Chapter 1

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_Title:_ Mystery Mile
_Date of first publication:_ 1930
_Author:_ Margery Allingham (1904-1966)
_Date first posted:_ Jan. 20, 2019
_Date last updated:_ Jan. 20, 2019
Faded Page eBook #20190166

This ebook was produced by: Al Haines, Jen Haines & the online
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[Cover Illustration]

Margery Allingham
Mystery Mile
William Heinemann Ltd

To P.Y.C and A.J.G.
Partners in Crime

Contents

1 Among Those Present 11
2 The Simister Legend 23
3 Mystery Mile 31
4 The Lord of the Manor 40
5 The Seven Whistlers 46
6 The Man in Dress Clothes 49
7 By the Light of the Hurricane 56
8 The Envelope 64
9 ‘In Event of Trouble. . .’ 71
10 The Insanity of Swithin Cush 77
11 The Maze 82
12 The Dead End 89
13 The Blue Suitcase 95
14 Campion to Move 104
15 The Exuberance of Mr Kettle 113
16 The Wheels Go Round 119
17 ‘Gent on a Bike’ 125
18 The Unspeakable Thos 131
19 The Tradesmen’s Entrance 138
20 The Profession 146
21 Mr Campion’s Nerve 152
22 The Rough-House 158
23 And How! 164
24 ‘Once More Into the Breach, Dear Friends’ 175
25 The Bait 182
26 One End of the String 191
27 Late Night Finale 201
28 Moral 215

[Illustration: A MAP OF MYSTERY MILE]

1 Among Those Present

‘I’ll bet you fifty dollars, even money,’ said the American who was
sitting nearest the door in the opulent lounge of the homeward-bound
_Elephantine_, ‘that that man over there is murdered within a
fortnight.’

The Englishman at his side glanced across the sea of chairs at the
handsome old man they had been watching. ‘Ten pounds,’ he said. ‘All
right, I’ll take you. You’ve no idea what a safe little place England
is.’

A slow smile spread over the American’s face. ‘You’ve got no idea what a
dangerous old fellow Crowdy Lobbett is,’ he said. ‘If your police are
going to look after him they’ll have to keep him in a steel bandbox, and
I don’t envy them that job. It’s almost a pity to take your money,
though I’m giving you better odds than any Insurance Corporation in the
States would offer.’

‘The whole thing sounds fantastic to me,’ said the Englishman. ‘But I’ll
meet you at Verrey’s a fortnight today and we’ll make a night of it.
That suit you?’

‘The twenty-second,’ said the American, making a note of it in his book.
‘Seems kind of heathen celebrating over the old man’s corpse. He’s a
great old boy.’

‘Drinking his health, you mean,’ said the Englishman confidently.
‘Scotland Yard is very spry these days. That reminds me,’ he added
cheerfully, ‘I must take you to one of our night clubs.’

On the other side of the ship’s lounge the loquacious Turk who had made
himself such a nuisance to his fellow passengers since they put out from
New York was chattering to his latest victim.

‘Very courageous of him to come down for the concert,’ he was saying.
‘He’s a marked man, you know. I don’t think there’s any doubt about
that. Four murders in his household within the past month and each time
his escape was a miracle.’

His victim, a pale young man who seemed to be trying to hide behind his
enormous spectacles, woke out of the reverie into which he had fallen
ever since the talkative Oriental had first tackled him and surveyed his
persecutor owlishly. ‘Not that nice old gentleman over there?’ he said.
‘The one with the white hair? Four murders in his house within a month?
That ought to be stopped. He’s been told about it, I suppose?’

Since this was the first remark with which the young man had favoured
him, the bore jumped to the conclusion that he had inadvertently
stumbled on a mental case. It was inconceivable to him that anyone
should not have heard of the now famous Misfire Murders, as the Press
had starred them, which had filled the New York papers for the past four
weeks. The young man spoke.

‘Who is the stormy old petrel?’ he said.

His companion looked at him with some of the delight which a born gossip
always feels upon finding an uninformed listener. His heavy red face
became animated and he cocked his curious pear-shaped head, which alone
betrayed his nationality, alertly on one side.

‘That fine old man, typical of the best type of hard-bitten New
Englander,’ he began in a rhetorical whisper, ‘is none other than Judge
Crowdy Lobbett. He has been the intended victim of an extraordinary
series of crimes. I can’t understand how you’ve missed reading about it
all.’

‘Oh, I’ve been away in Nebraska for my health,’ said the young man.
‘He-man stuff, you know,’ he added in his slightly falsetto voice.

He spoke with the utmost gravity, and the old man nodded unsuspectingly
and continued.

‘First his secretary, seated in his master’s chair, was shot,’ he said
slowly. ‘Then his butler, who was apparently after his master’s Scotch,
got poisoned. Then his chauffeur met with a very mysterious accident,
and finally a man walking with him down the street got a coping stone on
his head.’ He sat back and regarded his companion almost triumphantly.
‘What do you say to that?’ he demanded.