Read Online 1954 - Mission to Venice by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
Ads: Link
he caught his breath sharply as he saw the back of her hand was a mass of small burns as if someone had pressed lighted cigarettes into her flesh.
Suddenly coldly angry, he moved forward.
There was a flash, a scurry as a furry brown body whipped past him as the rat dashed out of the room.
Don bent over the girl and gently touched her cheek. She was still warm. She couldn’t have been dead for more than half an hour, he decided. Those two men must have caught her after knocking him out. Probably the man in the white hat had captured her as she had run down the Calle. Don’s face was hard and set. They wanted information, and they had burned it out of her. She knew Tregarth’s hiding place. She had told him to come here. The fact she was here herself and dead suggested they had forced her to talk.
He straightened up, took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.
Had these two found Tregarth?
He moved quickly out of the room, closed the door and crossed the landing to the other door. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
As soon as he swung the beam of his flashlight around the room, he guessed he was looking at Tregarth’s hiding place. A camp bed on which were two rough blankets, stood against the wall. A packing case served as a table; a small box served as a chair. A half-burned candle, stuck in a wine bottle, stood on the packing case.
There was no one in the room.
Don crossed to the candle and lit it.
He stood looking round.
By the bed was a basket containing tins of food, some grapes, a bottle of wine and a long, crusty loaf. A biscuit tin contained dozens of cigarette butts, and, picking one up, Don saw it was an English brand.
In a corner lay a leather suitcase, its contents tumbled on to the dusty floor. Don went over to it. He felt a little wave of excitement run up his spine when he saw the initials J.T. on the side of the case.
On the floor were a few handkerchiefs, a change of underwear, a hairbrush, toothbrush and shaving kit. Don squatted down on his heels and turned these few articles over, but they told him nothing. Obviously someone had already searched the case. If there had been anything of value or any papers in it, they had been taken.
Don straightened and once more looked around the room.
Why had Tregarth hidden himself in this evil-smelling, filthy house? Who was Louisa Peccati and what was her connection with Tregarth for which she had paid so dearly? Where was
Tregarth now?
Don ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. There were so many questions and apparently no answers. He put the various articles that lay on the floor back into the suitcase, closed it and stood up.
He didn’t intend to leave the suitcase here for the police to find. If they succeeded in tracing the suitcase to Tregarth, they might jump to the conclusion that Tregarth had murdered
Louisa.
Had he?
Don stiffened as the thought went through his mind. He had no proof that the thickset man and the man in the white hat were responsible for the girl’s murder. He was also jumping to conclusions. Suppose she had come here and Tregarth. . .
He shook his head.
No, he was sure Tregarth hadn’t had anything to do with her death.
“Signore. . .”
Giuseppe’s whisper floated up the stairs. The warning, urgent note in his voice made Don snatch up the suitcase and move quickly on to the landing.
“What is it?”
“The police are coming.” Giuseppe’s voice quivered with excitement. “They are already on the bridge.”
Don was quick to realize his position.
There was a dead woman in the house, and she had been recently murdered. Suspicion might easily fall on him. He would have to explain what he was doing here. His explanation was bound to leak out. He might even be arrested.
“Shut and bolt the door,” he said sharply, and carrying the suitcase, he went down the stairs as quickly as he dared and joined Giuseppe in the dark passage.
“There are four of them, signore,” Giuseppe
Suddenly coldly angry, he moved forward.
There was a flash, a scurry as a furry brown body whipped past him as the rat dashed out of the room.
Don bent over the girl and gently touched her cheek. She was still warm. She couldn’t have been dead for more than half an hour, he decided. Those two men must have caught her after knocking him out. Probably the man in the white hat had captured her as she had run down the Calle. Don’s face was hard and set. They wanted information, and they had burned it out of her. She knew Tregarth’s hiding place. She had told him to come here. The fact she was here herself and dead suggested they had forced her to talk.
He straightened up, took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.
Had these two found Tregarth?
He moved quickly out of the room, closed the door and crossed the landing to the other door. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
As soon as he swung the beam of his flashlight around the room, he guessed he was looking at Tregarth’s hiding place. A camp bed on which were two rough blankets, stood against the wall. A packing case served as a table; a small box served as a chair. A half-burned candle, stuck in a wine bottle, stood on the packing case.
There was no one in the room.
Don crossed to the candle and lit it.
He stood looking round.
By the bed was a basket containing tins of food, some grapes, a bottle of wine and a long, crusty loaf. A biscuit tin contained dozens of cigarette butts, and, picking one up, Don saw it was an English brand.
In a corner lay a leather suitcase, its contents tumbled on to the dusty floor. Don went over to it. He felt a little wave of excitement run up his spine when he saw the initials J.T. on the side of the case.
On the floor were a few handkerchiefs, a change of underwear, a hairbrush, toothbrush and shaving kit. Don squatted down on his heels and turned these few articles over, but they told him nothing. Obviously someone had already searched the case. If there had been anything of value or any papers in it, they had been taken.
Don straightened and once more looked around the room.
Why had Tregarth hidden himself in this evil-smelling, filthy house? Who was Louisa Peccati and what was her connection with Tregarth for which she had paid so dearly? Where was
Tregarth now?
Don ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. There were so many questions and apparently no answers. He put the various articles that lay on the floor back into the suitcase, closed it and stood up.
He didn’t intend to leave the suitcase here for the police to find. If they succeeded in tracing the suitcase to Tregarth, they might jump to the conclusion that Tregarth had murdered
Louisa.
Had he?
Don stiffened as the thought went through his mind. He had no proof that the thickset man and the man in the white hat were responsible for the girl’s murder. He was also jumping to conclusions. Suppose she had come here and Tregarth. . .
He shook his head.
No, he was sure Tregarth hadn’t had anything to do with her death.
“Signore. . .”
Giuseppe’s whisper floated up the stairs. The warning, urgent note in his voice made Don snatch up the suitcase and move quickly on to the landing.
“What is it?”
“The police are coming.” Giuseppe’s voice quivered with excitement. “They are already on the bridge.”
Don was quick to realize his position.
There was a dead woman in the house, and she had been recently murdered. Suspicion might easily fall on him. He would have to explain what he was doing here. His explanation was bound to leak out. He might even be arrested.
“Shut and bolt the door,” he said sharply, and carrying the suitcase, he went down the stairs as quickly as he dared and joined Giuseppe in the dark passage.
“There are four of them, signore,” Giuseppe
Similar Books
My Grandfather Would Have Shot Me: A Black Woman Discovers Her Family's Nazi Past
Jennifer Teege, Nikola Sellmair
