Stories
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I did get up that way probably in August but I didn't go to the trouble to try and find her. Perhaps I should have. I spent my days exploring London, like Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park on Sunday, where I spent a pleasant afternoon listening to people opine on various arcane subjects while standing on boxes, to small crowds of people who sometimes answered and shouted back.
Maybe on the fourth or fifth evening in my room, I had my pipes laid out on the floor. I was a pipe smoker in those days and was collecting pipes, one from Greece, one from France and one or two I had just bought in London, plus my mainstay of the last several years. There was a knock on the door and two gentlemen were in the hall. They said they were from Scotland Yard and wanted
to talk to me and could they come in. So they came in. The lead detective and the one that did all the talking was the older of the two, maybe early fifties. He and I sat down in chairs facing each other, and the younger one about thirty, placed his chair in such a way that he sat facing me from the side, but slightly to my rear, apparently so that he could observe me closely while I was not able to easily notice the inspection.
"I am Inspector Bloomfield and this is Detective Fowler. We have come to investigate your whereabouts on the night of April ..."
He asked to see my passport. They were very polite. I told them I had gotten off the ferry about six at Dover, drove through town, found some-place to sleep and left the next morning.
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