At long last Superintendent Armitage came in. He said, “Nothing. Abso-bloody-lutely nothing. Well, I can’t keep you people here indefinitely. I suggest you all go out and get yourselves some lunch.” He sounded very tired and cross and almost human.
With considerable relief we prepared to leave the staffroom. Only Mr. Harrington announced that he felt too ill to eat anything, and that he would remain in the department. The Misses MacArthur and Aster left together. I put on my coat and took the escalator down to the ground floor, among the burdened, chattering crowd.
I was out in the brisk air of the street when I heard Armitage’s voice behind me.
“Just one moment, if you please, Mr. Borrowdale.”
I turned. “Yes, Superintendent. Can I help you?”
“You’re up at the university, aren’t you, sir? Just taken a temporary job at Barnum’s for the vacation?”
“That’s right.”
“Do quite a bit of fencing, don’t you?”
He had my cane out of my hand before I knew what was happening. The sergeant, an extraordinarily tough and unattractive character, showed surprising dexterity and speed in getting an arm grip on me. Armitage had unscrewed the top of the cane, and was whistling in a quiet, appreciative manner. “Very nice. Very nice little sword stick. Something like a stilletto. I don’t suppose Charlie felt a thing.”
“Now, look here,” I said. “You can’t make insinuations like that. Just because I’m known as a bit of dandy, and carry a sword stick, that’s no reason—”
“A dandy, eh?” said Armitage thoughtfully. He looked me up and down in a curious manner, as if he thought something was missing.
It was at that moment that Miss MacArthur suddenly appeared round the corner of the building.
“Oh, Mr. Borrowdale, look what I found! Lying down in the mews by the goods entrance! It must have fallen out of the staffroom window! Lucky I’ve got sharp eyes—it was behind a rubbish bin, I might easily have missed it!” And she handed me my bowler hat.
That is to say, she would have done if Armitage hadn’t intercepted it. It didn’t take him more than five seconds to find the packages of white powder hidden between the hard shell of the hat and the oiled-silk lining.
Armitage said, “So you were going to peddle this stuff to young men and women at the university, were you? Charming, I must say. Now you can come back to the Yard and tell us all about your employers—if you want a chance at saving your own neck, that is.”
Miss MacArthur was goggling at me. “Oh, Mr. Borrowdale!” she squeaked. “Have I gone and done something wrong?”
I never did like Miss MacArthur.
[i] Ed. note: A joyful note to anachronism—shortly after this story was written.
Table of Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
INTRODUCTION
A WINTER’S TALE – Ann Cleeves
GRIST FOR THE MILLS OF CHRISTMAS – James Powell
AS DARK AS CHRISTMAS GETS – Lawrence Block
RUMPOLE AND THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS – John Mortimer
DEAD ON CHRISTMAS STREET – John D. MacDonald
MISS CRINDLE AND FATHER CHRISTMAS – Malcolm Gray
MYSTERY FOR CHRISTMAS – Anthony Boucher
THE CASE IS ALTERED – Margery Allingham
CHRISTMAS COP – Thomas Larry Adcock
THE THEFT OF THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING – Edward D. Hoch
THE CHRISTMAS BEAR – Herbert Resnicow
THE SHAPE OF THE NIGHTMARE – Francis M. Nevins, Jr.
CHRISTMAS GIFT – Robert Turner
SANTA’S WAY – James Powell
I SAW MOMMY KILLING SANTA CLAUS – George Baxt
SUPPER WITH MISS SHIVERS – Peter Lovesey
APPALACHIAN BLACKMAIL – Jacqueline Vivelo
ON CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE MORNING – Margery Allingham
SANTA CLAUS BEAT – Rex Stout
WHITE LIKE THE SNOW – Dan Stumpf
RUMPOLE AND THE CHAMBERS PARTY – John Mortimer
THE SPY AND THE CHRISTMAS CIPHER – Edward D. Hoch
INSPECTOR TIERCE AND THE CHRISTMAS VISITS – Jeffry Scott
CHRISTMAS PARTY – Martin Werner
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
THE EMBEZZLER’S CHRISTMAS PRESENT – Ennis Duling
BELIEVING IN SANTA – Ron Goulart
PASS THE PARCEL – Peter Lovesey
THE THEFT OF SANTA’S BEARD – Edward D. Hoch
A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH – Georges Simenon
MURDER UNDER THE MISTLETOE – Margery Allingham
WHO KILLED FATHER CHRISTMAS? – Patricia Moyes
[i]