A Shilling for Candles by Josephine Tey

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By Josephine Tey

A woman's physique is located at the English seacoast, and twisted in her hair is a piece of writing screaming homicide. For Inspector Alan provide, the case turns into a nightmare, as too many clues and too many reasons come up.

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He paused, his ear caught by what Potticary was saying. "—a girl. Well, a woman. ) "Just south of the Gap. 'Bout a hundred yards. No, no one there. I had to come away to telephone. But I'm going back right away. Yes, I'll meet you there. Oh, hullo, Sergeant, is that you? Yes, not the best beginning of a day, but we're getting used to it. Oh, no, just a bathing fatality. Ambulance? Oh, yes, you can bring it practically to the Gap. The track goes off the main Westover road just past the third milestone, and finishes in those trees just inland from the Gap.

The evidence was of the most formal kind the finding and identification of the body—and as soon as that had been offered the coroner brought the proceedings to an end, and fixed no date for resumption. Hopkins had decided that, the Clay death being apparently no accident, and Scotland Yard not being able so far to make any arrest, the person to cultivate was undoubtedly the man in the flannel bags. Tisdall, his name was. Bart said that every newspaper man in England had tried to interview him the previous day (Hopkins being then en route from the poker murder) but that he had been exceptionally tough.

At least, I hope it's his speed. " This last referred to Tisdall. " While Grant was administering the brandy, she said: "Have you been giving him the third degree, or something? " "Erica. " "Well, what did he faint for? " "I don't know," Grant said, before he thought. " She was considering the now spluttering Tisdall. " This with the same grave detachment as she used to everything she did. " "I don't. Not the way you mean. Anyhow, he isn't at all my type. But it's quite right to judge on looks if you know enough.

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