The Coldstone by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online

black chiffon frock, and hitching up her nightgown, slipped the frock over it and groped for shoes and stockings. If the stairs creaked, all would be over; or the bolt—bolts have a fiendish way of creaking.
    She came down, lightly, lightly, and nothing stirred. The bolt ran smoothly back, the door let her through. And there was Garry with his heel on a broken geranium.
    Susan took him by the arm and pinched really hard.
    â€œSsh!” Her lips were at his ear. “We can’t talk here—I shan’t have a rag of character. Follow me! I’ll go first.”
    She was out of the gate and over the street in a flash. Under the Stonegate pillars the shadow was as black as ink. She stared out of it at the dark houses opposite, all asleep, all close and still and dreaming. “I bet mine’s the only open window of the lot,” she said to herself.
    And then Garry’s hand touched her, groping.
    She said, “Not here!” and slipped along in the shadow until they were clear of the houses and the road turned uphill.
    Where the stile led into Anthony Colstone’s fields she stopped.
    â€œNow what on earth does this mean, Garry?” she said.
    Garry’s voice sounded sulky.
    â€œIs that what you’re asking me?”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œThen there are two of us, for it’s what I’ve come here to ask you.”
    Susan laughed, not out loud but in her own self, because that was Garry all over—attack’s the best defence. Yes, that was Garry. She said,
    â€œThat’s no good. I’m doing the asking, and you’ve got to explain. If anyone saw me slip out just now, I’m done for as far as Ford St. Mary’s concerned. This isn’t London, you know.”
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” said Garry.
    â€œVisiting Gran.”
    â€œAgain?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œWhy? Why? I want to know why.”
    Susan did not answer. She took him by the arm and closed her hand hard.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Garry? What were you doing in that field this afternoon? And why were you watching Anthony Colstone?”
    He wrenched his arm away.
    â€œDid he tell you I was watching him?”
    Susan laughed again.
    â€œDid you think he was blind? He isn’t, you know. He can see across a field. He saw you watching him—at least I suppose you were watching him.”
    â€œWhat did he tell you?” said Garry fiercely.
    Susan answered him lightly. The lightness was like something moving over deep water.
    â€œHe told me there was a man in the hedge—an awfully odd sort of fellow. He said you stared. He said, my dear Garry, that you looked as if you would like to do him in. What it is to have an expressive face!”
    It was Garry’s turn to take hold of her. He caught her roughly by the shoulder, and she said,
    â€œDon’t do that!”
    â€œDo him in? Yes—if he asks for it. What were you doing talking to him at all?”
    â€œGarry, let go of me!” said Susan in a steady whisper.
    â€œI will not. You are to tell me what you were doing up by the Coldstone Ring talking to Anthony Colstone.”
    â€œGarry, if you don’t let go of me—” She paused.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œI was just thinking,” said Susan.
    â€œThinking?”
    â€œWhat you’d like least.”
    â€œAnd have you made up your mind?”
    â€œYes—I think I shall scream and give your description to the police. You wouldn’t like that a bit—would you?”
    He laughed and let go of her.
    â€œI’d rather finish our talk first.”
    â€œThere isn’t going to be any talk, my dear, unless you tell me what you’re doing here—”
    â€œAnd have you tell Anthony Colstone—”
    â€œDon’t be silly, Garry!”
    â€œWill you swear you won’t tell him?”
    Susan said, “No,” and then, “What are you up to? I won’t make any promises,