The Lodger by Mary Jane Staples Read Free Book Online

Chapman.
    â€˜She’s a lady, Frank, not a superior sort.’
    â€˜Got a red herring here. That’s my opinion.’
    â€˜It’s a question, you muttonhead, of not taking chances,’ said Nicholas.
    â€˜If you say so.’
    â€˜Let’s get to the station,’ said Nicholas. They had work to do, studying afternoon reports brought in by the uniformed men. And they would have to follow up any leads. Nicholas also had to persuade Detective-Inspector Greaves to let him concentrate on Walworth. He had a feeling about Walworth, but a feeling wasn’t something that always satisfied the Inspector. A feeling had nothing to do with method or professionalism.
    Mrs Carter. A suffragette? Nicholas showed a little grin as he made for Rodney Road in company with the laconic Chapman. Not every suffragette looked as quiet and as peaceful as Mrs Carter.
    He wondered if Inspector Greaves had yet discovered the identity of the victim. At the station, there was no message to that effect, only some half-leads contained in reports handed in by constables on the house-to-house routine.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Constable Harry Bradshaw came off duty at six o’clock. He’d had a long day, since seven in the morning, and he’d just been told to report in tomorrow, Sunday. Well, the overtime pay would be welcome, even if he did feel a day off wouldn’t have come amiss.
    He walked to the East Street market, which was always open well into the evening on Saturdays. He made his way to a greengrocery stall, one run by Ma Earnshaw, who prided herself on the superior quality of her fruit and vegetables.
    â€˜Watcher, Ma,’ he said, ‘pound of Granny Smiths.’
    â€˜Well, if it ain’t the arm of the law,’ said Ma. ‘Sorry about yer dear old mum, ’Arry, but I ’eard yer give ’er a fine funeral, includin’ six black ’orses.’
    â€˜She wanted to go in style,’ said Harry. His mother hadn’t accepted ten years of widowhood at all well, especially as it had seen the departure of her two daughters and her eldest son in marriage. Harry looked at one time as if he might follow them. The prospect of being alone kept making her fall ill, which in turn made Harry postpone his proposal to a certain young lady. The young lady gave him up in the end, which Mrs Bradshaw thought a blessing. It was only right that one of her children should stay home to look after her. But in the end she grumbled herself into a decline and took to her bed. She did not last long after that. Harry felt guilty at her funeral, and it was a week before he realized he was free. ‘On second thoughts, Ma, make that two pounds of Granny Smiths, there’s a good old girl.’
    â€˜â€™Ere, I ain’t old yet,’ said Ma Earnshaw, just past forty and running to overflowing plumpness. ‘Nor ain’t I ’ad the pleasure of servin’ you recent.’
    â€˜Well, treat me proud,’ said Harry, ‘and I’ll come round more often.’ Ma Earnshaw weighed and bagged the polished green apples. ‘Now five pounds of your best cookers,’ said Harry. A couple of young market scroungers appeared as if by magic out of the crowd. Shabby, with patched shorts, darned jerseys, and socks down to their ankles, they were typical of their kind. They conducted their activities at elusive speed, darting under a fruit stall to grab rejects dropped into a crate and scarpering off before the stallholder had even noticed them. These two materialized with their eyes already sizing up Ma Earnshaw’s involvement with her customer. Then they saw the customer’s bluebottle uniform. They disappeared into nowhere in a split second. Harry grinned.
    â€˜Got a shoppin’ bag for the cookers?’ asked Ma.
    â€˜Got a box?’ countered Harry. He bent down and pulled an empty wooden crate out from under the stall. ‘Good on yer, Ma, this’ll do.’
    â€˜You