Read Online Give a Corpse a Bad Name by Elizabeth Ferrars - Free Book Online Page B

The Laurels.
    This time they did not go immediately to the front gate, but skirting along the laurel hedge, the garden’s high, dark rampart, searched for some other entrance, which, if it existed, might let them into the kitchen garden without their being forced to pass under the windows of the house.
    Luckily it was there, a narrow, wooden gate. It was high; Toby could only just see over it; also it turned out to be padlocked. But Toby could see the gardener, not twenty yards away, forking a patch of soil, his back to the gate.
    Toby called.
    He called three times before the man took any notice. Then all he did was to pause in his digging and cock his head slightly as if he thought he had heard an unaccustomed noise.
    â€˜Over here,’ called Toby.
    The man looked round then, saw him at last and came towards him. He walked with the slow steps of one who is used to a load of soil on his boots. He was a square, stolid man with a brown face and very little hair; there were deep wrinkles round his eyes and line after line of them scored across his high bald forehead. His lips had the fallen-in look of too few teeth, and indeed, as they parted, they revealed only three or four whitish spikes sticking down from his gum.
    â€˜Mornin’,’ he said, ‘’tis a fine day. Better’n yesterday. Better’n this time last year.’
    Toby addressed him in the loud voice one uses to the deaf. ‘Good morning. Do you happen to remember seeing us a short while ago with Sergeant Eggbear?’
    The man looked at him in a puzzled way. Toby repeated it in a louder voice. The man shook his head.
    â€˜â€™E don’t require to talk so loud,’ he said. ‘I ain’t deaf. I was thinkin’.’
    â€˜Sorry,’ said Toby. ‘Well, do you remember—?’
    â€˜Ah, I remembers. But ’twas my teeth I was a-thinkin’ about. There’s a hole in this one up here that hurts terrible the moment I stop workin’. ’Tis the circulation, I reckon. Minute ago I wasn’t givin’ it a thought, but then you calls me and I stops and stands up and looks around, and the old devil starts up as if he was diggin’ in my head with a red-hot pitchfork.’
    â€˜Why don’t you get it seen to?’ said Toby.
    â€˜Ah,’ said the man, ‘that’s what the lady says. Mrs Milne, her says: “Albert,” her says, “you belong to go and have it seen to, that tooth o’ yours.” “Ma’am,” I says, “when I had more teeth in my head than I have, I was always a-goin’ to the dentist. Went to him for a pastime, I did. And what did he do? Stopped up the holes in’n, and when the stoppin’ come out he stopped’n up again. Well,” I says, “I reckon that ain’t good enough. Now I keeps my teeth the way they are until I can’t stand’n no more, and then I has’n out. No, ma’am,” I says, “I don’t hold with dentists.” ’
    â€˜Well, I was just going to ask you—’
    But sticking his fork into the ground and leaning upon it, Albert went on: ‘Mrs Milne, her says: “But I’ll pay for it myself, Albert,” her says. “For the sake of your health, that’s why. And you belong to have some false teeth in, you can’t be chewin’ your food proper.” “Thankin’ you, ma’am,” I says, “but—” ’
    In a clear voice, which he had slightly raised again, Toby struck in: ‘Ever tried whisky for your toothache, Albert?’
    Staring at the two heads that looked at him over the top of the gate, Albert fell silent. He pulled his fork out of the ground, looked down for a moment at the worn prongs, then, as he thrust it into the earth once more, looked back at his questioner.
    â€˜Well,’ he said, ‘I have.’
    â€˜Ah,’ said Toby, ‘when?’
    â€˜I thought,’ said Albert,