A Murder Is Announced - Christie Agatha (книги онлайн полные .TXT) 📗

‘We ought to order some papers,’ said Edmund to Phillipa upon the day of their return to Chipping Cleghorn after the honeymoon. ‘Let’s go along to Totman’s.’

Mr Totman, a heavy-breathing, slow-moving man, received them with affability.

‘Glad to see you back, sir.And madam.’

‘We want to order some papers.’

‘Certainly sir. And your mother is keeping well, I hope? Quite settled down at Bournemouth?’

‘She loves it,’ said Edmund, who had not the faintest idea whether this was so or not, but like most sons, preferred to believe that all was well with those loved, but frequently irritating beings, parents.

‘Yes, sir. Very agreeable place. Went there for my holiday last year. Mrs Totman enjoyed it very much.’

‘I’m glad. About papers, we’d like-’ 

‘And I hear you have a play on in London, sir. Very amusing, so they tell me.’

‘Yes, it’s doing very well.’

‘CalledElephants Do Forget, soI hear. You’ll excuse me, sir, asking you, but I always thought that theydidn’t -forget, I mean.’

‘Yes-yes, exactly-I’ve begun to think it was a mistake calling it that. So many people have said just what you say.’

‘A kind of natural-history fact, I’ve always understood.’

‘Yes-yes. Like earwigs making good mothers.’

‘Do they indeed, sir? Now, that’s a fact Ididn’t know.’

‘About the papers-’

‘The Times, sir, I think it was?’ Mr Totman paused with pencil uplifted.

‘TheDaily Worker,’ said Edmund firmly. ‘And theDaily Telegraph,’ said Phillipa. ‘And theNew Statesman,’ said Edmund. ‘TheRadio Times,’ said Phillipa. ‘TheSpectator,’ said Edmund. ‘TheGardener’s Chronicle,’ said Phillipa.

They both paused to take breath.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mr Totman. ‘AndtheGazette, I suppose?’

‘No,’ said Edmund.

‘No,’ said Phillipa. 

‘Excuse me, youdo want theGazette?’

‘No.’

‘No.’

‘You mean’-Mr Totman liked to get things perfectly clear-‘Youdon’t want theGazette!’

‘No, we don’t.’

‘Certainly not.’

‘You don’t want theNorth Benham News and the Chipping Cleghorn Gazette -’

‘No.’

‘You don’t want me to send it along to you every week?’

‘No.’ Edmund added: ‘Is that quite clear now?’

‘Oh, yes, sir-yes.’

Edmund and Phillipa went out, and Mr Totman padded into his back parlour.

‘Got a pencil, Mother?’ he said. ‘My pen’s run out.’

‘Here you are,’ said Mrs Totman, seizing the order book. ‘I’ll do it. What do they want?’

‘Daily Worker, Daily Telegraph, Radio Times, New Statesman, Spectator-let me see-;Gardener’s Chronicle.’

‘Gardener’s Chronicle,’ repeated Mrs Totman, writing busily. ‘And theGazette.’

‘They don’t want theGazette.’

‘What?’

‘They don’t want theGazette. They said so.’ 

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Totman. ‘You don’t hear properly. Of course they want theGazette! Everybody has theGazette. How else would they know what’s going on round here?’