And So To Murder by John Dickson Carr Read Free Book Online

Look! The place is practically deserted. You and F.F. and MacPherson and F.F.’s maid are the only women here. I don’t even see the continuity-girl: which is impossible. Something’s wrong.’
    ‘Still –’
    ‘Oh, it’s probably nothing. But I was wondering about Tom Hackett. Anyway, there’s your F.F. in the flesh. Would you like to meet her?’
    ‘I would, rather. I’d been wondering whether I ought to or not.’
    ‘Why not?’
    Monica had a burst of honesty. ‘I’ve sometimes wondered whether she might not turn out to be some dreadful pain in the neck. But she doesn’t look like that.’
    ‘She isn’t … Frances!’
    The large brunette turned her head from staring at nothing, and smiled. She seemed to come to life exactly as she had come to life before the camera.
    ‘Frances, may I present a great admirer of yours? Miss Stanton – Miss Fleur.’
    ‘How do you do?’ smiled Miss Fleur.
    She was transfigured. Her smile grew warm, showing fine teeth. Yet she did not, so to speak, turn it on. The process was not as mechanical as that. Her charm of manner was perfectly genuine; she liked to be liked; and, when you expressed admiration for her, it pleased her and you felt the physical glow of response which emanated from her.
    ‘Miss Stanton,’ Cartwright explained, ‘is here to do some work for Tom Hackett. By the way, she is the young lady who wrote Desire .’
    Frances Fleur paused in examining a scarlet finger-nail, and looked up. So far she had seemed amiable but perfunctory. It was slightly different now. She looked at Monica. She looked at her again.
    ‘Not – ?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Cartwright firmly.
    ‘Is it really? How nice to meet you! That’s to be my next part, you know.’
    Monica stared at her.
    ‘Eve,’ explained Miss Fleur. ‘Not Eve in the Garden of Eden, that is, but Eve in your book. Do come and sit down here. I must talk to you. Eleanor, bring a chair for Miss Stanton.’
    Eleanor did so. Monica was placed in such a position that Miss Fleur could see her in a good light. For Miss Fleur was genuinely curious. She had not actually read Desire , but she had got her husband to read all the best bits aloud to her; and she was interested. Her appraising glance ran and rang like a cash-register. What she thought was not apparent.
    ‘Is this your first visit here?’ she asked. ‘I hope you like it. I did so enjoy your book.’ Here she looked at Monica even more curiously.
    ‘It’s awfully good of you to say so.’
    ‘Not at all,’ laughed the other. ‘My husband – Baron von Gagern – loved it too. He chooses all my parts. You must meet him. Kurt! Kurt!’
    She looked round.
    ‘Where on earth is Kurt? It’s not like him to disappear like that. Have you seen him?’
    ‘No,’ answered Cartwright. ‘And I haven’t seen Tom Hackett, though he must be here somewhere.’
    A glance flashed between them. Frances Fleur’s eyes were very expressive. ‘In that case,’ she went on, deliberately avoiding whatever subject he meant to introduce, ‘she must meet Howard, of all people. Howard! Will you come over here a moment, please?’
    The director administered a last squeeze to the shoulder of the sinister stewardess, who was wiping her eyes. He seemed to have cheered her up considerably. Then he lumbered across in his big shoes. Seen at close range, he had the appearance of a distinguished doctor or scientist. He was rubbing his hands together, in a smiling, and satisfied way, as he approached the group. At a distance of three feet his mild voice became audible.
    ‘Well, we’re getting on,’ Howard Fisk confided. ‘Yes, definitely we’re getting on.’ He stopped to reflect. ‘One of those takes ought to do. And Annie MacPherson is feeling much better.’
    ‘Howard, may I introduce the new script-writer?’ Mr Fisk woke up.
    ‘Ah, yes. The expert from Hollywood. Hackett mentioned it. How do you do?’ he said, enfolding Monica’s hand in a large paw, and beaming on