Rolling Stone Read Online Free PDF Page B

Romance .
    He came up in good order with the volume in his hand and proffered it politely. The old man stopped coughing, stuffed an outsize in white silk handkerchiefs back into his pocket, and said in a weak, asthmatic voice,
    â€œOh dear me, yes—I dropped it. Most kind of you, I’m sure. I’m changing it, you know.”
    â€œThe mischief you are!” said Peter to himself. “And I wonder what that means.” He thought he had better find out.
    He looked the book over and enquired,
    â€œIs it any good, sir?”
    The old man shook his head.
    â€œOh, no,” he said—“not now. Oh dear me, no—quite out of date—oh, yes, quite. I’m changing it—got a much better one—one I can really recommend, if you’re looking for something.” He produced from his coat pocket a mustard-coloured book with an arresting title, The Corpse in the Copper . “A very ingenious work really—oh, highly ingenious—I can really recommend it. Ah well, I must be going.”
    He produced the handkerchief again and blew his nose. A fit of coughing supervened. The Corpse in the Copper slid under the table. He finished coughing and drifted over to the counter, and from the counter to the shop and the street beyond.
    â€œHe has dropped his book,” said the stout lady who had demanded a Love-nest.
    She spoke accusingly, but Peter could have embraced her, because he had been on the point of making the remark himself, and it certainly came better from her. He retrieved the Corpse with a swoop, ejaculated “I’ll see if I can catch him,” and sped in the old man’s wake.
    Nothing doing. Not a trace, not a sign, not a mark. The old man with his rain-coat, his soft hat, his muffler, his spectacles and his cough was nowhere to be seen. Not that Peter really desired to see him. He did not think that his further acquaintance would be welcome. What he had wanted was an opportunity of bestowing the Corpse in his own rain-coat pocket.
    This accomplished, he returned to the library and enquired whether his call had come through. The lady with the fringe was now at leisure. She smiled graciously upon him and said she was afraid it hadn’t.
    â€œWhat time were you expecting it, Mr. Riley?”
    â€œWell, he said round about twelve.”
    â€œAnd it’s ten minutes past. But some people are so unpunctual. You wouldn’t believe, Mr. Riley, the people that come in just as we’re closing. Most inconsiderate, I’m sure.”
    Peter agreed. He bent a little nearer and asked,
    â€œWho is the old man who went out just now?”
    The lady shook her head.
    â€œQuite a stranger to me, Mr. Riley.”
    â€œIsn’t he one of your subscribers? I thought he was changing a book.”
    â€œOh, no, Mr. Riley. He just came up and asked about our subscription rates, and off he went. He’s quite a stranger to me. Are you waiting any longer for that call?”
    â€œI think I’ll have to.”
    Peter went back to his seat and resumed the paper. It made an excellent screen. Behind it he was thinking, “Deep—aren’t they? And who do they trust?” Not Spike Reilly—that was sure enough. Spike is tipped off to wait for a call, but in case he has the bright idea of tipping anyone else off, the plan is changed, there isn’t any call. There is only a prattling old gentleman who drops his library book and does a vanishing trick. Peter felt as sure as he had ever felt about anything in all his life that there wasn’t going to be any call.
    He sat where he was until the clock on the counter struck one. It was a cheap Swiss clock in a case encrusted with edelweiss. There wasn’t going to be any call.
    He got up and walked out into Archmount Street.

CHAPTER VI
    Over what he considered to be a well earned lunch Peter toyed with The Corpse in the Copper . When he had turned half a dozen pages a slip of paper fell out and