Читать книгу Some Do Not... онлайн
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Tietjens said:
'I shall be fit to talk about Sylvia after two more whiskies...Let's settle your other perturbations first...The fair girl is called Wannop: Valentine Wannop.'
'That's the Professor's name,' Macmaster said.
'She's the late Professor Wannop's daughter,' Tietjens said. 'She's also the daughter of the novelist.'
Macmaster interjected:
'But...'
'She supported herself for a year after the Professor's death as a domestic servant,' Tietjens said. 'Now she's housemaid for her mother, the novelist, in an inexpensive cottage. I should imagine the two experiences would make her desire to better the lot of her sex.'
Macmaster again interjected a 'But...'
'I got that information from the policeman whilst I was putting his wife's canary's leg in splints.'
Macmaster said:
'The policeman you knocked down?' His eyes expressed unreasoning surprise. He added: 'He knew Miss...eh...Wannop then!'
'You would not expect much intelligence from the police of Sussex,' Tietjens said. 'But you would be wrong. P.C. Finn is clever enough to recognise the young lady who for several years past has managed the constabulary's wives' and children's annual tea and sports. He says Miss Wannop holds the quarter-mile, half-mile, high jump, long jump and putting the weight records for East Sussex. That explains how she went over that dyke in such tidy style...And precious glad the good, simple man was when I told him he was to leave the girl alone. He didn't know, he said, how he'd ever a had the face to serve the warrant on Miss Wannop. The other girl--the one that squeaked--is a stranger, a Londoner probably.'