Fen Country by Edmund Crispin Read Free Book Online

yourself during the night. Your lie in answer to my question was an unavoidable one, of course, in view of the fact that there wasn’t any other time when you could have put the drawing in the shoe; though I supposed that you’d simply refuse to say anything at all.”
    “No, I didn’t dare try that. You obviously had something on your mind, and I was afraid that obstinate silence, on an apparently trivial point, would make you even more suspicious than you already were.”
    Ainsworth sighed. “Well, well, I’ve been several sorts of a fool, but it’s all over now. Jane’s plan could have succeeded, you know, if I hadn’t taken it into my head to try to swipe that policeman…”
    And Fen chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “You may thank your lucky stars that Sir Gerald McComas wasn’t the only person, in Lowndes Square that evening, who lost his head.”

The Two Sisters
    “My dear boy”—his aunt had written—”(certainly you may use the cottage while I am in France. The only condition I make is that you bring your own china: my Spode really is irreplaceable… My house-keeper, Mrs. Blench, has agreed to stay on and look after you, and, apart from her deafness (you have to write everything down for her, I am afraid), you will find her an excellent servant.
    “I should warn you, however, that she has a disreputable sister, called Bessie, who is always pestering her for money, and who is not to be encouraged on any account. Unfortunately, Mrs. Blench insists on keeping large sums in the house (she is the stupid sort of woman that distrusts banks), so please see to it that the doors and windows are properly fastened at nights.
    “You will find it rather a lonely spot, but no doubt that will be an advantage to you in your convalescence, since I understand that in these cases peace and quiet are essential. You should turn left off the Southampton road at…”
    There followed directions, with a map.
    And “lonely” was right, Percy Wyndham reflected as his car ground to a halt on the short gravel drive; it was three miles since he had passed the last dwelling-place.
    He did not repine, however. This trim little cottage, surrounded on all sides by the great oaks and beeches of the New Forest, was just the thing for a man recovering from a nervous breakdown. Unloading the crate which held his utility china he trudged with it up to the front door.
    This was ajar; and just inside it, on the polished floor, lay a small, light-weight, wholly lethal Persian mat. Wyndham noted the first fact but not, unfortunately for him, the second. His entrance consequently took the form of a long, graceless skid—during which he just had time to take in the fact that the housekeeper, with her back to him, was impassively dusting the hall-stand.
    She was small, graying, middle-aged, neat, and, above all, respectable; her only noticeable characteristic was her voice, which had a flat, uninflected quality—the result, undoubtedly, of long years of deafness.
    But it was plain that Mrs. Blench was going to be a very satisfactory servant. Having to write things down for her was a nuisance, of course: but she had already suggested that a single word would do.
    Above all, she was tranquil. The only sign of anxiety that she had manifested had been when Wyndham presented her with a labored narrative explaining that he was suffering from insomnia, that even with the aid of drugs he was seldom able to sleep more than three hours or so after going to bed, and that therefore she must not alarm herself and think of burglars if she heard him moving about—going out for a stroll in the garden, perhaps—during the night.
    Noting her uneasiness, he added a codicil to the effect that he would not on any account leave the cottage unlocked, or if unlocked, unwatched during the dark hours, and this seemed to reassure her.
    Probably her chief worry in this connection was sister Bessie. When Wyndham looked into the kitchen later that evening, his eye was