Read Online In the Teeth of the Evidence by Dorothy L. Sayers - Free Book Online Page B

‘No, thanks, quite all right.’ Mr Pringle seemed to have buried his head in the blankets again.
        ‘Good-night, then,’ said Monty.
        ‘G’night.’
        Mr Egg slipped back to his own room. The snores in No. 8 were increasing in vehemence, and, as he shut and relocked his door, ended suddenly in a ferocious snort. All was quiet. Monty wondered what time it was, but while he was feeling in his coat-pocket for his matches, a clock began to strike with a sweet, vibrating, mellow tone that seemed to come from a considerable distance. He counted twelve strokes. It was earlier than he thought. Being tired, he had gone up to bed at half-past ten and had heard Waters pass his door only a few minutes after. There was now no sound of movement in the hotel. In the main street below, a car passed. The snoring in No. 8 began again.
        Mr Egg returned to his uncomfortable mattress and once more disposed his plump body to slumber. He hated being roused from his first, deep, delicious unconsciousness. Confound Waters! Drowsily counting the snores, be began to doze.
        Click! a door in the passage had opened. Then came stealthy footsteps, interrupted by a creak and a stumble. Somebody had tripped up the two badly-lighted steps on the way to the landing. Listening to the steady rumbling of Waters, Monty decided, with a certain grim satisfaction, that the mackerel and pork had finally proved too much for Mr Pringle.
        Then, quite suddenly, he fell fast asleep.
        At six o’clock, he was awakened again by a clatter in the corridor and a banging on the door of No. 8. Waters, confound him, catching an early train. The chambermaid was giggling next door. One of the boys, was old Waters, but Mr Egg wished he would keep his gallantries for a more appropriate time of day. Stump, stump past the door; creak, trip, curse – Waters falling up the two steps on his way to the bathroom. Blessed interval of peace. Trip, creak, curse, stump, stump, crash – Waters returning from his bath and banging his bedroom door. Bang, rustle, thump – Waters dressing and strapping his bags. Stump, stump, creak, trip, curse – thank heaven! that was the last of Waters.
        Monty stretched out his hand for his watch, whose face was now dimly visible in the morning light that filtered through the dingy curtains. Two minutes to seven – a good half-hour before he need get up. Presently, the four quarters and the hour from the town clock, and, closely following them, the sweet, vibrating musical tones of a clock in the distance. Then silence, punctuated only by the far-away comings and goings of the hotel staff. Mr Egg dropped off again.
        At twenty minutes past seven the corridor rang with piercing and reiterated screams.
        Monty leapt up. This time, something really was the matter. He ran to the door, dragging on his dressing-gown as he went. Three or four people came hurrying down the steps from the landing.
        The chambermaid stood at the door of No. 10. She had dropped the can she was carrying, and a stream of water was soaking over the carpet. Her face was green, her soiled cap was thrust awry, and she was shrieking with the shrill, automatic regularity of violent hysteria.
        Inside, on the bed, sprawled the gross body of Mr Pringle. His face was swollen, and there were ugly purple marks on his thick neck. Blood had run from his nose and mouth and stained the pillows. His clothes were huddled on a chair, his suit-case stood open on the floor, his false teeth grinned from the tooth-glass on the wash-stand, but his traveller’s bag with its samples of jewellery was nowhere to be seen. Mr Pringle lay robbed and murdered.
        With a dreadful feeling of reproach, Mr Egg realised that he must actually have heard the murder committed – actually spoken with the murderer. He explained all this to Inspector Monk.
        ‘I couldn’t say whether the voice sounded like his. I had scarcely spoken to him. He