The Beast Must Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

read ’em all. Tried to get me to. Said I ought to improve my mind. “You leave my mind alone, Teague,” I says, “one bookworm’s enough in this house,” I says, “Dante won’t butter your parsnips for you.”’
    However, I’ve always kept my detective mss locked up, and I’m keeping this diary locked up too. Though, if any outsider happened to find it, he can assure himself that it’s just another of Felix Lane’s thrillers.

3 July
    GENERAL SHRIVENHAM DROPPED in this afternoon. Engaged me in a long controversy about the heroic couplet. An admirable man. Why is it that all generals are intelligent, kindly, charming and knowledgeable, whereas colonels are invariably bores and majors for the most part unspeakable? A subject ‘Mass Observation’ might investigate.
    Told the General I’d be going off for a long holiday fairly soon. Couldn’t stand the way this place reminded me of Martie. He gave me an exceedingly sharp glance out of his guileless old blue eyes and said:
    ‘Not going to do anything foolish, I hope?’
    ‘Foolish?’ I repeated stupidly. For a moment I thought he must have somehow read my secret. It sounded like an accusation, almost.
    ‘Mm,’ he said. ‘Take to drink. Women. Pleasure cruises. Shooting grizzlies. Silly nonsense, all that. Work’s the only cure, take my word for it.’
    I was so relieved this was all he meant that I was seized by a rush of affection for the old man – wanted to confess something to him, to reward him for not having found out my secret as it were – an interesting reaction. So I told him about the anonymous letter and my ruined flowers.
    ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Horrible. Don’t like that sort of thing at all. I’m a mild-tempered man, you know. Hate shooting animals, and that sort of thing. Of course, I used to do a bit of shooting when I was in the Service, tiger chiefly – but that was a long time ago, in India – beautiful beasts, graceful, a pity to shoot ’em, I gave it up after a bit. What I mean is, the type of fella who can write an anonymous letter – I’d have no compunction about shooting him, none at all. Reported it to Elder yet?’
    I said no. An unholy gleam of relish lit up in the General’s eye. He insisted on my showing him the anonymous letter and the beds where the flowers had been destroyed and asked a lot of questions.
    ‘Fella comes in the early morning, eh?’ he said, gazing commandingly over the terrain. His eye finally came to rest on an apple tree and he gave me a leer of outrageous irresponsibility.
    ‘Just right, eh? Sit up there quite comfortably. Rug. Flask. Gun. Get him as he comes out in the open. Leave it all to me.’
    After a little, I gathered from him that his intention was to sit up in the tree with his elephant gun and loose it off in the direction of the anonymous letter-writer.
    ‘No. Damn it all, you can’t do that. You might kill him.’
    The General was quite wounded. ‘My dear fellow,’ he said. ‘Last thing I want – get you into trouble; just frighten him, that’s all. Cowards, those sort of fellas are. Cowardly. You wouldn’t be troubled with him any more, bet you a pony. Save a lot of fuss and bother – keep the police out of it.’
    I had to be rather firm with him. As he was going away, he said, ‘Perhaps you’re right. Might be a woman. Don’t care about shooting women – there’s so much of ’em too, more easy to hit by mistake, especially in profile. Well, keep your pecker up, Cairnes. Come to think of it, what you want is a woman. Not a flibbertigibbet. A good, sensible woman. Look after you, and make you think you’re looking after her. Someone to quarrel with – you fellas who live alone, like to think you’re self-sufficient, living on your nerves – if you haven’t someone to quarrel with, you start quarrelling with yourself, and then where are you? Suicide or the madhouse. Two easy ways out. Not good enough, though. Conscience doth make cowards of us all. Not