Read Online The White Cottage Mystery by Margery Allingham - Free Book Online Page B

W.T., whose spirits had been steadily reviving during the last fifteen minutes or so. ‘Are you coming, Jerry?’
    Together the father and son and the two Frenchmen walked down the pavement to where a single rod of yellow light fell from a chink in a wooden shutter outside a shop window.
    â€˜Here we are,’ murmured M. Barthés. ‘Our men are posted on all sides. Monsieur has but to summon them.’
    â€˜Good,’ said W.T. and, striding up to the door, knocked on it.
    There was a moment of waiting, while Jerry felt himself sympathizing with the man somewhere in the shop – caught like a hare in a circle of dogs.
    Then footsteps sounded inside the house and there was the noise of a bolt being drawn back. The next moment the door opened, cautiously, and a shaft of light shone out upon the four men on the pavement. A woman stood on the threshold, tall and sallow-skinned, with black, dull dry hair knotted loosely at her neck. Her frock was long and made of some light cotton materialprinted with a bright pattern. She looked at them doubtfully, and when she spoke her French had a southern accent.
    W.T. took his hat off and bowed to her with as much ceremony as if she had been an old-time marquise and he an emissary from the English Court.
    â€˜Madame,’ he began in his best French, which was as English as his clothes, ‘we have called to see Signor Latte Cellini – ’
    The woman looked at him sharply, a sudden hint of fear appearing in her dark eyes.
    â€˜Ze Inglis?’ she said. ‘What name, monsieur?’
    W.T. presented his card.
    â€˜Wait,’ said the woman, and turning, left them standing in the doorway while she hurried out of the room into the back of the house.
    The four men stepped into the shop, and Jerry looked round him curiously. It was a jeweller’s, with a glass-case counter in which were displayed cheap rings and watches, together with a collection of initial brooches – silver-gilt monstrosities with girls’ names emblazoned on the fronts. Nothing extraordinary here, thought Jerry.
    His reflections were cut short by the reappearance of the woman. To his surprise, all trace of alarm had vanished entirely from her expressive face. She smiled at W.T. pleasantly.
    â€˜You go up?’ she enquired in her imperfect English, which she seemed to consider at any rate was better than the old detective’s French. ‘’E wait for you.’
    The two Frenchmen exchanged glances, and Jerry saw W.T.’s hand slip round to his hip pocket.
    W.T. spoke first.
    â€˜We will follow you, madame.’
    â€˜Ver’ well.’ The woman was still smiling, and turned at once into the passage leading out of the shop.
    They followed her cautiously. The house was old and full of corners. W.T. had taken the lead as a right. Jerry followed him closely, the others pressing behind.
    To their astonishment, and to Jerry’s disgust, nothing untoward happened. The woman led them up a narrow staircase toa back bedroom which had been furnished as a sitting-room. It was depressingly lit and the furniture, although in good taste, was decidedly shabby.
    Latte Cellini stood by the square table in the centre of the room looking at them with more curiosity than anything else.
    Jerry recognized him at once. He was the man he had seen pass down the road on the day that he had stood by his car talking to the constable. There could be no mistaking the tall attenuated figure and the lank grey chin.
    W.T. glanced behind him; the woman had gone out and the door was closed.
    The detective came forward and cleared his throat:
    â€˜You are Latte Cellini?’
    â€˜Yes – that is my name.’
    â€˜On the fourteenth of this month you left the “Dene”, Brandesdon, Kent, England, suddenly, and came to France?’
    â€˜Yes.’ The Italian spoke easily, almost carelessly.
    â€˜If it is the car – I tink I can explain,’ he said. ‘I