A Murder is Announced Read Online Free

anyone wants to murder me,” said Miss Blacklog lightly. “And really, Mitzi, I don't see why anyone should want to murder you. After all, why should they?”
    “Because they are bad peoples... Very bad peoples. I tell you, my mother, my little brother, my so sweet niece.”
    “Yes, yes.” Miss Blacklog stemmed the flow, adroitly. “But I cannot really believe anyone wants to murder you, Mitzi. Of course, if you want to go off like this at a moment's notice, I cannot possibly stop you. But I think you will be very silly if you do.”
    She added firmly, as Mitzi looked doubtful: “We'll have that beef the butcher sent stewed for lunch. It looks very tough.”
    “I make you a goulash, a special goulash.”
    “If you prefer to call it that, certainly. And perhaps you could use up that rather hard bit of cheese in making some cheese straws. I think some people may come in this evening for drinks.”
    “This evening? What do you mean, this evening?”
    “At half-past six.”
    “But that is the time in the paper. Who should come then? Why should they come?”
    “They're coming to the funeral,” said Miss Blacklog with a twinkle. “That'll do now, Mitzi. I'm busy. Shut the door after you,” she added firmly.
    “And that's settled her for the moment,” she said as the door closed behind a puzzled-looking Mitzi.
    “You are so efficient, Letty,” said Miss Bunner admiringly.

A Murder is Announces

Chapter 3AT 6:30 P.M.
    “Well, here we are, all set,” said Miss Blacklog She looked round the double drawing-room with an appraising eye. The rose-patterned chintzes - the two bowls of bronze chrysanthemums, the small vase of violets and the silver cigarette-box on a table by the wall, the tray of drinks on the centre table.
    Little Paddocks was a medium-sized house built in the early Victorian style. It had a long shallow veranda and green shuttered windows. The long, narrow drawing-room which lost a good deal of light owing to the veranda roof had originally had double doors at one end leading into a small room with a bay window. A former generation had removed the double doors and replaced them with portieres of velvet. Miss Blacklog had dispensed with the portieres so that the two rooms had become definitely one. There was a fireplace each end, but neither fire was lit although a gentle warmth pervaded the room.
    “You've had the central heating lit,” said Patrick.
    Miss Blacklog nodded.
    “It's been so misty and damp lately. The whole house felt clammy. I got Evans to light it before he went.”
    “The precious precious coke?” said Patrick mockingly.
    “As you say, the precious coke. But otherwise there would have been the even more precious coal. You know the Fuel Office won't even let us have the little bit that's due to us each week - not unless we can say definitely that we haven't got any other means of cooking.”
    “I suppose there was once heaps of coke and coal for everybody?” said Julia with the interest of one hearing about an unknown country.
    “Yes, and cheap, too.”
    “And anyone could go and buy as much as they wanted, without filling in anything, and there wasn't any shortage? There was lots of it there?”
    “All kinds and qualities - and not all stones and slates like what we get nowadays.”
    “It must have been a wonderful world,” said Julia, with awe in her voice.
    Miss Blacklog smiled. “Looking back on it, I certainly think so. But then I'm an old woman. It's natural for me to prefer my own times. But you young things oughtn't to think so.”
    “I needn't have had a job then,” said Julia. “I could just have stayed at home and done the flowers, and written notes... Why did one write notes and who were they to?”
    “All the people that you now ring up on the telephone,” said Miss Blacklog with a twinkle. “I don't believe you even know how to write, Julia.”
    “Not in the style of that delicious 'Complete Letter Writer' I found the other day. Heavenly! It told you