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 furnish, the case turns into a nightmare, as too many clues and too many reasons come up.
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Extra info for A Shilling for Candles
Just studying inquests as an institution. " As the Inspector showed no sign of being drawn: "Oh, have a heart, Inspector. What's in the wind? Is there something phony about the death? Suspicions, eh? " This produced a grin and nothing else. "Look here. Just tell me one thing, Inspector. " "Thank you. That tells me everything," Hopkins said, half sarcastic, half serious, as he made his way out again. He prised Mrs. Pitts's Albert away from the wall where he clung limpetlike by the window, persuaded him that two shillings were better than a partial view of dull proceedings, and sent him to Liddlestone with a telegram which set the Clarion office buzzing.
To the sergeant: "Gave us all the slip for nearly three weeks now. Too much Kleig, I guess. Gives them all the jitters sooner or later. " He hummed a bar of "Sing to Me Sometimes," with mock solemnity. "That's why I thought you were Chris; you were whistling her song. " Presently, the sergeant hoped, a gleam of light would be vouchsafed him. "Yes, her song. Who else's? You didn't think it was mine, my dear good chap, did you? Not on your life. I wrote the thing, sure. But that doesn't count. It's her song.
His face was like parchment, dry and old and expressionless. Only the pulse beating hard at his temple suggested a living being. Journalist and detective stood looking in mutual astonishment at so unexpected a result of Hopkins's announcement. And then, seeing the man's knees beginning to sag, Grant took him hastily by the arm. "Here! Come and sit down. " He edged the apparently blind Tisdall through the dawdling, chattering crowd, and pushed him into the rear seat of a dark touring car. "Westover," he said to the chauffeur, and got in beside Tisdall.