Constable Evans 02: Evan Help Us by Rhys Bowen Read Free Book Online Page A

about my wife,” Colonel Arbuthnot said, smiling back. “She was Welsh, you know. Usually she was the most serene woman in the world, but when something upset her, watch out. I usually took a long walk until she had cooled off.”
    Evan chuckled. “So what did you start telling me about a strange person you had seen?” he asked.
    “Oh, yes,” Colonel Arbuthnot said. “It was most extraordinary. I was looking through the binoculars and I thought I recognized—” he broke off suddenly, staring out across the bar with a strange, almost embarrassed, look on his face. “I recognized a chap I used to know in India many years ago,” he went on in a louder, heartier voice. “But of course it couldn’t have been him. Poor old Monty Hallford broke his neck, falling off a polo pony back in thirty-nine!” He examined his watch. “Heavens, is that the time already? Mrs Owens will be wondering where I’ve got to and my dinner will be ruined. I really must go. See you chaps tomorrow then!”
    He pushed his way through the crowd and hurried out of the bar, almost colliding with Annie Pigeon, who had just come in. Evan was glad to see that she had changed out of the skimpy shorts and was wearing an attractive sundress. The colonel hardly noticed her. He half muttered an apology and hurried on.
    Evan stared after him with interest. What had made the colonel decide to leave in such a hurry?

Chapter 5
    It was almost dark when Colonel Arbuthnot came out of the Red Dragon. As the cool night breeze blew in his face he slowed his pace. How stupidly he had behaved. He would never have held off that attack on the Afghan border if he’d lost his nerve so easily in those days. And anyway, what did he have to fear? They would pretend not to know each other and nothing would be said. He was perfectly safe, perfectly.
    All the same, he glanced over his shoulder as he left the lights of the village behind and struck out on the path to Owens’ farm. The path wound beside the stream, crossing it by a rather precarious little bridge. It wasn’t easy to follow in the dark, but the colonel knew it well. He took the same route every night, rather than walk all the way through the village and then up the main track to Owens’. Usually he brought a flashlight with him, but he’d been in such a hurry tonight that he’d forgotten it.
    He thought a twig snapped behind him and glanced over his shoulder again. Tree branches were moving in a ghostly dance. Pull yourself together, man, he told himself firmly. It was extraordinary what strange shapes trees could take on in the twilight. He broke into a trot again, taking out his silk handkerchief to mop at the sweat trickling down his forehead. Why should he feel threatened like this? Nothing to worry about. Over the bridge, across that last field, and he’d be home. He could see the welcoming light streaming from Mrs. Owens’ parlor window. Tomorrow this would all seem rather amusing.
    He sensed, rather than heard, someone moving behind him.
    *   *   *
    Evans-the-Post came out of the post office and general store with a bulging mailbag slung over his shoulder. A big smile spread across his vacant-looking face as he headed for the bridge. This was going to be a good day. There were several picture postcards among the mail he had to deliver and he could read those without anybody getting angry with him. And there was what looked like a wedding invitation for the Hopkinses. He’d have to find out who was getting married!
    He glanced back to see if old Miss Roberts was watching him. She gave him a good scolding whenever she caught him reading the mail. “Crabby old woman,” he muttered to himself. Getting a peek at other people’s lives was one of the perks of being a postman, wasn’t it? And he didn’t mean any harm—everyone in Llanfair knew that.
    The bridge was deserted and bathed in dappled sunlight as he loped toward it, his long limbs moving jerkily like an uncontrolled puppet. He