Oscar Wilde And The Murders At Reading Gaol: A Mystery - Plot & Excerpts
He had been seated there for an hour – for two, perhaps. At five o’clock, with narrowed eyes – hooded but amused – he had scrutinised the passengers from the paddle steamer – the Victoria from Newhaven – as, bags and baggage in hand, porters in tow, they had trooped by on their way from the quayside into the town. He had raised his straw boater to one of them. The man he had thought he recognised had not caught his eye.Now the parade had passed and the hubbub had subsided. Apart from the retreating figure of the curé, a bustling black beetle in a biretta, the street was deserted. From the docks he could hear the faint rumble of barrow wheels on cobblestones and the occasional cry of a stevedore. Near by, beneath the stone archway alongside the café, a stray dog yapped, rolling over and over in a pile of newspapers and cabbage leaves – the detritus of market day.The man had a large, long, well-fleshed face: a prominent nose; full lips; uneven, yellow teeth; a pasty, putty-like complexion; lank, thinning, auburn hair.
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