Cast For Death by Margaret Yorke Read Free Book Online

that he had been unable to contact her on the telephone. In this way he was covered if the agent knew of her death; he would be told, and in the ensuing lamentations the address would certainly be divulged.
    How very much simpler things were for the police, he reflected; they had only to ask. But they could not carry out searches and so forth without warrants, when sometimes a lay person could nose his way in and just look about in an innocent manner.
    A thin, pale girl gave him the address without demur; she made no mention of the tragedy.
    The house was about four miles from Stratford-upon- Avon, in a village that bordered the river. It was thatched, with a lawn running down to the water’s edge, and apple trees almost in bud in the garden. He had wondered if the former owner would still be there, but it was empty. If the sale had not been completed there might now be some legal wrangle; it would be tough on the vendor if he were to lose the sale through Tina’s death. Patrick prowled around, peering in at the windows. The rooms were low and beamed, the windows leaded. It had been well restored but looked in need of paint; the various plants climbing the walls were overgrown and wanted trimming. The main structure was very old; standing as it did near the bridge over the river it could well have been a pub once, and Patrick allowed himself to imagine that Shakespeare might have called there for some ale.
    He pondered how to proceed.
    There was a pub in the village, but it was not yet open; however, there was a shop selling groceries two or three hundred yards further on. He entered it, found it to be of the old-fashioned sort with human service behind a counter, and waited patiently for his turn; then he bought a jar of instant coffee and some biscuits, which would always come in handy. As he paid, he said casually: ‘I noticed an empty cottage down by the river. It’s very pretty. Do you know if it’s for sale? I’ve got a friend who’s looking for a place just like that.’
    There was instant reaction from everyone in the shop.
    ‘That’ll be Pear Tree Cottage, Joss Ruxton’s place,’ came the first answer.
    ‘Sold, it is. You’re too late.’
    ‘A lady from down London way’s bought it.’
    The answers came from all sides, but the one name registered with Patrick. Joss Ruxton, an actor who had played at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre with notable success for several seasons, was at present in the company at the Fantasy in London and Patrick had seen his performance as Macbeth on the night when Sam’s body was found.
    ‘Well, do you know of any other houses round about?’ Patrick stuck to his cover.
    He was told of one.
    ‘Not in such good order, it isn’t,’ said someone. ‘He was keen on the garden.’
    ‘It’s rather overgrown,’ Patrick remarked.
    ‘Bound to be. Left without clearing it up, they did.’
    ‘Used to have rare old parties down on the river,’ said a stout woman.
    ‘Is his wife an actress too?’ asked Patrick.
    ‘She wasn’t his wife, dear,’ said the woman. ‘But ever so sweet.’
    Patrick departed at last, having learned that Joss’s mistress had left before the end of the season to film in Spain, after which things had not seemed quite the same at Pear Tree Cottage. Joss had gone before the season finished completely with a play in which he had no part. It seemed he owned a house in London too.
    Patrick went back to have a more thorough look at the cottage; his interest in it had now been explained and he was unlikely to be challenged if anyone saw him prowling around. Peering through the kitchen window he saw an electric kettle on the drainer, beside a clean, empty milk bottle, and a garden chair, unfolded, in the centre of the room. Someone had been picnicking here: was it Tina? He went into the garage, which seemed to have no lock. There were tyre marks on the dusty floor and a pile of old sacks in a corner.
    But there was nothing to show that Sam had ever been