Read Online The Death Collector by Justin Richards - Free Book Online

imagine he will put it off for as long as he can,’ Sir William said. He seemed loathe to be more specific about the work until Mansfield had officially spoken to George.
    When Sir William mentioned that he was in the process of examining Glick’s diaries and researching the man’s life and career, George was minded to describe his trip to see Lorimore. But he had not mentioned the surviving scrap of paper before, and he felt embarrassed at having to admit to its theft. Besides, he thought, the trip to meet Lorimore had been unrewarding at just about every level. So he said nothing.
    Presently, Sir William bid George farewell and assured him he would once again press Mansfield to discuss George’s career with him. George workedsolidly through the rest of the day, wondering again what working for Sir William would be like and what it would entail. The combination of work and thought meant that the day passed quickly.
    There was a tea room on the Charing Cross Road that George knew. He sometimes went there for a break from work. He had suggested to Miss Oldfield that they meet at three, since the tea rooms were invariably over-subscribed for lunch.
    In his letter to Miss Oldfield, George had described where he would be sitting and how he would be dressed. He managed to get the table he wanted, and kept his eye on the door as he sipped at a cup of Earl Grey. There was no shortage of ladies of a certain age in the tea room, but none of them, mercifully, seemed especially interested in George.
    Imagining that punctuality might be a particular trait of the lady whose handwriting was so perfectly formed and whose vocabulary was so correct, George kept careful watch as the clock on the wall reached three. He allowed himself a small smile as the door opened to let in the sound of a distant church clock chiming the hour, and a woman with steel grey hair scraped back from her face. She looked round the tea rooms with small dark eyes. Her nose was a hooked beak jutting out from a severe expression. George was tempted to duck under the table, and hope she decided he had not come and move on.
    But incredibly, when she looked at him across the room, her eyes showed no recognition or interest, and she passed quickly on to an empty table nearby.
    Relieved, George reached to pour himself more tea.
    â€˜Excuse me, but may I?’
    There was someone standing on the other side of the table. A young woman was gesturing to the chair opposite. The light of the window was behind her, so George had to squint to try to make out her features.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ he said as her face dipped into view. ‘I’m waiting for someone.’ She had startlingly green eyes, he could now see. The ends of them curled slightly upwards, like a cat’s.
    â€˜Yes,’ she said. ‘I know.’ She pulled out the chair and sat down.
    Taken by surprise, George started to rise politely. He was not sure quite what to say, and anyway she was already telling the uniformed waitress she would have a pot of tea.
    â€˜Well, it seems very nice here,’ the young woman commented. ‘Oh, and before I forget,’ she went on, apparently oblivious to George’s discomfort and reaching into a small handbag, ‘here you are.’
    George’s mouth dropped open and the world round him seemed to take a tea break of its own. The young woman opposite was holding out a wallet – his wallet.
    â€˜You are George Archer, aren’t you?’ she said when he made no move to take it. She started to put the walletaway again. ‘Oh dear, I must have made the most embarrassing mistake, please forgive me.’
    â€˜No, no,’ George protested, finding his voice at last. ‘I am indeed George Archer and that is my wallet, and I’m extremely grateful for its return.’ He took the wallet and opened it, keen to check that the diary fragment was still inside. ‘Thank you, Miss Oldfield.’
    â€˜You are