Manly Wade Wellman - John Thunstone 01 by What Dreams May Come (v1.1) Read Free Book Online

he
entered the hall, Mrs. Fothergill’s ringing voice hailed him from her front
room.
                 “Oh, Mr. Thunstone. A note was left for you.”
                 She
came and gave him an unsealed envelope. “Thank you,” he said, and opened it.
                 A
small card inside, with smooth script upon it:
                Mr. Gram Ensley would esteem it as a
favor if Mr. Thunstone would call at Chimney Pots at any convenient time
tomorrow morning.
                 Mrs.
Fothergill waited expectantly. “Good news, I hope?” she said. “IPs from
somebody who wants to talk to me,” he said, and mounted the steps to his own
room.
                He filled a straight-stemmed pipe
from a leather pouch, tamped the tobacco carefully, and struck a match to light
it. Then he sat down at the little desk. Swiftly he wrote two letters, one to
Professor Leslie Spayte at the University of London , the other to Judge Pursuivant in America . Then he searched out his notebook and
began to write down yet more of his observations. On one page he set down a
list of names:
                 ELWAIN
HAWES, landlord of the Moonraven, a pleasant public house. Food is good there.
Hawes is friendly, ditto Mrs. Hawes. They may have information.
                 DAVID
GATES, the curate who presides at St. Jude's. Oxford graduate, young, athletic
and proud of it, somewhat intense. Ambitious to be a vicar. Studies the history
and prehistory of Claines, wants to write about it, will talk of it.
                 ----------
DYMOCK, the local constable, only officer of the law in Claines. Also young,
also a university man ( Reading ), also ambitious. Seems the sort to rise in his
profession. Talks readily, though officially. Must talk to him again.
                 MRS.
ALMA FOTHERGILL, my landlady. Cordial, a trifle gushing. Somewhere in her forties, very ready to tell that once she was on the stage.
May or may not know a lot about Claines, though she says she was bom here.
                 CONSTANCE BAILEY, who works for Mrs. Fothergill. A rather good-looking girl, black hair, green eyes. Calls herself a white witch. Seems to have something to
tell, and seems afraid to tell it. Suggests that Claines has
secrets. Must try to find what she’s holding back, and why.
                 ALBERT PORRASK, who operates a garage and machine shop. Big, rough-mannered, truculent. Seems to
resent my presence here. Would like to be thought
dangerous. Is he? He and others mentioned the name of GRAM ENSLEY, who
owns the biggest house in Claines, and apparently much of Claines besides. Who
and what is he?
                Thunstone stopped writing and read
through all his notes. Then he added a last few words:
                 Who
followed me as I walked through Claines to Sweepside Ridge, and why did he run
away?
                He closed the notebook and slid it
back into his jacket pocket. It had grown dark outside while he had written. He
felt tired, though it was not really late as yet. After all, he had been busy
in London before he had taken the bus to Claines and
had busied himself here.
                 He
stripped off his clothes, hung them up, and from his big suitcase took a light
robe and put it on. In the bathroom at the end of the hall he scrubbed his
teeth industriously, then turned on a hot shower and soaped his brawny body
well from head to foot and rinsed off the suds. Back in his room, he freed the
silver blade from his cane and carefully wiped it with a silk handkerchief and
sheathed it again. After that, he filled his pipe out of a different pouch from
the one he had left in the pocket of his jacket. Without lighting it, he sat to
look out at the window.
                 A
wind blew outside, for the ivy-cloaked tree at the side of the house seemed to
hunch and weave, seemed almost to walk. The sky overhead