Читать книгу Murder Must Advertise. A Detective Story онлайн

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“Oh? Oh, thanks awfully for telling me.”

“This place is run like a Government office,” went on Ingleby. “Hustle's not wanted and initiative and curiosity are politely shown the door.”

“That's right,” put in a pugnacious-looking red-headed man, who was scrubbing his fingers with pumice-stone as though he meant to take the skin off. “I asked them for £50 for a new lens—and what was the answer? Economy, please, in all departments—the Whitehall touch, eh?—and yet they pay you fellows to write more-you-spend-more-you-save copy! However, I shan't be here long, that's one comfort.”

“This is Mr. Prout, our photographer,” said Ingleby. “He has been on the point of leaving us for the last five years, but when it comes to the point he realizes that we couldn't do without him and yields to our tears and entreaties.”

“Tcha!” said Mr. Prout.

“The management think Mr. Prout so precious,” went on Ingleby, “that they have set his feet in a large room—”

“That you couldn't swing a kitten in,” said Mr. Prout, “and no ventilation. Murder, that's what they do here. Black holes of Calcutta and staircases that break people's heads open. What we want in this country is a Mussolini to organize trade conditions. But what's the good of talking? All the same, one of these days, you'll see.”