The Man Who Was Saturday. Derek Lambert
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a shop-worn model for a cigarette advertisement.
‘True. Natural causes, accident, suicide …. We all have to go some time you know. Even you.’
‘A whole lot of people seem to have been going-some-time recently.’
‘Coincidence, my dear fellow. Would you have preferred their deaths to have been staggered tover the year?’
‘I’ll let you know,’ Langley said, ‘when van Doorn shows his face.’
Mrs Lundkvist said loudly: ‘You must pick out mushrooms with care. Never, never experiment. Peasants will tell you’ – Calder suspected that anyone outside Stockholm was a peasant – ‘that there are ways of testing fungi to see if they are edible. Take no notice, consult the experts.’ She laughed gaily. ‘In this case me.’
‘Do you really think,’ Langley went on, ‘that Bertoldi committed suicide?’
Dalby sighed. ‘How many times have we been through this? There is no evidence to the contrary. He left a note, he was seen to jump.’
‘Fall,’ Calder said.
He was keeping his eye on the Russians coming into the canteen to see if Katerina was among them. He had been to the Maly Theatre with her the previous evening and he wanted to discuss the play – and to be near her. The Russians veered away from the corner of the canteen occupied by the defectors: that was alien territory.
‘Very well, fall. That’s what happens when you jump, I believe. Do you m … mean you still have doubts?’
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