The Five Bells and Bladebone Read Free

then there, groping her way to the chintz-cushioned bench. That Melrose made only the smallest gesture toward assisting her was not because he wasn’t a gentleman, but because he knew the bandagedankle was pure trumpery, something she’d got the local doctor to do with many a painful and laborious sigh on both parts.
    “I rang the house. You weren’t there,” she said, thumping herself down at his table with a practiced moan.
    “That’s very observant of you, Agatha,” he said, filling in D-O-L-T where T-O-L-D was called for. This was fun.
    “Thought you said he was coming today, Melrose.”
    “Jury? He is.”
    Never the one to kowtow to the needs of others, Lady Ardry wound out the little window behind her, sending down a shower of petals from the climbing roses, and called to Dick Scroggs to bring her her shooting sherry.
    “Can’t see why the man isn’t in here tending to business rather than slapping on that bilious blue paint.”
    A three-letter word to use in place of tin . Melrose pondered. “Well, since the Blue Parrot is doing such a whale of a business, Scroggs is afraid it’ll snap up all the tourist trade.”
    “What tourists? That’s why we like it here. No strangers running amok tossing iced-lolly wrappers on the pavement, no screaming kiddies. What’s happened to him, then?”
    Melrose looked up quizzically.
    “To Superintendent Jury .” You stupid nit, the sigh said.
    Ah! That was it! thought Melrose, his pen poised over the crossword. “He’s had a flat tire,” lied Melrose while filling in N-I-T . Since she seemed to think he was equipped with radar for tracking Richard Jury’s movements, it would only encourage her to guess at Jury’s arrival time.
    “I knew something would happen. Always does. This is the third, no, the fourth time he’s been supposed to visit —” She broke off and demanded her glass of sherry as Dick came in with his paint tin. Dick kept on walking.
    Melrose changed the subject. “What are you doing in here when you are supposed to be in your cottage resting your foot?”
    “I’m making quite sure my witnesses will stick to their story. Miss Crisp is already wavering. And here comes Vivian, who certainly is no help at all.”
     • • • 
    Vivian Rivington, looking like the harbinger of spring in a pale pink frock, told Agatha that she was being ridiculous, that she should forgive and forget. Vivian added, “Actually, it’s Mr. Jurvis who should forgive. You’re the one causing the trouble, Agatha. Where’s Superintendent Jury?” Any interest in Agatha’s “case” was forgotten in the light of an event that came round less often than an eclipse of the sun.
    “He’s had a breakdown. No, not a nervous one. He’s had a flat tire on the M-1. Called me from one of those Trusthouse Forte restaurants.” Gleefully, Melrose found another four-letter word: fool . It ran through the O and L for dolt . Perhaps he had a talent in an unsuspected quarter, making up puzzles for the Times . Eagerly he filled it in and awaited the next challenge.
     • • • 
    That might have been found in the appearance of Marshall Trueblood, looking like a maypole. Today a flame-red scarf was twisted in the neck of a tea-rose-yellow shirt in such a way that the ends hung like streamers.
    Agatha, already in a fit of pique over Vivian’s ignoring her plight, apparently found her archenemy’s entrance a bit too much for human endurance. “Well, one knows who one’s friends are when it comes to a legal battle.” She reached, as if painfully, for her crutches.
    “Old sweat,” said Trueblood, “I couldn’t agree more. If I hear the odious bookshop owner villify me again, I’ll sue and have you beat him to death with your crutch. And where is Richard Jury? Thought he was supposed to be here by now.”
    Without looking up from his paper, Melrose said, “He’s had a flat on the M-1 and called to say he might be late ashe’s waiting for the garage to fix it.” (