” the other invited, shaking up a cigarette to offer his visitor, “and tell me what you’ve got for me.”
    â€œThank you, no. I don’t care for American cigarettes. Regarding the party you commissioned us to trace,” he went on, pulling out a notebook and turning over the pages. “He left Sydney on the eleven thirty plane this morning and is due to arrive any moment now. He is being met by a man called Carmichael who is his nephew by marriage. His wife, just in case it is of interest to you, died a few months ago. So far we can discover no reservation made for him at any hotel. It is my belief that he will be staying with his nephew who has a bachelor flat just outside the city. I have his address with me if you want it.
    â€œFrom the evening of the 27th—that is, tomorrow—the party has a booking at a hotel in the country some hundred and fifty miles away. The name of this hotel is the Duck and Dog. It is situated near the town of Dunbavin. Your party usually spends the first part of March there every year for the duck-shooting. We are unable to anticipate his movements further,” the little man concluded, as though defying anyone else to be able.
    But I can, thought the American exultantly. Shooting ducks, huh? I know one who is a dead duck right now.
    The private enquiry agent went on. “We were uncertain of your precise wishes, Mr Jeffrey, but following the general tone of your instructions we took the chance on booking you in at the same hotel. I trust we acted correctly?”
    â€œFine!” said Jeffrey, trying to keep the note of reckless triumph out of his voice. The whole business was turning out better than if he had planned it.
    The agent gave a little deprecatory cough. “Naturally we do not enquire into our clients’ intentions, or the outcome of the work they ask us to undertake—” he paused, his small shrewd eyes on the American’s face.
    The other said sharply, “Yes, go on!”
    After a pause, the agent said, “Very often after much careful and discreet work on our part, our clients undo it all by behaving foolishly.”
    Jeffrey’s facial muscles felt stiff as he tried to grin easily. “What are you getting at?”
    â€œJust a little advice, if you don’t think it out of order. Is it your intention, now that we have finished our commission on your behalf, to continue to keep your party under observation?”
    Jeffrey lit another cigarette. His fingers were trembling slightly. “Could be,” he replied. “But I thought you said you started minding your own business at this point.”
    â€œSometimes the point is marginal. In your case I feel compelled to advise you to keep in part with your environment. In other words, Mr Jeffrey, if you wish to continue—let us say anonymously—you had better go to the Duck and Dog prepared and equipped to shoot ducks.”
    The American coughed over his cigarette as a laugh of relief caught him unawares. “Thanks for the tip. It would be sticking my neck way out if I didn’t dress and act the part.”
    The agent looked gratified, then shook his head. “It is not so much acting and dressing. I’m afraid the fact that you are anAmerican will make you stand out, so to speak, in the district you intend to visit. The point is, can you shoot?”
    His client laughed again. “Sure I can shoot. They taught us to do that sort of thing back in ’42.”
    â€œAh yes, quite! War is a terrible thing,” said the agent with the air of announcing a profound and original truth.