By Josephine Tey
A woman's physique is located at the English seacoast, and twisted in her hair is an editorial screaming homicide. For Inspector Alan provide, the case turns into a nightmare, as too many clues and too many reasons come up.
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Unique ebook: 2004
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Extra info for A Shilling for Candles
He had known at least one murderer who had had that type of good looks; blue-eyed, amiable, harmless; and he had buried his dismembered fiancée in an ash pit. Tisdall's eyes were of that particular warm opaque blue which Grant had noted so often in men to whom the society of women was a necessity of existence. Mother's darlings had those eyes; so sometimes, had womanizers. Well, presently he would check up on Tisdall. " he asked, marking time until he could bring Tisdall unsuspecting to the crucial matter.
I shouldn't do that," she said. "You let their heads stay back unless it's apoplexy. " She was loosening collar and tie and shirt band with the expert detachment of a cook paring pastry from a pie edge. Grant noticed that her sunburnt wrists were covered with small scars and scratches of varying age, and that they stuck too far out of her out-grown sleeves. "You'll find brandy in the cupboard, I think. " Grant found the brandy and came back to find her slapping Tisdall's unconscious face with a light insistent tapotement.
Yes. So they say. Fooled them, seemingly. " The evidence was of the most formal kind the finding and identification of the body—and as soon as that had been offered the coroner brought the proceedings to an end, and fixed no date for resumption. Hopkins had decided that, the Clay death being apparently no accident, and Scotland Yard not being able so far to make any arrest, the person to cultivate was undoubtedly the man in the flannel bags. Tisdall, his name was. Bart said that every newspaper man in England had tried to interview him the previous day (Hopkins being then en route from the poker murder) but that he had been exceptionally tough.