Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)
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Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK) Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

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28.03.2013 Views

Raisins and Almonds 1 ‘Someone set a trap for poor Shimeon,’ whispered Simon. ‘And killed him as coldly as you kill a mouse.’ ‘Yes, and with the same poison,’ agreed Robinson absently. There was a crash as the book hit the floor, but the alert constable managed to catch Simon. The Detective Constable had no imagination, so he was not shocked by the murder weapon or the collapse of the dark boy, which he had expected. But he was horrified by the way Miss Fisher had called his chief ‘Jack, dear’. He had never thought of Detective Inspector Robinson in that light before. As they left the shop, a woman in shabby clothes caught at Miss Fisher’s arm. ‘Excuse me, Miss, are these the jacks who are saying Miss Lee’s a murderer?’ ‘They’re the ones,’ agreed Phryne. ‘Who are you?’ ‘I’m Mrs. Price. I clean this shop and I’m here to tell them they’re wrong. You the head cop? You’re looking for the rat poison, ain’t yer?’ Jack Robinson said ‘Mind your language, Mrs. Price. Yes, I am looking for the rat poison. Do you know what happened to it?’ ‘Yair,’ said the cleaning woman angrily. ‘I spilled it and I threw it away. I been sick with the ’flu and I didn’t know about all this till my son told me tonight. So that’s where it went, right?’ ‘Right,’ said Detective Inspector Robinson, humbly.

Chapter Thirteen …there is in nature a certain Spirit which applies himself to the matter, and actuates in every Generation. —Thomas Vaughan, Anima Magica Abscondita ‘Strewth,’ Bert declared after two fruitless hours. ‘What have you got, mate?’ ‘Not much,’ said Cec. ‘Well, something. Not many people live around here.’ ‘Lotta dogs, but,’ said Bert, who had been bailed up in two different yards by hounds which Mr. Baskerville might have considered overdrawn. ‘Yair. Met a few nice dogs,’ said Cec, whom all animals instantly recognized as a friend of a different but related species. ‘You’d get on like a blood brother with a tarantula,’ snarled Bert, mopping his brow. ‘Never met one of them,’ said Cec, interested. ‘But I had a pet huntsman. My landlady went crook, so I had to find him another home. Used to feed him flies.’ ‘What’ve you found?’ asked Bert, who was a confirmed arachnophobe. He did not want to think about Cec’s communion with his many-legged friends.

Chapter Thirteen<br />

…there is in nature a certain Spirit which<br />

applies himself to the matter, <strong>and</strong> actuates<br />

in every Generation.<br />

—Thomas Vaughan,<br />

Anima Magica Abscondita<br />

‘Strewth,’ Bert declared after two fruitless hours. ‘What have<br />

you got, mate?’<br />

‘Not much,’ said Cec. ‘Well, something. Not many people<br />

live around here.’<br />

‘Lotta dogs, but,’ said Bert, who had been bailed up in two<br />

different yards by hounds which Mr. Baskerville might have<br />

considered overdrawn.<br />

‘Yair. Met a few nice dogs,’ said Cec, whom all animals instantly<br />

recognized as a friend of a different but related species.<br />

‘You’d get on like a blood brother with a tarantula,’ snarled<br />

Bert, mopping his brow.<br />

‘Never met one of them,’ said Cec, interested. ‘But I had a<br />

pet huntsman. My l<strong>and</strong>lady went crook, so I had to find him<br />

another home. Used to feed him flies.’<br />

‘What’ve you found?’ asked Bert, who was a confirmed arachnophobe.<br />

He did not want to think about Cec’s communion<br />

with his many-legged friends.

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