Read Online Adders on the Heath by Gladys Mitchell - Free Book Online
Authors: Gladys Mitchell
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
stoat, like a shadow, slipped across in front of the car.
Just before they reached the small village, they took a turning to the right and found themselves in a blind little lane, all twists and difficult bends. Then they came out upon a common and George accelerated a little. The hotel stood out, a landmark, but not a stark or an ugly one, on the far side of an enormous expanse of green. They made towards it. The lane took a right-hand turn and they pulled up on a gravel frontage.
Denis had been apprised of their coming, for his great-aunt had caused Laura to telephone the hotel from Lyndhurst. He was on the steps of the hotel when they arrived. He greeted them affectionately.
'Come and meet Tom Richardson, about whom is all the hoo-ha,' he said. 'Sorry it's still too early for a drink. Tom's in the garden exercising the hotel dog.' He led the way through a handsome entrance hall, at the end of which a bright fire was burning, and along a passage to a side-door which opened on to a well-kept gravel path. Richardson and the handsome collie were at the far end of the garden, and both came running as soon as Richardson saw Denis and his companions, the tall young man covering the grass with the easy effortless strides of a trained athlete, the dog beside him bounding and joyously barking. Denis performed the introductions.
'Sorry it's too early for a drink,' said Richardson.
'Yes, I've already broken the sad news, but,' said Denis, looking at his watch, 'in twenty-two and a half minutes' time it will be just right and we will all pour into the bar and jangle the cow-bells. I love doing that. Much nicer and far more musical than banging on the counter with half a crown and shouting, "Service, miss!" I don't think they'd like that here-hence the cow-bells. Swiss and genuine, just like Tom Sawyer's tooth, except that that was American, not Swiss. Now, where are we going to sit while we let time pass?'
'The bar really is the best place,' said Richardson. 'It's used as a lounge, anyway. Besides, it's vast and comfortable and we can talk there without worrying about being overheard. It's too chilly to sit in the garden, and the small drawing-room is in possession of the old boy of ex-naval aspect who seems to think it's his private sanctum, and the television lounge is thick with people propped up behind morning papers and waiting, like us, for the bar to open, so that's no good for a private get-together.'
The bar it is,' said Denis. He led the way, and Laura, from an armchair in the window, was soon working out the story of an eighteenth-century fox-hunt as told by the patterns on the curtains. Dame Beatrice ignored the decorative nature of the furnishings and concentrated on Richardson.
'Now, dear child,' she said. Richardson, who had been warned by Denis to expect this nominative of address, smiled wanly, hitched the knees of his trousers a little higher and asked her where he ought to begin. She told him. Soon she was in possession of as much of the story as Richardson thought it necessary to tell her.
'So,' said Dame Beatrice, looking up from the notes she had been scribbling, 'you have informed the police of the body which the two of you found in the woods, but you did not tell them that it was this same body which you found in your tent and which was subsequently removed and another body substituted.'
'I didn't think they'd believe me. I did try to tell the Superintendent, near the beginning of things, that I didn't think the second body was the one I'd reported to him over the phone, but he didn't seem interested, so I thought I'd better let it go at that.'
'Hm!' said Dame Beatrice. 'But, as that first body has turned up again, he may well take an interest now , if you tell him that you recognise it as the one you attempted to mention previously, when he was not prepared to listen to you.'
'Poor old Tom is stressing that he thinks he will be a bit in the red if he now confesses he recognises this first-and-third
Just before they reached the small village, they took a turning to the right and found themselves in a blind little lane, all twists and difficult bends. Then they came out upon a common and George accelerated a little. The hotel stood out, a landmark, but not a stark or an ugly one, on the far side of an enormous expanse of green. They made towards it. The lane took a right-hand turn and they pulled up on a gravel frontage.
Denis had been apprised of their coming, for his great-aunt had caused Laura to telephone the hotel from Lyndhurst. He was on the steps of the hotel when they arrived. He greeted them affectionately.
'Come and meet Tom Richardson, about whom is all the hoo-ha,' he said. 'Sorry it's still too early for a drink. Tom's in the garden exercising the hotel dog.' He led the way through a handsome entrance hall, at the end of which a bright fire was burning, and along a passage to a side-door which opened on to a well-kept gravel path. Richardson and the handsome collie were at the far end of the garden, and both came running as soon as Richardson saw Denis and his companions, the tall young man covering the grass with the easy effortless strides of a trained athlete, the dog beside him bounding and joyously barking. Denis performed the introductions.
'Sorry it's too early for a drink,' said Richardson.
'Yes, I've already broken the sad news, but,' said Denis, looking at his watch, 'in twenty-two and a half minutes' time it will be just right and we will all pour into the bar and jangle the cow-bells. I love doing that. Much nicer and far more musical than banging on the counter with half a crown and shouting, "Service, miss!" I don't think they'd like that here-hence the cow-bells. Swiss and genuine, just like Tom Sawyer's tooth, except that that was American, not Swiss. Now, where are we going to sit while we let time pass?'
'The bar really is the best place,' said Richardson. 'It's used as a lounge, anyway. Besides, it's vast and comfortable and we can talk there without worrying about being overheard. It's too chilly to sit in the garden, and the small drawing-room is in possession of the old boy of ex-naval aspect who seems to think it's his private sanctum, and the television lounge is thick with people propped up behind morning papers and waiting, like us, for the bar to open, so that's no good for a private get-together.'
The bar it is,' said Denis. He led the way, and Laura, from an armchair in the window, was soon working out the story of an eighteenth-century fox-hunt as told by the patterns on the curtains. Dame Beatrice ignored the decorative nature of the furnishings and concentrated on Richardson.
'Now, dear child,' she said. Richardson, who had been warned by Denis to expect this nominative of address, smiled wanly, hitched the knees of his trousers a little higher and asked her where he ought to begin. She told him. Soon she was in possession of as much of the story as Richardson thought it necessary to tell her.
'So,' said Dame Beatrice, looking up from the notes she had been scribbling, 'you have informed the police of the body which the two of you found in the woods, but you did not tell them that it was this same body which you found in your tent and which was subsequently removed and another body substituted.'
'I didn't think they'd believe me. I did try to tell the Superintendent, near the beginning of things, that I didn't think the second body was the one I'd reported to him over the phone, but he didn't seem interested, so I thought I'd better let it go at that.'
'Hm!' said Dame Beatrice. 'But, as that first body has turned up again, he may well take an interest now , if you tell him that you recognise it as the one you attempted to mention previously, when he was not prepared to listen to you.'
'Poor old Tom is stressing that he thinks he will be a bit in the red if he now confesses he recognises this first-and-third
Similar Books
