Frequent Hearses Read Online Free PDF

eye-brows.
    “Suicide,” she murmured—and during a brief interval seemed preoccupied with rapid inward calculation. “Any reason given?”
    “No. Can you yourself think of any?”
    Miss Flecker hesitated. “The gossip is that she was going to have a baby, but I don’t believe much of what I’m told in this place, so don’t rely on it. In any case, I suppose that an autopsy—”
    “Just so.” Humbleby was at his most judicial. “But may we start at the beginning, please? Your name—” He poised his pencil expectantly.
    “Is Judith Annecy Flecker. Age twenty-six. Occupation, Secretary to the Long Fulton Music Department.”
    “Good. And the name of this girl whose picture you saw in the paper is Gloria Scott.”
    “She called herself that, yes.”
    Humbleby glanced up from the notebook. “That was just a stage name, you mean?”
    Miss Flecker crossed her admirable legs and contemplated them for a moment with a satisfaction in which Fen, who does not scorn simple pleasures, abundantly participated. “I think it was only a stage name,” she said, “but you’ll have to ask someone who knew her better than I did. And if it was, I’ve not the ghost of a notion about her real name, I’m afraid.”
    “You didn’t know her well, then?”
    “Only very casually. But I thought I’d better ring you up about her, because I know what the people here are like. Half a hundred of them will have seen and recognised that photograph, and they’ll all be studiously engaged in leaving the job of communicating with you to someone else. So I thought I’d forestall their havering. Did anyone else from here telephone you, by the way?”
    “No one had when I left,” said Humbleby. “But mind you, that was some time ago, and you got in early. I shall ring up Charles in a moment—that’s the Superintendent in charge of the case—and ask him if anything else has come through from here. In the meantime”—he smiled with real charm—“I’m very pleased to be able to talk to you. And if you’ll just tell me anything you know about the girl…”
    Miss Flecker nodded, and her gaze moved reflectively about the pleasant, untidy room, with its severely functional windows, its murmurous radiators, its book-case of manuscript musical scores. “Well, you won’t want me to describe her,” she said, “because you’ve got that photograph. It flatters her, of course, but it’s a fair likeness. She was about—oh, nineteen, I imagine.”
    “Married, or engaged?”
    “Neither.”
    “Any particular man?”
    Miss Flecker smiled wryly. “Gossip ascribes her to Maurice Crane and Stuart North, but how much truth there is in it I don’t know. Possibly none. I’ve seen her with both of them, but that means nothing.”
    “And to which of them does gossip ascribe her—um—hypothetical pregnancy?”
    “As far as I know,” said Miss Flecker decorously, “opinion is evenly divided. It’s no use my pretending,” she added with sudden candour, “that I don’t listen to gossip, because I do. I pass it on, too—as you’ll have noticed. But as to believing it, that’s another matter. So I ought to warn you… Oh, damn.”
    She broke off as the telephone rang again, and picked it up with a movement of irritation.
    “Johnny, I thought I said I wasn’t to be disturbed… Oh. That’s different… Yes, you did quite right. Sorry.” She held out the instrument to Humbleby. “It’s for you.”
    “Hullo, Charles,” said Humbleby. “What news?” And for a full minute he remained silent while the receiver, like a witch’s familiar, muttered insinuatingly into his ear. “All right as far as it goes,” he commented at last. “Have there been any further calls from here? None? …No”—he glanced at Miss Flecker—“apparently that was to be expected… Yes, I’m enjoying myself very much, thank you… Don’t expect me till after lunch. If anything interesting develops I’ll phone you… No, not so far: we’re only