A Pattern of Lies by Charles Todd Read Free Book Online Page B

us, except for Mark, could see the man standing there, and the uniformed policemen behind him. He was of medium height, perhaps forty-­five, dark haired. There was a grim expression on his face.
    Not one of us believed now that this call was about young vandals.
    My heart flew into my throat, and I reached out for Mrs. Ashton’s hand. She clasped my fingers fiercely until they hurt.
    Philip Ashton rose. “Inspector Brothers,” he said calmly.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mr. Ashton. I’ve come from Canterbury with a warrant for your arrest for the murder of these men.” He held out several sheets of paper, and I could see that they were filled with names. “I shall be happy to read them to you, sir, if you insist.”
    â€œI know the names of these dead,” Mr. Ashton said. “They are engraved on my soul. What evidence is there that I have caused their deaths?”
    â€œYou were at the mill earlier in the day, Sunday the second of April 1916, before the first blast, behaving suspiciously, and there again just after the explosions brought the buildings down, standing at the very spot where the flames rose as you were hurrying away. This has been attested to by a dozen ­people who have come forward and given their depositions. They were rushing toward the river, and they report that your expression as you turned their way was gleeful.”
    â€œGleeful? I see. And what possible motive could I have had for destroying my mill, much less wanting these men dead?”
    â€œA court will hear that in due course, sir. I am here to take you into custody on the charges brought.”
    â€œYes, certainly.” He glanced toward his wife, standing still as if turned to stone, her blue eyes stark in her pale face. “Will you give me a few minutes to say good-­bye to my family, and to give my son instructions about my affairs?” I could see Inspector Brothers hesitate. “I give you my word, Inspector. I will come through that door in ten minutes’ time and accompany you to Canterbury without fuss.”
    Reluctantly—­I think he was all too aware of the constables at his back, prepared for any resistance—­the Inspector agreed. Stepping back into the passage, he shut the door, and all of us could hear his voice issuing abrupt orders for his men to wait outside.
    I would have left, to give them privacy, but Mrs. Ashton was still gripping my hand as if it were a lifeline to hope.
    Philip Ashton came across the room to her and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Nothing to worry about, my dear, it will all be resolved shortly. I want you to be brave and not do anything rash.”
    I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Ashton doing anything rash, but I thought the words were meant for Mark as well.
    He nodded to me, then turned to his niece. Clara was striving to hold back tears as she said good-­bye.
    â€œIt might be best for you to go home,” he urged her. “Will you think about it?”
    And then he was conferring in a low voice with his son, close by the window.
    Without looking at us, three women still standing there like marble statues, unable to speak, he crossed the room. Mrs. Ashton put out her hand then as if to stop him, but let it drop. He opened the door, stepped through it, then shut it firmly behind him, and we could just hear voices as Inspector Brothers took him in charge. As well as the soft clink of handcuffs.
    The spaniel went to the door, scratching on it and whining.

 
    C HAPTER T HREE
    A S THEIR FOOTSTEPS faded in the distance, Mrs. Ashton said distractedly, “He has nothing with him. His razor, comb—­a change of clothes, shoes—­a blanket, if where they put him is too cold.” But she didn’t move.
    Mark cleared his throat. “Later, Mother. He’ll be all right until later. I must speak to Mr. Groves as soon as possible. That means running into Canterbury.” Through the open