Murders in, Volume 2 by Elizabeth Daly Read Free Book Online Page B

and took up Volume II. “You are fond of Byron, Miss Smith?” he asked, turning the pages.
    â€œYes, I am very fond of Byron,” said Miss Smith.
    â€œSo am I. Shockingly underrated he is, just now; one can’t turn a leaf without coming on something good:
    Cold-blooded, smooth-faced, placid miscreant!
    Â Â Â I have had many foes, but none like thee!
    Colossal—isn’t he?”
    Miss Smith, her head a little on one side, as if her slender neck were not quite strong enough to support it and its mass of pale-gold hair, coughed gently.
    Gamadge continued: “How did the original Volume II get lost, if I may ask, Mr. Vauregard? Or is that a secret too?”
    There was a pause. “We never knew what became of it,” replied the old gentleman.
    â€œNo outsiders in the house at the time?”
    â€œNobody but Mrs. Dykinck herself, and as she had a duplicate set, one can hardly imagine her taking Volume II, or any other volume.”
    â€œMrs. Dykinck was here that afternoon?” Miss Vauregard, who seemed to be increasingly depressed, asked the question with a start. “If I ever knew that, I had forgotten.”
    â€œShe was, but she did not know,” said Mr. Vauregard, with a fond look at Miss Smith, “that anything had been lost.”
    â€œMightn’t she have lost her Volume II, and had the bright idea of replenishing it from your set?” asked Gamadge, smiling. “Stranger things have happened.”
    Mr. Vauregard, again laughing heartily, said that he doubted whether any female Dykinck had ever had the initiative required for such an adventure.
    â€œWell, your lucky find is in excellent condition; one would almost say that it had been in a state of suspended animation, if books could be called animate objects. Sometimes I almost think they are.” Gamadge rose, drifted back to the bookcase against the east wall, replaced the Byrons, and sauntered to the southeast window. He stood there looking out at shaven turf, narrow graveled paths, a fountain surmounted by an Italian bronze nymph, dolphin and shell—all in the worst baroque taste—and the little white arbor, now smothered in wisteria.
    â€œI see that you are not superstitious, Mr. Vauregard,” he said, without turning.
    â€œSuperstitious, my dear fellow! I think I may truthfully say that I am not.”
    â€œYou have a hexagon made of iron on the premises.”
    â€œA hexagon!” Mr. Vauregard got up and joined his guest at the window.
    â€œYour summerhouse is hexagonal.”
    â€œIt is; and pray why not?”
    â€œDoesn’t Albertus Magnus, or Paracelsus, or somebody, warn us against hexagons made of metal?”
    â€œBless my soul, do they?” Mr. Vauregard was intensely interested. “I never heard so.” He gazed at his disappearing cabinet with a kind of delighted dismay. “Do you hear that, Lydia? Hexagons!”
    â€œAll nonsense, of course,” said Gamadge, “but I know I’ve read about it somewhere. I’ve read so many useless but interesting things. I think I even have a book— Mystery and Magic of Numbers —something of the kind.”
    â€œI should be most grateful if you would let me see it, Mr. Gamadge. Most grateful.”
    â€œI’ll look it up for you.”
    â€œWould it—I know you’re a busy man. Would it be too much to ask—could you look it up—ah—soon, Mr. Gamadge?”
    â€œI’ll drop in with it tomorrow; I have business downtown. May I leave it here between six and seven, say?”
    â€œYou may, indeed, and I shall take it very hard if you don’t give me a minute or two of your time, when you do leave it. Robina, my child, absurd as it may seem, I don’t think I ever realized until this moment that the arbor is hexagonal.”
    â€œWhy should you, Uncle Imbrie?” Miss Vauregard, now definitely out of sorts, spoke crossly. “Such