Murder In The Smokehouse: (Auguste Didier Mystery 7) - Plot & Excerpts
It certainly did, and it was not one Auguste found digestible. He shivered, as if a Russian assassin even now stood behind the deep rose-red velvet curtains armed with Webley and poisoned samovar. He sipped his brandy and soda gratefully, as the fire glowed comfortingly in the lamplight. His brain was numb, pinioned on the concept that somewhere, somehow, sometime, a Russian was about to kill him. Tatiana’s account had brought the reality of the attack home to him. No happy fantasy of mistaken shots at rabbits could delude him now. ‘So the Tabors were protecting me, and I thought they suspected me of having designs on their teaspoons.’ He spoke as lightly as he could. ‘Not all diamonds and foie gras marrying royalty, then.’ ‘Too rich a diet for me, Egbert. Like eating Mr Breckles’ toffee pudding every day.’ Egbert grinned. ‘Not to be compared with your bavarois de framboises, but naturally, when in Yorkshire, eh?’ ‘You are a true friend, Egbert.’ ‘Policeman too.’ His meaning was lost on Auguste as his eyes gently began to close .
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