Read Online Rex Stout by Red Threads - Free Book Online Page A

unobtrusively.
    “I beg your pardon, madam. Miss Graham would like to speak with you.”
    Mrs. Barth looked astonishment, and expressed it vocally, but the butler stuck to it that Miss Graham required the presence of her employer in the house. Forsaking remonstrance, Mrs. Barth excused herself, crossed the terrace, passed through the door held open for her, and in the large reception hall turned to confront the butler, who had followed her.
    He spoke hastily, not quite his placid self: “Please, madam. It was not Miss Graham. I was following the instructions of Miss Farris. In the—er—unusual circumstances—”
    “Miss Farris! What do you mean? Where is she?”
    “Pardon me, madam. Her instructions were very strict. No one but you, absolutely no one, is to know of her presence, and she would like to have you come to her in the pink room on the second floor. I put her there—”
    “Put her! What’s wrong with her? Is she hurt?”
    “No, madam. That is, not—”
    He was speaking to air; Mrs. Barth was on her way. He took two steps after her, halted, hesitated, shook his head, and returned to the terrace.
    Upstairs, at the door of the pink room, Mrs. Barth entered without stopping to knock. The room was lit. In a chintz-covered chair by a window sat Jean Farris, bent forward, her brow resting on both her palms. As she slowly straightened up and slowly turned her head, Mrs. Barth caught a glimpse of the garters and the bare legs. She hurried across.
    “Good heavens, child! What’s the matter? Where are your clothes?”
    Jean said, with her head held rigid, “You asked exactly the right question. That’s it.”
    “But what—where have you been? We couldn’t imagine—welooked all over—your car was here—we decided you had gone off with someone—”
    “I went off all right.” Jean grimaced. “Do you mind sitting down? There, in front of me; I can’t turn my head. I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I didn’t want to wait…. Here’s what happened—what time is it?”
    “Not quite ten.”
    “Then I was there—but I’d better tell you. A little after eight, about a quarter after, I went for a walk. In the grounds. I crossed a drive and some more lawn and went past the cutting garden and on across the meadow until I saw the fence of the estate. I lay down on the grass by some shrubbery and closed my eyes. After a while I sat up. Just as I sat up something hit me on the side of the head and knocked me out. Here—” she gingerly touched the side of her head above the left ear—”there’s a bruise and you can see the swelling. When I came to I was the way I am now. My clothes were gone.”
    “But—” Mrs. Barth gaped at her. “But what hit you?”
    “How the dickens do I know? I didn’t see any one or hear any one.”
    “But why should they take your
clothes
?”
    “I don’t know that either. They didn’t take my watch or my ring, or my bag with money in it.”
    “But, my dear child—” Mrs. Barth got up and went to her and examined her head, peering at it, touching it with gentle fingers. “Knocked unconscious! You should have a doctor! How does it feel now?”
    “Not very good. I don’t want a doctor.” Jean grimaced again, shut her lips tight, and then opened them. “I want to find who it was. That’s why I interrupted your dinner. I’d like you to notify the police and get them here before any of your guests leave.”
    Mrs. Barth was staring at her in horror. “You don’t mean—the
police
!”
    “I certainly do. I’ve been thinking it over, as well as I can think with this head. I want—”
    “But, Miss Farris! It’s impossible! Think of the publicity!”
    “I don’t give a damn about the publicity. I don’t care how ridiculous it makes me, having the clothes stolen from my back and having to ring the bell and explain my panties to your butler. Don’t you realise I’m good and mad? It must have been one of the guests—who else could it be? I am
not
going