Above Suspicion by Helen MacInnes Read Free Book Online Page B

had already reached the pavement; he paused for a moment as he lit his cigarette. He might be making up his mind how to spend the rest of his evening, and by the time Frances had replied gently but forcibly he had merged into the crowd.
    “Did I ever tell you about my life among the Eskimos?” asked Richard, and shook his head in reply to the rug-seller. He sipped the cognac which the waiter had brought, and added with approval, “Much more like it. Where were we? Oh, yes, with Eskimos…” He talked on. Frances was glad of the opportunity just to relax. She listened to Richard’s inventions with a smile, and waited for him to finish the liqueur. Then they could get back to the hotel.
    The dark-haired, sallow-faced chamber-maid had just come out of their room. The towels over her arm were the obviousexcuse. She smiled in her tired way.
    “Good evening, Madame, Monsieur. You are back early tonight. Perhaps Madame is tired.”
    Frances agreed to that: she had just caught a glimpse of herself in the gilt-edged mirror on the wall. Perhaps it was the very large, very pink flowers on the wallpaper that made her feel so wilted. Richard said good night rather brusquely and opened their door. The woman wasn’t usually conversational, he thought, but she must have been surprised to see them. People generally talked too much when they were embarrassed. He locked the door behind them and stood there listening. Frances watched his face as she took off her hat. She liked him when he was worried: she liked the frown on his brow, the intent look in the thoughtful eyes. It had been his eyes which she had noticed when they had first met. She couldn’t guess what lay behind their calm greyness; there was a hint of so many things. If that had been one of the reasons why she had married him, then she hadn’t been disappointed.
    Richard seemed satisfied. He had left the door and started to undress.
    “Bed,” he said, and his eyes were smiling now. “And don’t, my love, brush each tooth for five minutes, tonight.”
    Frances laughed and started to brush her hair, and then stopped with the hairbrush poised in mid air. Her eyes were puzzled as they rested on her make-up box lying on the dressing-table.
    “I could swear that…” she began.
    “I shouldn’t,” said Richard, his lips smiling, his eyes warning.
    Frances bit her top lip. “I shan’t be long now,” she ended. Richard nodded approvingly. Good girl, he thought; she could take a hint without having it underlined.
    Frances always lay on Richard’s right side. It was hot and stuffy in the room, but Richard would open the windows before they went to sleep. He held her close to him. They could feel each other’s breath coming in little warm waves as they talked, their low voices smothered in the pillow.
    “What was wrong, Fran?”
    “Someone has been meddling with my things. The cream jars were in the wrong order; you know how I always have them arranged in a certain way. They stand on a little tray which you’ve got to lift up to get at the space underneath: Someone probably wanted to know what I kept there.”
    “What do you keep?”
    “Just face tissues and cotton wool and odds and ends.”
    “Was anything missing?”
    “My address book. You know the one—the little one I keep for addresses of hairdressers or hotels or cleaners in any place we have stayed abroad.”
    “That won’t be much help to them.”
    “But who are they?”
    “God knows. It might be friends of Blackbeard, or it might be someone who followed Peter more successfully than he thought. The maid is the obvious agent, anyway. I just couldn’t place her when we met her in the corridor. And how did she know what time we usually returned to the hotel? She may have just been interested, in how you get that complexion, or she may be bored in that empty room next door, this very minute.” Hegripped Frances more tightly, and she let out a sudden squeal. Richard was nearer the truth than he would