Explore "Murder by Matchlight" by Edith Caroline Rivett on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When he returned home that evening, Mallaig had a call from a constable who left a document demanding his presence at the Coroner’s Inquest the next day. A few minutes after he had studied this unfamiliar document a telegram arrived from Pat saying that her leave was off as she had got ’flu. Bruce began to feel unreasonably depressed. There was yet another ring at the front-door bell and his landlady, with a long-suffering expression on her face, opened the door of his room announcing “A gentleman to see you.” The visitor followed her into the room, and Bruce found himself face to face with a tall, dark fellow, lean, well-built, well-balanced: a man with dark hair brushed back hard from a good forehead, and a tanned nut-cracker type of face lighted by pleasant grey eyes.
“I’m sorry to bother you at the end of your day’s work when you’re probably looking forward to a spot of peace and comfort,” said the visitor. “My name is Macdonald. I’m a C.I.D. Inspector—”