The Z Murders by J Jefferson Farjeon

him such a bad trick, after all! In two minutes he was in a station telephone box, speaking to his sister.
    â€œAny news?” he asked, without preamble.
    â€œYes,” came the prompt reply. “The canary’s swallowed a pip.”
    â€œDon’t rot!”
    â€œI’m not! It’s quite true.”
    â€œOf course, you’re incorrigible! Is there any other news, then?”
    â€œShe hasn’t ’phoned again.”
    â€œHas anybody else?”
    â€œOnly the butcher.”
    Richard took a breath, and started afresh. “What about the fellow by the lamp-post?” he asked.
    â€œHe went away, but now he’s back again,” she told him.
    â€œDon’t worry! He never went away!”
    â€œI’m inclined to believe you. Do you want me to do anything about him?”
    â€œYes. Keep him there!”
    â€œCertainly, dear. I’ll hang a bit of toasted cheese outside the front door.”
    â€œI suppose you must be foolish?” he sighed.
    â€œFoolish? I like that!” came the retort. “How do you expect me to keep him here? Go out with a rope and lassoo him to the lamp-post?”
    Richard smiled.
    â€œYou’re quite right, Winnie,” he said. “I imagine I’m a bit potty.”
    â€œI hope you’re nothing worse, Dick! Where are you telephoning from?”
    â€œThat’s a leading question.”
    â€œIt’s meant to be.”
    â€œSorry. Nothing doing. Love to the canary. Good-bye.”
    He rang off. He did not feel in the least apologetic. The less his sister knew, the better it would be for her if there were any trouble. And Richard believed there was going to be a lot of trouble. In which prediction, he did not err. Leaving the telephone box, he glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes past five. How the hands were crawling!
    He went into a restaurant, and ordered tea. By slow-motion eating and drinking he managed to prolong the meal to half an hour, and afterwards he sat and smoked. Just as well, he decided, to stay in the restaurant. He was not in a mood at the moment to court publicity.
    At a quarter-past six he left the restaurant and walked towards the platform from which the 6.30 Bristol train was due to start, but suddenly he changed his mind and re-visited the telephone box.
    â€œHow’s the canary?” he asked, when connected once more with Richmond.
    â€œWhat about a canary?” came a male response.
    â€œBlast!” muttered Richard, and rang off hastily.
    He certainly did not wish to discuss matters with his brother-in-law! Why on earth had Tom Mostyn chosen this afternoon of all afternoons to return home early? It was a wretched nuisance! If he rang up again, ten to one his brother-in-law would answer again. And if he waited—well, the train wouldn’t!
    Thus, a moment of facetiousness prevented Richard from learning some news that would have interested him.
    He walked to the platform. The train was almost due to depart, and late-comers were hurrying to find good seats. There were plenty of good seats, as it happened, for the train was not crowded, and Richard was able to select an empty compartment. He was soon joined, however, by a stout, good-natured countryman who selected the seat opposite Richard, opened his newspaper, and became immediately social.
    â€œâ€™Ave ye read about second murder?” he exclaimed.
    Richard frowned, and replied rather shortly,
    â€œYes. Gruesome, isn’t it?”
    He wished he had not added the “isn’t it?” for this invited a continuation of the conversation, and Richard was not feeling social himself. He wished the countryman in Jericho. He wanted to think. The countryman, however, seemed to prefer conversation to reflection, and as Richard sat down in the corner seat opposite he observed that it was a sight more’n gruesome. It was funny !
    The word “funny” was significantly emphasised.
    â€œHow do you mean,