谋杀启事56

Epilogue

“We ought to order some papers,” said Edmund to Phillipa upon the day oftheir return to Chipping Cleghorn after the honeymoon¹. “Let’s go along toTotman’s.”

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

“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 settleddown at Bournemouth?”

“She loves it,” said Edmund, who had not the faintest idea whether thiswas so or not, but like most sons, preferred to believe that all was wellwith those loved, but frequently irritating² beings, parents.

“Yes, sir. Very agreeable³ 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 amusing⁴, so they tellme.”

“Yes, it’s doing very well.”

“Called Elephants Do Forget, so I hear. You’ll excuse me, sir, asking you,but I always thought that they didn’t—forget, I mean.”

“Yes—yes, exactly—I’ve begun to think it was a mistake calling it that. Somany 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 I didn’t know.”

“About the papers—”

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

“The Daily Worker,” said Edmund firmly. “And the Daily Telegraph,” saidPhillipa. “And the New Statesman⁵,” said Edmund. “The Radio Times,” saidPhillipa. “The Spectator,” said Edmund. “The Gardener’s Chronicle,” saidPhillipa.

They both paused to take breath.

“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Totman. “And the Gazette, I suppose?”

“No,” said Edmund.

“No,” said Phillipa.

“Excuse me, you do want the Gazette?”

“No.”

“No.”

“You mean”—Mr. Totman liked to get things perfectly⁶ clear—“You don’twant the Gazette!”

“No, we don’t.”

“Certainly not.”

“You don’t want the North Benham News and the Chipping Cleghorn Gaz-ette—”

“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 backparlour.

“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 the Gazette.”

“What?”

“They don’t want the Gazette. They said so.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Totman. “You don’t hear properly. Of course theywant the Gazette! Everybody has the Gazette. How else would they knowwhat’s going on round here?”

 

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