Read Online Blue Murder by Harriet Rutland - Free Book Online

sir?” asked the station-master-ticket-collector. “Oh no, not to-day she hasn’t been. You wouldn’t hardly expect it, would you?”
    Arnold stared at him.
    â€œWell, yes, I did expect her,” he said abruptly. “She usually drives my car for me, and...”
    The station-master looked at him more closely.
    â€œOh, it’s you, sir,” he said. “I didn’t notice you properly. You’ll be the gentleman who’s staying at the Hardstaffes’. Well, you couldn’t rightly blame her for not coming. Very sad, sir. Very sad. ‘From battle, murder, and sudden death,’ that’s what we say on our knees of a Sunday, but it comes to us all just the same.”
    Arnold felt cold and apprehensive.
    â€œSudden death?” he asked. “At the Hardstaffe’s? Sudden Death! Not...?”
    The station-master eyed him strangely, he thought.
    â€œWhy, haven’t you heard, sir? I’m sure I wouldn’t for the world have... but you being their friend... Yes, sudden death it was for sure. And,” he moved his head confidentially forward, “if you was to say it was murder, sir, it’s my notion you wouldn’t be wrong. No, you wouldn’t be wrong!”
    It was then that Arnold remembered the elusive fact which he had felt to be so important.
    He turned without another word, and made off as quickly as he could, leaving his suitcase standing on the ground, while the station-master lifted a bewildered forefinger and gave his forehead a significant tap.

CHAPTER 10
    Arnold Smith passed the door of the constable’s modern concrete bungalow several times before he finally summoned enough courage to walk along the narrow path between the cabbages and onions in the front garden up to the green-painted door itself. In response to his knock, it was opened by Constable Files, looking singularly undressed without his peaked, flat-crowned hat.
    â€œGood-evening,” he said in the cheerfully expectant voice which had sold many a ticket for Police Charity Concerts. “What can I do for you?”
    â€œIt’s rather important,” said Arnold, stammering a little. “Come in, sir.” He ushered Smith into a small, barely-furnished, well-scrubbed room on the right of the tiny hall. “My Superintendent’s here. You won’t mind talking in front of him, I daresay. Superintendent Cheam. Mr. Smith. This is the gentleman who is staying with the Hardstaffes, sir,” he explained, after having effected his introductions. “Glad to see you back again, sir. Miss Hardstaffe was quite worried at having no word from you.”
    â€œI was—detained,” explained Arnold. “Well, as a matter of fact I bumped into the first raid London has had for some time. In a way, it has something to do with my visit to you now.”
    He paused for a moment, then,
    â€œI’ve come to give myself up for murder!” he said.
    The Superintendent and the Constable exchanged quick glances.
    â€œPerhaps you’ll sit down, Mr. Smith,” said Files, pushing forward a hard, wooden chair. “Now, murder, you say. Was that in London?”
    â€œIn London?” repeated Arnold impatiently. “Of course not. It was here, in the village. At the Hardstaffe’s.”
    The Superintendent leaned forward.
    â€œAnd who told you that there had been a murder in the village?” he asked.
    â€œThe station-master,” replied Arnold, adding in haste, “Of course, I knew about it before, or, at least I should have done if I hadn’t happened to get a knock on the head in the raid. After that, I felt muzzy for days, and although I thought I remained in London all the time, there was something I knew I’d done that puzzled me. As soon as I heard that there’d been a—a murder at the Hardstaffe’s I knew in a flash what had happened, so I came to give myself up at once. You ought to have no trouble in