Crime at Christmas: A Seasonal Box of Murderous Delights
A collection of Christmas themed crime stories.
Glasgow tonight." Damn ridiculous! Now Bert—that's my Guard—it's different for him: he's entitled to fret a bit. Missus been very poorly. Thought she was going to peg out before Christmas; but he got the best surgeon in Glasgow to operate on her, and she's mending now, he says. He reckons to look in every night at the nursing home, when he goes off work.' Stansfield chatted with the man for five minutes. Then the Guard returned, blowing upon his hands—a smallish, leathery-faced chap, with an
crime, and so riddled with inferiority that they always give themselves away, sooner or later, by boasting about their crimes. They like to think of themselves as the wide boys, but they're as narrow as starved eels—why, they haven't even the wits to alter their professional methods: that's how the police pick 'em up.' 'I entirely agree, sir,' Mr Kilmington snapped. 'In my profession I see a good deal of the criminal classes. And I flatter myself none of them has ever got the better of me.
letters and some loose change. Stansfield started to return for help. But, only twenty yards back, he noticed another trail of footprints, leading off the main track to the left. This trail seemed a fresher one—the snow lay less thickly in the indentations—and to have been made by one pair of feet only. He followed it up, walking beside it. Whoever made this track had walked in a slight right-handed curve back to the railway line, joining it about 150 yards south of where the main trail came
visitor. You 're a convict, you 're not free and you don 't expect to be. But you have a visitor. A girl. Her name is Red. Just Red. Your girl. It's foolish of her to love you as desperately as she does. But that's how girls are. . . They sat at one of those long tables with the little fence down the middle and stared at each other hungrily. Purvis' square, brutal face was set and tight. Red's face was white and pinched with too much rouge on her cheeks to cover the pallor and too much
Quarles, in such matters the police are sometimes unhappy to close their files.' 'There was still some doubt?" 'Yes. Not very much, perhaps. But in these cases there is often a measure of doubt.' Molly Player found out nothing useful about the paper and envelopes. They were of the sort that could be bought in a thousand stores and shops in London and elsewhere. She had no more luck with the typewriter. Lord Acrise made no comment on Quarles' recital of failure. 'See you on Monday evening,