破镜谋杀案38
时间：2025-11-25 09:44:36
（单词翻译:单击）
Twenty
I
A little later in the day yet another visitor found his way to 16 Blenheim
Close. Detective-Sergeant William (Tom) Tiddler.
In reply to his sharp knock on the smart yellow painted door, it was
opened to him by a girl of about fifteen. She had long straggly fair hair
and was wearing tight black pants and an orange sweater.
“Miss Gladys Dixon live here?”
“You want Gladys? You’re unlucky. She isn’t here.”
“Where is she? Out for the evening?”
“No. She’s gone away. Bit of a holiday like.”
“Where’s she gone to?”
“That’s telling,” said the girl.
Tom Tiddler smiled at her in his most ingratiating manner. “May I come
in? Is your mother at home?”
“Mum’s out at work. She won’t be in until half past seven. But she can’t
tell you anymore than I can. Gladys has gone off for a holiday.”
“Oh, I see. When did she go?”
“This morning. All of a sudden like. Said she’d got the chance of a free
trip.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving me her address.”
The fair-haired girl shook her head. “Haven’t got an address,” she said.
“Gladys said she’d send us her address as soon as she knew where she was
going to stay. As like as not she won’t though,” she added. “Last summer
she went to Newquay and never sent us as much as a postcard. She’s slack
that way and besides, she says, why do mothers have to bother all the
time?”
“Did somebody stand her this holiday?”
“Must have,” said the girl. “She’s pretty hard up at the moment. Went to
the sales last week.”
“And you’ve no idea at all who gave her this trip or—er—paid for her
going there?”
The fair girl bristled suddenly.
“Now don’t get any wrong ideas. Our Gladys isn’t that sort. She and her
boyfriend may like to go to the same place for holidays in August, but
there’s nothing wrong about it. She pays for herself. So don’t you get ideas,
mister.”
Tiddler said meekly that he wouldn’t get ideas but he would like the ad-
dress if Gladys Dixon should send a postcard.
He returned to the station with the result of his various inquiries. From
the studios, he had learnt that Gladys Dixon had rung up that day and said
she wouldn’t be able to come to work for about a week. He had also
learned some other things.
“No end of a shemozzle there’s been there lately,” he said. “Marina
Gregg’s been having hysterics most days. Said some coffee she was given
was poisoned. Said it tasted bitter. Awful state of nerves she was in. Her
husband took it and threw it down the sink and told her not to make so
much fuss.”
“Yes?” said Craddock. It seemed plain there was more to come.
“But word went round as Mr. Rudd didn’t throw it all away. He kept
some and had it analysed and it was poison.”
“It sounds to me,” said Craddock, “very unlikely. I’ll have to ask him
about that.”
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