Read Trial and Error for Free Online

a promising writer of anonymous letters, but the malice of the lady whom the victim roundly named as their author was directed against one person alone, and the final proof rested in the office of the king’s proctor, who seemed wishful to shield her; so on the whole Mr Todhunter thought he had better not oblige.
    By the end of a month Mr Todhunter was becoming so worried that several times he quite forgot to take his digestive tablets after a meal. Here he was, all ready to commit murder, and there was simply no response to his unspoken appeal. And time was getting on. Soon he would be so busy expecting to die at any moment that he would simply have no time to spare for murdering. It was most disturbing.
    In this dilemma Mr Todhunter at last decided, having thought it over for several hours, to invite Mr Chitterwick round for an evening’s conversation and quietly pump him.
    4
    â€œEven in July,” remarked Mr Todhunter affably, ‘it’s sometimes nice to see a fire.”
    â€œOh, certainly,” agreed Mr Chitterwick, stretching out his plump little legs to the blaze. “The evenings are really quite chilly.”
    Mr Todhunter prepared to be cunning.
    â€œI thought that was a highly interesting discussion we had at dinner last month,” he said in a careless voice.
    â€œOh yes, extremely. About the pollination of fruit trees, you mean?”
    Mr Todhunter frowned. “No after that. About murder.”
    â€œOh, I see. Yes, of course. Yes.”
    â€œYou belong to a Crime Circle, don’t you?”
    â€œYes, I do. We have some quite distinguished members,” said Mr Chitterwick with pride. “Our president’s Roger Sheringham, you know.”
    â€œOh yes. Now I expect,” said Mr Todhunter still more carelessly, “that in the course of your discussions you hear of a good many people who ought to be murdered?”
    â€œOught to be murdered?”
    â€œYes, you remember we were discussing last month people who ought to be murdered. I expect you come across a good many?”
    â€œNo,” said Mr Chitterwick in a puzzled voice. “I don’t think we do, really.”
    â€œBut you’re aware of several blackmailers, no doubt?”
    â€œNo, I can’t say that we are.”
    â€œNot even any dope kings or white slavers?” asked Mr Todhunter a little wildly.
    â€œOh no, nothing like that. We only discuss murder, you know.”
    â€œYou mean; murders that have been committed already?”
    â€œYes, of course.” Mr Chitterwick looked surprised.
    â€œI see,” mumbled Mr Todhunter, much disappointed. He looked gloomily at the fire.
    Mr Chitterwick shifted in his chair. He had disappointed his host, though he could not quite understand how, and that made him feel remorseful.
    Mr Todhunter was brooding gloomily on Hitler once more, as the only man whom he knew really to deserve being murdered. Or Mussolini, of course. Those Abyssinians . . . the Jews . . . yes, it would be a great gesture. Someone might even put a statue up to him after he was dead. That would be nice. But his death would probably come from being trampled under the heavy boots of infuriated Nazis, like that assassin at Marseilles. No, that would not be so nice.
    He turned back to his guest.
    â€œDon’t you know a single person who ought to be murdered?” asked Mr Todhunter with disapproval.
    â€œWell—er—no,” Mr Chitterwick had to apologise. “I’m afraid I don’t.” He wondered why his host should appear to set so much store by his acquaintance with potential murderees but hardly liked to ask.
    Mr Todhunter frowned at him. He felt that Mr Chitterwick had accepted his invitation on false pretences.
    He felt, too, that he might just as well give the whole idea up, now as later. Mr Todhunter was not prepared to advertise his services in the daily press as a benevolent murderer to those in need, and short of some such