"That’s what first brought Mrs Bullfinch and me to gether. I gave them to her when I’d finished them. And I must say you can’t find two stories that are alike. There’s always a difference when you compare them.”
Mrs Forrester rose to her feet. “Now I see what a gulf se parates us3," she said and her voice shook a little. “You’ve been surrounded for thirty years with all that was best in English literature and all this time you’ve been reading de tective novels! I came here willing to come to a reasonable agreement and take you back home. Now I wish it no longer.” “Very well, my dear,’’ said Albert. “But you think over the detective story."
Mrs Forrester walked downstairs, and when Mrs Bull finch opened the door and asked if she would like to hire a taxi, she shook her head. “I shall take the tram.”
“You needn’t be afraid4 that I won’t look after Mr For rester properly, ma’am," said Mrs Bullfinch, seeing Mrs Forrester to the tram stop. “I know how to run a house and I’m not a bad cook, as you know. And of course, he’ll have' a hobby. He’s going to collect postage stamps.” Mrs Forre ster was about to say something, but just then a tram pulled up at the stop and she got in.
Wondering what time it was, she looked up at the man sitting opposite her to see whether he was the kind of person she could ask and suddenly started; as sitting there was a respectable-looking gentleman5 wearing a gold watch chain. It was the very man® Albert had described lying dead in Hyde Park. He asked the conductor to stop and she saw him go down a small, dark street. Why? Ah, why? At Hyde Park Corner she suddenly made up her mind to get out. She could not sit still any longer. She felt she must walk. As she passed the Achilles Statue she stopped for a minute and looked at it. Her heart was beating fast. After all Edgar Allan Poe had written detective stories ...
When she reached her flat at last and opened the door, she saw several hats in the hall. They were all there. She went into the drawing-room.
“Oh, you poor things, I’ve kept you waiting so long!" she cried out. “Have you had no tea?”
"Well," they said. “Well? Did you manage to get hold of him?"
“My dears, I’ve got something quite wonderful to tell you, I’m going to write a detective story."
They looked at her with open mouths.