Eternity Ring by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page B

of holly; the wreck of what had been a massive oak, now smothered in strangling ivy; and for the rest the sort of tangled undergrowth which springs up through years of neglect.
    She enquired who owned the land.
    Frank Abbott laughed.
    “I believe Uncle Reg does. There’s been some doubt about it. It was all Tomalyn property as far as this path. Everything on the other side of it is common land. The male Tomalyns died out more than a hundred years ago, but there were two daughters. One married an Abbott, and the other a Harlow. The Harlow property marches with Abbottsleigh. The Tomalyns’ house was burnt down, and a lot of papers with it. Nobody bothered very much about this bit of land and it was just let go. There was some superstition mixed up in it, I shouldn’t wonder—some idea that it was unlucky. Uncle Reg says he can remember an old boy in the village telling him the Dead Man had left his curse on the place. Anyhow neither the Harlows nor the Abbotts had the title-deeds, and they don’t seem to have bothered who it belonged to for a good many years. Then some old paper turned up, and they settled it between them. So I suppose you may say that this delightful spot is now Abbott property.”
    Miss Silver had listened with attention.
    “And the house? There is, I understand, a house in the wood. That would go with the land.”
    “I haven’t seen it, but it must be a complete ruin. There used to be some sort of a path going off to it—hereabouts just short of the oak, so the local constable says, but there’s not much trace of it. If Mary Stokes is telling the truth, which I don’t think she is, that’s where she was standing when she saw someone looking for an earring in a dead girl’s hair. I wonder what she really did see. If it weren’t for Louise Rogers and her earrings, I should be inclined to think she made the whole thing up. But there is Louise, and she’s still missing. And look here, it hasn’t rained since Saturday—you can still see where Mary came down off the bank and left those deep toeprints in the mud. She was running all right.”
    Miss Silver picked her way across the ditch and up the bank in a very active manner. She looked at the footprints, and then turned her attention to the wood.
    “How far away is the house you spoke of?”
    “Between a quarter and half a mile according to the plan Uncle Reg showed me. They called it the Forester’s House, and I suppose there was some sort of path through the wood in those days. There isn’t one now.”
    Miss Silver coughed.
    “The wood has been searched?”
    “To some extent, I gather.”
    “My dear Frank!”
    “Well, you know, I was merely an onlooker at that stage and I had to watch my step. The Inspector from Lenton was in charge, and I may be wrong, but I certainly got the idea that if I was stupid enough to make a suggestion I should get it smacked back in my face, so I didn’t make one. I don’t know if he knew I was at the Yard, but I was taking rather particular pains to be Colonel Abbott’s nephew on a visit. So I’m not really in a position to know just how far the search went, but if you ask me, I should say it was fairly cursory, and that if there were any traces, it won’t now be possible to identify them. The local constable, Joe Turnberry, is a bit in the steamroller line.”
    Miss Silver said, “Very unfortunate.”
    He nodded.
    “As far as I had any opportunity of observing the ground myself, there was no sign of anyone being dragged through the undergrowth. I don’t see how a man could have dragged or carried a girl through this sort of tangle by night without leaving unmistakable traces—it doesn’t make sense.”
    “How far into the wood did you go?”
    “No great distance. As I say, I was being rather careful not to butt in. Now that I’m on the job, I’m getting Smith, the Lenton chap, to come over this afternoon, and we’ll go through the place with a toothcomb. But I’m not sanguine.”
    “What