万圣节前夜的谋杀27

Twenty-four

IMrs. Oliver had ensconced herself at a table in the window of The BlackBoy. It was still fairly early, so the dining room was not very full.

Presently, Judith Butler returned from powdering her nose and sat downopposite her and examined the menu.

“What does Miranda like?” asked Mrs. Oliver. “We might as well orderfor her as well. I suppose she’ll be back in a minute.”

“She likes roast chicken.”

“Well, that’s easy then. What about you?”

“I’ll have the same.”

“Three roast chickens,” Mrs. Oliver ordered.

She leaned back, studying her friend.

“Why are you staring at me in that way?”

“I was thinking,” said Mrs. Oliver.

“Thinking what?”

“Thinking really how very little I knew about you.”

“Well, that’s the same with everybody, isn’t it?”

“You mean, one never knows all about anyone.”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Mrs. Oliver.

Both women were silent for some time.

“They’re rather slow serving things here.”

“It’s coming now, I think,” said Mrs. Oliver.

A waitress arrived with a tray full of dishes.

“Miranda’s a long time. Does she know where the dining room is?”

“Yes, of course she does. We looked in on the way.” Judith got up impa-tiently. “I’ll have to go and fetch her.”

“I wonder if perhaps she gets car sick.”

“She used to when she was younger.”

She returned some four or five minutes later.

“She’s not in the Ladies’,” she said. “There’s a door outside it into thegarden. Perhaps she went out that way to look at a bird or something.

She’s like that.”

“No time to look at birds today,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Go and call her orsomething. We want to get on.”

 

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