CHAPTER 34Mrs. Larkin was singing in a loud cracked voice:
“If I was on a desert island,
I’d—love—you.”
The tune was a catchy one. Under her erratic guidance it wandered from key to key, but retained a strident quality. She was engaged in hanging out a few kitchen cloths and dusters. Even with a clothes-peg in her mouth the horrid sounds continued.
Inspector Abbott, lifting the latch of the garden gate, surveyed the scene. It was not his first visit, but he now looked upon a good many details with fresh interest. Mrs. Larkin had gone in, and could be heard proclaiming shrilly:
“Up in an aereoplane
I’d—love—you.”
He therefore had ample opportunity of looking about him.
The two cottages were no more than twenty yards apart. Each had a small square garden in front, a narrow strip at t
