Shadow of the Hangman by Edward Marston Read Free Book Online Page A

where it is,’ she said, ‘but you’ll have to be quiet.My husband will probably be asleep in the next room.’
    ‘I’ll tread carefully,’ he promised.
    She led him up the stairs, took him along the landing then opened the door of the front bedroom. Since it was the largest in the house, Peter could see that Anne Horner was the favoured lodger. As befitted a woman who worked as a cleaner, the place was spick and span. The few garments she owned were carefully hung in the wardrobe, the surface of the dressing table was glistening, the mirror shone and the whole room had a feeling of spotlessness. Snug and organised, it spoke of the quiet self-reliance of someone in straitened circumstances.
    Peter felt slightly embarrassed to be intruding but necessity soon eclipsed his discomfort. Under the watchful eye of the landlady, he looked in the wardrobe and in the chest of drawers but found nothing of interest. When he lifted the cushion on the little armchair, all that appeared were a pile of out-of-date newspapers. Since Anne was highly unlikely to have bought them, he surmised that they’d been discarded by someone at the Home Office and rescued from the wastepaper basket. If she could read
The Times
and
The Morning Post
, then she obviously had an enquiring mind. What surprised Peter was that any of the clerks at the Home Office should be readers of the monthly periodical,
Lady’s Magazine or Entertaining Companion for the Fair Sex.
Joan Claydon, too, was startled by the discovery that her lodger owned something so unlikely for a person of her means.
    It was when Peter got down on his hands and knees that she raised a protest.
    ‘There’s no need to look under the bed, sir.’
    ‘It will only take a second.’
    ‘I can tell you what you’ll find there.’
    Before she could stop him, Peter lifted the valance and found himself staring at a mottled chamber pot. Tucked away behind it was a wooden box. He had to stretch an arm to retrieve it.
    ‘Have you ever seen this before, Mrs Claydon?’ he asked, getting up.
    ‘No,’ she replied, ‘and I don’t think I should be looking at it now. It belongs to Anne. We’ve no right to open it.’
    ‘But it may contain letters or something else that could give the search for her some direction. I can’t just leave a possible clue unexplored.’
    It took time to persuade her, but eventually she consented. Peter lifted the lid and peered into the box. There were a couple of letters inside, written in a spidery hand by her late husband, but it was the rest of the contents that intrigued him. What they were both staring at was a small pile of banknotes.
    He turned inquisitively to the landlady.
    ‘How much do they pay her at the Home Office?’ he wondered.

CHAPTER SIX
    Whenever she stepped out onstage, Hannah Granville had an astonishing presence. It lifted her effortlessly above any of the other actors in the play. Offstage, however, she was a different person, subdued, languid and capricious. As she reclined on the bed in a flamboyant gown of Japanese silk, she snapped her fingers and pouted.
    ‘I need you again tonight, Paul,’ she said, peevishly.
    ‘You shall have me at your command, my darling,’ he assured her, ‘but I’ll be unable to meet you after the performance this evening.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘I have a commitment I must honour.’
    ‘What about your commitment to
me
?’
    ‘That’s as deep and unswerving as it’s been since we first met.’
    ‘Then you must prove it. What kind of a gentleman leaves a lady at the mercy of that bellowing herd of suitors, some of whom are old enough to be my father?’
    Paul laughed. ‘You love every moment of their attentions, Hannah. Indeed, you float upon it like a bird on the wing. Adoration is your natural habitat.’
    ‘Then why do you not lavish it upon me?’
    ‘I will do so when I return.’
    ‘From
where
?’ she snapped, petulantly. ‘Or should it be from
whom
?’ Her voice became a growl. ‘I’ll not