Read Online The Last Drive by Rex Stout - Free Book Online Page B

the road, and the advantage was his, as the two converged at a point half a mile down. Rankin, seeing himself outdistanced by Harry anyway, took it easier, as his injured shoulder was causing him considerable pain; then, seeing their quarry finally reach the edge of the woods and disappear, he pushed forward again. When at length he reached the spot he could see nothing, for the waning moonlight stopped at the barrier of the thick foliage and left all in darkness. Young Adams, too, had disappeared.
    From the woods, some distance within, came the sound of rushing footsteps and rustling branches, and the detective pushed forward in that direction, calling meanwhile:
    â€œHarry! Harry! Where are you?”
    An answering shout came:
    â€œHere! This way!”
    Rankin went on, stumbling over hollows and fallen trees and scratching his face and hands on the low-hanging branches. The sounds ahead of him grew fainter, then suddenly swerved to the left and seemed to be approaching. Here in the midst of the woods the night was black, though now and then, through the interstices of the leaves, could be seen the faint shimmer of the last rays of the moon on the surface of the nearby river.
    â€œWhere are you, Rankin?”
    The detective answered and thrust his way blindly toward the voice. The sounds of commotion had ceased. Two minutes later he came suddenly upon Harry at the edge of a small clearing.
    â€œIs it you, Harry? Have you lost him?”
    The young man nodded. “Keep still a minute.”
    They stood there motionless, listening, enveloped in darkness and silence. The woods were still as the tomb; there was not so much as the sound of a rustling leaf; from a distance there came faintly on the air the murmur of the river in the shallows half a mile below.
    â€œHe got through the thicket to the bank,” said Harry at length, “and started downstream. Then he dived into the underbrush again and I couldn’t tell which way he went. I thought I heard him again, but it was you. He’s lying low not far from us right now.”
    They listened another while, but no sound came.
    â€œNo use; he’s given us the slip,” the detective finally observed.
    They turned reluctantly and made their way back through the woods. A match showed Rankin the face of his watch; twenty-five minutes past two. When they got to the open they found that in the short interval of their search the moon had dropped below the edge of the hills to the east, leaving the sky light and the earth dark. Tramping across the stubble, they crossed over the fence into the road, and five minutes later were at Greenlawn.
    â€œYou’re sure the fellow came out of here?” Harry was asking as they turned in at the gate.
    Rankin replied that he was.
    â€œThat’s funny. I thought it might have been Fred, but of course he wouldn’t have run. I can’t understand it.”
    A dim light could be seen in one of the upper windows of the house, in the room where Dr. Wortley was keeping his lonely vigil with the earthly remains of the dead Colonel.
    All within the house was quiet. Rankin and Harry mounted the stairs together, without speaking; after the excitement of the past four hours the gloom of the house of death had dropped its heavy mantle over them at the threshold. At the first landing they parted, Harry to mount another flight and the detective to continue down the hall to his own room at the further end.
    There he halted with a sudden appearance of alertness. He heard Harry’s footsteps traversing the hall above, and the soft opening and closing of a door. Then, instead of entering his room, the detective stepped noiselessly back down the hall and stopped before a door near the stair landing. He stood there listening intently for a full minute, then all at once raised his hand and rapped softly on the panel. When a second knock brought no response he noiselessly turned the knob and entered.

    He stood there