“Jane Goode was incredulous. “I don't believe it!” Powell drained his pint with a gulp. “Well, somebody's left hand was found packed in salt at the Old Fish Cellar, and I'm willing to bet my pension that it belongs to your Riddle. And furthermore, I'll wager you a drink that Tebble's woodpile glows in the dark.” She smiled wanly. “I never gamble. But I wonder what it all means?” “It explains why the body was so well preserved, for one thing. I can hardly wait to tell Sir Reggie about this: it'll... make his day. And while we're on the subject of preservatives, I need another pint. More wine?” She nodded. Tony Rowlands was nowhere in evidence that evening, but Powell managed to attract the barmaid's attention. Jenny Thompson's face was pale as she delivered the drinks. “I still can't get over Nick Tebble,” she volunteered. “It's just awful.” “Very sad.” Powell agreed. “Is Tony around?” Casual, like. She shook her head irritably. “He was in earlier. It's getting busy—I could use a hand.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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