Read Online After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) by Dolores Gordon-Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Dolores Gordon-Smith
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pocket on the door. ‘The cottage is locked up, tight as a drum, but I shone the torch through the windows. I could see the sofa in the parlour as plain as day and there’s nothing out of place. That damn cat gave me a dickens of a turn. It came clawing at my ankles when I was looking through the window, little beast.’
‘So you don’t know if there’s anything there or not?’
‘There’s nothing there,’ said Colin shortly, starting the car. ‘You’ve had a bad dream, Betty. That’s the only explanation. It beats me what you were doing in Signora Bianchi’s cottage in the first place.’
‘I saw a light,’ Betty said wearily. ‘I saw a light and then the cat opened the door.’
Colin paused with his hand on the gear lever. ‘The cat opened the door? Betty, are you feeling all right? You’re not ill, are you?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Colin.’ She was irritated by his lack of understanding. ‘The cat ran down the path and clicked the latch with its front paws. The door swung open and I … I went in.’
‘Why?’
‘Never mind why!’ she snapped, her irritation growing. ‘I just did.’
Colin’s hand still rested on the gear lever. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve seen the cat do that before,’ he admitted. ‘Tell me exactly what you thought you saw.’
‘I
did
see it,’ she muttered. As briefly as she could, she told him what had happened.
Colin looked at her in disbelief. ‘Honestly, Betty, it sounds like a nightmare. You must’ve been dreaming.’
‘I wasn’t,’ she protested. ‘It wasn’t a dream, I tell you.’ A sudden memory came to her. ‘Colin! The cat!’
‘What about the wretched cat?’
‘The cat was
inside
the cottage, not outside. Someone must’ve shut it out. I told you I heard footsteps. Someone went into the cottage and moved the body. There’s the curtains, too. They were pulled together in the parlour but you looked through them. Someone must’ve drawn them open.’ She sat back in the seat. ‘We have to report this, Colin. We have to tell the police.’
She could see his face, indecisive in the gas light from the lamp-post.
‘Give me a cigarette,’ she said. ‘I dropped my handbag in the cottage.’
He absently pulled out his case and, lighting a cigarette for her, took one himself, then sat, chin in hand, thinking.
‘You dropped your bag in the cottage?’ he repeated.
Betty nodded.
‘That’s something that can be proved, at any rate,’ he muttered. ‘All right, Betty, we’ll tell the police.’
Four
‘And did you tell the police?’ asked Jack.
‘We did, Mr Haldean.’ She raised her hands and dropped them helplessly into her lap. ‘They found what Colin found, which was nothing.’
‘And this was last Saturday, you say?’
‘That’s right. Colin drove me to the local police station and Constable Shaw went with him in the car to investigate. They didn’t go in, but looked through the window. As there was nothing out of place, Constable Shaw said he’d go back the next day.’
‘And did he?’
‘Yes. He came up to the house and returned my bag. He’d spoken to Signora Bianchi’s daily woman, Mrs Hatton. She’d found my bag in the parlour. She’d thought it must belong to her mistress, but couldn’t explain how it got there.’
‘What about Signora Bianchi herself?’
‘That’s just it. Apparently Signora Bianchi left Whimbrell Heath two days previously. She told Mrs Hatton she’d be away for a few days. She didn’t know when she’d be back.’ She looked at him with wide, puzzled eyes. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Everyone in Whimbrell Heath says I had a nightmare. That’s the polite version, but all I can say is, if I did have a nightmare, it was the most realistic nightmare I’ve ever had. In the meantime, Signora Bianchi is missing. I’m convinced she’s been murdered, but no one’s doing anything because they all think I’m nuts or something.’
Jack glanced at Bill. ‘It would be a good time to
‘So you don’t know if there’s anything there or not?’
‘There’s nothing there,’ said Colin shortly, starting the car. ‘You’ve had a bad dream, Betty. That’s the only explanation. It beats me what you were doing in Signora Bianchi’s cottage in the first place.’
‘I saw a light,’ Betty said wearily. ‘I saw a light and then the cat opened the door.’
Colin paused with his hand on the gear lever. ‘The cat opened the door? Betty, are you feeling all right? You’re not ill, are you?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Colin.’ She was irritated by his lack of understanding. ‘The cat ran down the path and clicked the latch with its front paws. The door swung open and I … I went in.’
‘Why?’
‘Never mind why!’ she snapped, her irritation growing. ‘I just did.’
Colin’s hand still rested on the gear lever. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve seen the cat do that before,’ he admitted. ‘Tell me exactly what you thought you saw.’
‘I
did
see it,’ she muttered. As briefly as she could, she told him what had happened.
Colin looked at her in disbelief. ‘Honestly, Betty, it sounds like a nightmare. You must’ve been dreaming.’
‘I wasn’t,’ she protested. ‘It wasn’t a dream, I tell you.’ A sudden memory came to her. ‘Colin! The cat!’
‘What about the wretched cat?’
‘The cat was
inside
the cottage, not outside. Someone must’ve shut it out. I told you I heard footsteps. Someone went into the cottage and moved the body. There’s the curtains, too. They were pulled together in the parlour but you looked through them. Someone must’ve drawn them open.’ She sat back in the seat. ‘We have to report this, Colin. We have to tell the police.’
She could see his face, indecisive in the gas light from the lamp-post.
‘Give me a cigarette,’ she said. ‘I dropped my handbag in the cottage.’
He absently pulled out his case and, lighting a cigarette for her, took one himself, then sat, chin in hand, thinking.
‘You dropped your bag in the cottage?’ he repeated.
Betty nodded.
‘That’s something that can be proved, at any rate,’ he muttered. ‘All right, Betty, we’ll tell the police.’
Four
‘And did you tell the police?’ asked Jack.
‘We did, Mr Haldean.’ She raised her hands and dropped them helplessly into her lap. ‘They found what Colin found, which was nothing.’
‘And this was last Saturday, you say?’
‘That’s right. Colin drove me to the local police station and Constable Shaw went with him in the car to investigate. They didn’t go in, but looked through the window. As there was nothing out of place, Constable Shaw said he’d go back the next day.’
‘And did he?’
‘Yes. He came up to the house and returned my bag. He’d spoken to Signora Bianchi’s daily woman, Mrs Hatton. She’d found my bag in the parlour. She’d thought it must belong to her mistress, but couldn’t explain how it got there.’
‘What about Signora Bianchi herself?’
‘That’s just it. Apparently Signora Bianchi left Whimbrell Heath two days previously. She told Mrs Hatton she’d be away for a few days. She didn’t know when she’d be back.’ She looked at him with wide, puzzled eyes. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Everyone in Whimbrell Heath says I had a nightmare. That’s the polite version, but all I can say is, if I did have a nightmare, it was the most realistic nightmare I’ve ever had. In the meantime, Signora Bianchi is missing. I’m convinced she’s been murdered, but no one’s doing anything because they all think I’m nuts or something.’
Jack glanced at Bill. ‘It would be a good time to
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