"Men don't go up into the roofs
of their bungalows to die, and they don't fasten up the ceiling-cloth
behind 'em.
of their bungalows to die, and they don't fasten up the ceiling-cloth
behind 'em.
Kipling - Poems
I was sufficiently
sick to make no remarks worth recording.
Strickland meditated and helped himself to drinks liberally. The thing
under the cloth made no more signs of life.
"Is it Imray? " I said.
Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment and looked. "It is Imray,"
he said, "and his throat is cut from ear to ear. "
Then we spoke both together and to ourselves:
"That's why he whispered about the house. "
Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furiously. A little later her
great nose heaved upon the dining-room door.
She sniffed and was still. The broken and tattered ceiling-cloth hung
down almost to the level of the table, and there was hardly room to move
away from the discovery.
Then Tietjens came in and sat down, her teeth bared and her forepaws
planted. She looked at Strickland.
"It's bad business, old lady," said he.
"Men don't go up into the roofs
of their bungalows to die, and they don't fasten up the ceiling-cloth
behind 'em. Let's think it out. "
"Let's think it out somewhere else," I said.
"Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll get into my room. "
I did not turn the lamps out. I went into Strickland's room first and
allowed him to make the darkness. Then he followed me, and we lighted
tobacco and thought. Strickland did the thinking. I smoked furiously
because I was afraid.
"Imray is back," said Strickland. "The question is, who killed Imray?
Don't talk--I have a notion of my own. When I took this bungalow I took
most of Imray's servants. Imray was guileless and inoffensive, wasn't
he?
sick to make no remarks worth recording.
Strickland meditated and helped himself to drinks liberally. The thing
under the cloth made no more signs of life.
"Is it Imray? " I said.
Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment and looked. "It is Imray,"
he said, "and his throat is cut from ear to ear. "
Then we spoke both together and to ourselves:
"That's why he whispered about the house. "
Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furiously. A little later her
great nose heaved upon the dining-room door.
She sniffed and was still. The broken and tattered ceiling-cloth hung
down almost to the level of the table, and there was hardly room to move
away from the discovery.
Then Tietjens came in and sat down, her teeth bared and her forepaws
planted. She looked at Strickland.
"It's bad business, old lady," said he.
"Men don't go up into the roofs
of their bungalows to die, and they don't fasten up the ceiling-cloth
behind 'em. Let's think it out. "
"Let's think it out somewhere else," I said.
"Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll get into my room. "
I did not turn the lamps out. I went into Strickland's room first and
allowed him to make the darkness. Then he followed me, and we lighted
tobacco and thought. Strickland did the thinking. I smoked furiously
because I was afraid.
"Imray is back," said Strickland. "The question is, who killed Imray?
Don't talk--I have a notion of my own. When I took this bungalow I took
most of Imray's servants. Imray was guileless and inoffensive, wasn't
he?
