The Hangman's Row Enquiry by Ann Purser Read Free Book Online

wasn’t it?”
    Gus paused. Village shops were clearinghouses for local news, so he turned back and followed Will inside. “A white sliced, please,” he said.
    “Need a bag? We’re trying to cut down on bags—carbon footprint and all that stuff. We have to compete with supermarkets.”
    “No, no bag, thanks. That’s all I want at the moment. And to answer your question, yes, it was a bit of a shock. Poor Miss Blake is in a bad state. Pale as a ghost and very shaky. I suppose she was fond of her mother, living together all those years. When did the father die?”
    “Years ago,” said Will. “And not much missed, as far as I can tell. As for being fond of her mother, our Miriam and the old woman scarcely spoke to one another. Miriam said Mrs. Blake was so sharp and unkind that she had given up talking to her. Everything she said, apparently, was found fault with, and the poor girl found keeping quiet was the best policy.”
    “Still, a mother is a mother,” Gus said, picking up his bread. “Bound to be lonely, poor Miriam. I shall do my best to be a good neighbour.”
    He left the shop, and Will said under his breath, “Well, just watch it, mate. Miriam Blake eats unattached men for breakfast.”
    When Gus reached Springfields, he saw Ivy waiting for him at the garden gate. “You’re late,” she said. “Might as well be off straightaway.”
    “Off where?” he said. He’d been looking forward to coffee and biscuits.
    “To the graveyard, of course. Follow me.”
    “But the old lady is not buried yet,” objected Gus. “They’ll keep the body for a while yet, while police investigations are going on.”
    “Not the old lady. We’re going to see the old man. Poor old Blake. Had a terrible time with those two women, so I hear.”
    “Maybe,” said Gus. “But what use is it going to look at a mouldering gravestone? The dead can’t speak, Ivy.”
    “That’s where you’re wrong. And don’t argue, even if you are the chair.”
    Gus sighed. “Right,” he said, “just the morning for visiting a graveyard. Sun shining, birds singing, a warm breeze. Where else would you want to go on such a day?”
    “We shall all be in there for good soon enough, so might as well get used to it,” Ivy said, and walked on steadily.
    The graveyard in Barrington was in fact a pleasant spot. Dutiful parishioners cut the grass and trimmed the roses that lined the path to the church door. The churchyard itself was full, but Ivy led Gus to an extension round the back, and stopped at an overgrown grave with moss covering the lettering.
    “That’s him,” she said. “You can just make out his name. Now, before we uncover the inscription, what do you notice, Augustus? You’re the gumshoe.”
    “The what?!” he said.
    “Isn’t that what private detectives are called in America?”
    “For God’s sake, Ivy, couldn’t you just stick to Gus and leave it at that?”
    “Right, Augustus,” she said, with an unaccustomed smile on her face. “Well, what do you make of it?”
    “Neglected, first of all. And why? Because nobody cares for it, and maybe nobody cared for its occupant. Who should have cared? Mrs. and Miss Blake, of course. Well, maybe in later life Mrs. B was too disabled, but Miriam could, or should, have tidied it up once in a while. And what about flowers at Easter and a holly wreath at Christmas? No trace of either. How am I doing, Ivy?”
    Ivy had to admit that he had done very well, and said so. “Now you have to scrape off the moss,” she said, and, brushing leaves from a nearby tomb, perched herself comfortably on it and prepared to watch Gus get down to some real work.

Ten

    AFTER GUS HAD cleared the face of the gravestone of moss and algae, he sat down next to Ivy and said, “Well, what does it say?”
    “You can read, can’t you?” said Ivy.
    “Not without my glasses,” admitted Gus. “How about you?”
    “ ‘In Loving Memory,’ ” she read, and added that this obviously didn’t mean