Hewson knew that only too well. But he smiled, not wanting to show his feelings. He remembered his wife and family. He must work hard because of them. They had not got much money left, this month. He must not lose this lucky opening. That newspaper was going to pay him well for this story. And then there was the five pounds from Marriner too. Perhaps if he wrote a good story the newspaper had more work to give him. But he must do this story well first.
‘Murderers often have a hard time but we writers have our difficulties too,’ he said, laughing. ‘Your murderers’ room is no hotel bedroom. But I don’t think your waxworks are going to make me too unhappy.’
‘You don’t feel afraid, then?’
‘Oh no,’ laughed Hewson.
Mr Marriner smiled and stood up. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘The last people are all out now. Wait a minute. I want to tell the man down there not to put the cover on the waxworks. And to tell our night people that you’re going to be down below. Then I can show you round.’
