Read Online The Moving Toyshop by Edmund Crispin - Free Book Online Page A

hook-nosed person, on being nudged by the barman, stopped talking about horses.
    Only Fen was unmoved. “Are you a member of this University?” he shouted cheerfully to the proctor. “Hey, Whiskers! Are you a member of this University?”
    The proctor started. He was (as dons go) a youngish man who had grown a pair of large cavalry moustaches during the Great War, and had never had the heart to cut them off. He gazed glassily about the room, carefully avoiding Fen’s eye, and then went out.
    “Oooh!” said Miriam, expelling a long sigh of relief.
    “He didn’t recognize you, did he?” said Mr. Hoskins. “Here, have another chocolate.”
    “You see?” said the red-haired youth indignantly. “Even the capitalist universities are run on a terror basis.” With a trembling hand, he lifted his half-pint of ale.
    “Well, let’s get on with the game,” said Fen. “Ready, steady, go.”
    “Those awful gabblers, Beatrice and Benedick.”
    “Yes. Lady Chatterley and that gamekeeper fellow.”
    “Yes. Britomart in The Faery Queen.”
    “Yes. Almost everyone in Dostoevsky.”
    “Yes. Er—er—”
    “Got you!” said Fen triumphantly. “You miss your turn. Those vulgar little man-hunting minxes in Pride and Prejudice.”
    At this exultant shout the muffled, rabbity man at the nearby table frowned, got unsteadily to his feet, and came over to them.
    “Sir,” he said, interrupting Cadogan’s offering of Richard Feverel, “surely I did not hear you speaking disrespectfully of the immortal Jane?”
    “The Leech-Gatherer,” said Fen, making a feeble attempt to carry on. Then he abandoned it and addressed the newcomer. “Look here, my dear fellow, you’re a bit under the weather, aren’t you?”
    “I am perfectly sober, thank you. Thank you very much.” The rabbity man fetched his drink, drew up his chair, and settled down beside them. He raised one hand and closed his eyes as though in pain. “Do not, I beg of you, speak disrespectfully of Miss Austen. I have read all of her novels many, many times. Their gentleness, their breath of a superior and beautiful culture, their acute psychological insight—” He paused, speechless, and emptied his glass at a gulp.
    He had a weak, thin face, with rodent teeth, red-rimmed eyes, pale, straggling eyebrows, and a low forehead. Despite the warmth of the morning, he was dressed in the most extraordinary fashion, with fur gloves, two scarves, and (apparently) several overcoats.
    Sensing Cadogan’s startled inventory: “I am very sensitive to cold, sir,” said the rabbity man with an attempt at dignity, “And the autumn chill—” He paused, groped for a handkerchief and blew his nose with a trumpeting noise. “I hope—I hope that you do not object, gentlemen, to my joining you?”
    “Yes, we do,” said Fen, irritated.
    “Don’t be unkind, I beg of you,” said the rabbity man beseechingly. “This morning I am so very, very happy. Allow me to give you a drink. I have plenty of money… Waiter?” The waiter appeared at their table. “Two large whiskies and a pint of bitter.”
    “Look here, Gervase, I really ought to be going,” Cadogan put in uneasily.
    “Don’t go, sir. Stay and rejoice with me.” There was no doubt that the rabbity man was very drunk indeed. He leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “This morning I got rid of my boys.”
    “Ah,” said Fen without amusement “And what did you do with the little bodies?”
    The rabbity man giggled “Ah! you’re trying to catch me out. My schoolboys, I mean. I am—I was a schoolmaster. A poor birchman. The specific gravity of mercury is 13.6,” he chanted. “Cæsar galliam in tres partes divisit.  The past participle of mourir is mort.”
    Fen gazed at him with distaste. The waiter brought their drinks and the rabbity man paid for them out of a rather grubby wallet, adding a huge tip.
    “Your health, gentlemen,” he said, raising his glass. Then he paused. “But I