England Expects Read Online Free PDF

slab and by then his eyes were closed,’ McGregor admitted.
    ‘You didn’t see him at the barber’s?’
    ‘No. Robinson had dispatched the body to the mortuary by the time I arrived. No harm in it – it was a hot summer’s day and there were a lot of people around. It’s a busy part of town. It wasn’t as if there was any dubiety about the cause of death.’
    An expression passed across Mirabelle’s face – a silent question. He didn’t answer it.
    ‘And did Mr Robinson take a photograph of Mr Gillingham’s corpse while it was still in the chair?’ she enquired.
    McGregor shook his head and said nothing.
    ‘Thank you, Superintendent,’ she said. ‘I hope you catch your man.’
    McGregor was about to speak, but Mirabelle had uncrossed her long legs, opened the car door briskly and was on her way up the steps before he could gather himself. He’d expected to have more time to say good night. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask her to the cinema at the weekend and to dinner. There was a nice little place along the coast, though admittedly it wasn’t the Savoy. She might have waited for him to open the car door like a gentleman. Her perfume lingered.
    ‘Good night,’ he called as the front door closed at the top of the steps. He wished Mirabelle wasn’t so formal. He’d like her to call him by his first name. It had been a while since anyone had used it. No one down here knew him well enough.
    His heart sank in the ensuing silence. He waited for the lamp to light the first-floor drawing room but instead of a warm yellow glow there was only a dark movement behind the glass. Mirabelle Bevan’s pale outline was framed for a moment in the black window, a vision hovering above him in the darkness. Then she drew the curtains.

Chapter 4
    The secret of getting ahead is getting started .
    T he next morning in the office Mirabelle waited patiently for Bill Turpin to settle into his chair. It was Tuesday and Bill always spent an hour or two on paperwork. Tuesday was the start of the midweek lull. For those punters who were struggling financially, any money earned over the weekend was long gone, and for most of them payday didn’t loom till Friday. As far as clients went, Monday and Thursday were the days the agency was commissioned. The result was that Tuesday and Wednesday marked a quiet period in the office – time to catch up.
    ‘Bill, I wondered if you’d heard anything else about Joey Gillingham?’ said Mirabelle.
    Vesta looked up from eating a slice of cinnamon toast. This was also a Tuesday occurrence. On Tuesdays and Thursdays Charlie’s early shifts left Vesta bereft of a breakfast companion. It always made Mirabelle smile – twice a week the office smelled gloriously of coffee and toast, as it always had before Charlie arrived.
    Bill took a deep breath as if he was reluctant to speak. ‘Well, I don’t like it. They’re in a right old tizzy at the station. It’s just a load of nonsense and it’ll mess up the investigation. It already has.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    Bill squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Utter nonsense,’ he repeated. ‘It’s a professional job – the bloke obviously got into bother with someone he owed money. I mean, look at his trade. Andthey’re trying to cover it up ’cause of all that rubbish of theirs. Secret handshakes and the like. Next they’ll be making out he was a saint. A sports writer on a red top. It ain’t right.’
    Vesta licked her fingers. ‘What are you on about, Bill?’
    ‘All that dressing up. It’s just plain silly. I wouldn’t demean myself. I done my duty in the war.’
    Vesta stared at Mirabelle, her expression a question mark.
    ‘Oh no!’ Mirabelle burst out. ‘You’re not suggesting that Mr Gillingham was a freemason?’
    ‘Not just him. They’re all masons in the force. Every one of them. They got it sewed up tight – not just the police but the magistrates, too. Every constable and all the sergeants and higher than that and