CHAPTER 9
A car dropped them at the end of Shadwick Lane, which had already settled down to normality and had grown accustomed to the notoriety which the murder had brought to it.
There was a constable on duty on the wharf, but he was inside the gate. Mr Reeder opened the wicket and Clive Desboyne stepped in. He looked round the littered yard with disgust visible on his face.
“How terribly sordid!” he said. “I am not too fastidious, but I can’t imagine anything more grim and miserable than this.”
“It was grimmer for the—um—gentleman who was killed,” said Mr Reeder.
He went into the house ahead of his companion, pointed out the room where the murder was committed, “as I feel perfectly sure,” he added; and then led the way up the narrow stairs into what had been Captain Attymar’s sittin
