Any Shape or Form by Elizabeth Daly Read Free Book Online Page B

landscape. “Did she go back to the house, Gamadge?”
    Miss Ryder came through the wicket gate, and closed it carefully behind her.
    â€œThat’s right, Abby!” Redfield smiled at her. “You wouldn’t leave a gate open.”
    â€œWhy should I?” She advanced, and Gamadge realized, seeing the red spray of false Solomon’s-seal in her hand, that she at least required no alibi. She would never have required one from him, now she was clear in the eyes of the law.
    Johnny at least could verify this. “We know where you’ve been,” he went on. “There’s only one place where those grow in my woods.”
    Gamadge knew the place; a shadowed spot, on the far side of the Loop and some distance off the road. He said: “You couldn’t have been with Johnny long; that’s a fact.”
    â€œI’m sorry to tell you, Abigail,” said Blanche Drummond in a tone of regret, “that while you’ve been away your cousin Henry has quietly gone mad. He wants to know where we’ve all been, and how long we were there, and why.”
    Miss Ryder, acquainted with Gamadge’s “plodding” ways, was a little taken aback. She gave him a sharp glance. What she saw in his face did not reassure her; she asked quickly: “What is it?”
    He had stepped back; the others were now in front of him, and formed a ragged semicircle; with David Malcolm at the left end of it and his sister near the entrance to the rose garden on the right. Gamadge said: “I’ve been waiting until you were all here. Hang on to yourself, Abby; bad news. Mrs. Malcolm is dead.”
    Cora Malcolm broke the ensuing blank silence. She swung to face him, and with a gesture toward the rose garden, asked: “In there ?”
    â€œNo. Up beyond the rock pool.”
    The Malcolms looked across the arc of the semicircle at each other; their features were rigid. Johnny Redfield came to life:
    â€œYou mean—Gamadge! What...? Heart failure? A stroke?” He dropped the basket of marigolds and began to run up the lawn.
    Gamadge called after him: “Redfield—don’t go.”
    â€œNot go? What do you—”
    â€œShe was killed. Somebody shot her with the rifle.”
    He nodded towards the rose garden. “In there; somebody shot her from in there.”
    Johnny stood with his arms hanging; he looked dazed and incredulous. Drummond said: “Good Lord; I heard it—a third shot. I thought…” He turned his head to stare at David Malcolm.
    Malcolm’s lips curved into a faint smile. He said: “Not me.”
    Johnny gasped: “Some fool picked up the gun and shot at a crow or something. Accident. David—you left the rifle somewhere?”
    â€œYes,” said Malcolm. “I did.”
    â€œMy God. We’re in for—” He started up the slope again.
    Gamadge said: “Johnny, wait a minute. Don’t you understand? Nobody’s owned up.”
    Redfield halted again. He looked over his shoulder. “Owned up?”
    â€œNobody’s going to take the blame.”
    Redfield slowly turned and came back. “I don’t—oh. Yes. I see. But nobody knew —until this minute.” He looked from face to face. “I can hardly take it in myself. Where was she? Did you see it happen, Gamadge?”
    â€œNot quite. I looked up a few seconds later, and saw her fall. She had been standing in front of the big birch. She was in plain sight from that corner of the place in there. Johnny, it wasn’t an accident.”
    Blanche Drummond cried out: “Of course it was! It must have been. What else could it be? I know what happened, Johnny; the Wilson boy came back for something. He’s only fifteen; it’s just what a boy would do—see a rifle and snatch it up, and never wait to find out if it was loaded. And point it at the first thing, and pull the trigger.”
    Gamadge said: “Then the