By Josephine Tey
A woman's physique is located at the English seacoast, and twisted in her hair is a piece of writing screaming homicide. For Inspector Alan furnish, the case turns into a nightmare, as too many clues and too many explanations come up.
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Additional resources for A Shilling for Candles
He edged the apparently blind Tisdall through the dawdling, chattering crowd, and pushed him into the rear seat of a dark touring car. "Westover," he said to the chauffeur, and got in beside Tisdall. As they went at snail's pace towards the high road, Grant saw Hopkins still standing where they had left him. That Jammy Hopkins should stay without moving for more than three consecutive minutes argued that he was being given furiously to think. From now on—the Inspector sighed—the camelfly would be a bloodhound.
You took the words out of my mouth," the Inspector said lightly, and silence fell between them. By the time they reached the Chief Constable's room in the County Police offices, Tisdall was looking normal if a little worn. In fact, so normal did he look that when Grant said, "This is Mr. Tisdall," the Chief Constable, who was a genial soul except when someone jumped in his pocket out hunting, almost shook hands with him, but recollected himself before any harm was done. "Howdyudo. " He cleared his throat to give himself time.
No, Tisdall. It used to be Stannaway," he added, catching the sergeant's eye and feeling apparently that explanation was needed. " "Tisdall. " "Oh, yes. " "By car, eh? " "Yes. " "I stole it. I've just brought it back. It was a swinish thing to do. I felt a cad so I came back. When I found she wasn't anywhere on the road, I thought I'd find her stamping about here. " He began to rock himself again. " asked the sergeant, in exceedingly businesslike tones. " "Oh, no. —a cottage. Briars, it's called.