The Coldstone by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page A

but you’d better tell me for your own sake. What are you doing here?”
    There was a moment’s hesitation.
    â€œI’m on my own business—not that it mightn’t be your business too if it came off. Can I trust you?”
    â€œYou ought to know, Garry.”
    He flung out an arm as if to clasp her, but she stepped back.
    â€œGarry—it’s not that stupid business of the Sikh treasure?”
    â€œAnd why is it stupid?”
    â€œYou know your great-grandfather was off his head.”
    â€œI do not.”
    â€œBut, Garry, your Aunt Emma always said the whole thing was a delusion. He had sunstroke, and imagined he’d been cheated out of a fortune.”
    Susan felt rather bewildered. She remembered old Major O’Connell, very dried up, very old, always talking; and Miss O’Connell, changing the subject whenever it came round to India or the Mutiny.
    â€œWho said he imagined it?”
    â€œYour Aunt Emma.”
    â€œAnd where did she get it from? From Sir Jervis Colstone—Sir Jervis who cheated him. It’s so easy to say that a man who’s had sunstroke doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That’s what Sir Jervis said—and everyone believed him. I’ve read his letters, and they make me sick. Damn hypocritical denials, full of soft sawder—didn’t know what his ‘dear O’Connell’ was driving at—begged him not to excite himself, and trusted he’d soon be restored to health. And my grandfather had written across the signature, ‘A black liar’ on one letter, and ‘Judas’ on the other.”
    â€œIt sounds mad, Garry,” said Susan frankly.
    â€œWell, and wouldn’t you be mad if you’d been cheated like that by your best friend?”
    Susan shrugged her shoulders.
    â€œIf you’re looking for your great-grandfather’s treasure, you’re just wasting your time, for I don’t believe it ever had any existence, except in his dreams.”
    Garry came quite close to her.
    â€œThen why wouldn’t Sir Jervis let anyone go near the Coldstone Ring?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œI do then. It’s because the treasure’s buried there.”
    â€œGarry, how ridiculous! It’s not that at all. There’s some old superstition. Gran knows about it.”
    â€œVillage gossip! You’re not going to tell me Sir Jervis would believe it? It suited him well enough because it covered up what he’d been doing.”
    â€œBut good gracious, Garry, if he had buried the treasure, why should he leave it there?”
    â€œMy great-grandfather was alive till ten years ago. I say Sir Jervis didn’t dare dig the stuff up until his ‘dear O’Connell’ was dead, but by that time he was too old. He couldn’t do it himself, and he hadn’t got anyone he could trust. And if he couldn’t have it himself, he didn’t want anyone else to have it, so he tried to get his heir to promise not to shift the Stones.”
    â€œThe Stones?” said Susan. A little cold shiver went over her.
    â€œThe treasure’s there,” said Garry with cold finality.
    Susan shivered again. She hated the whole thing—the Stones, the treasure, the old mad O’Connell—and Garry. No, she couldn’t quite hate Garry. But she wished most desperately that she was in bed and asleep. As a first step towards getting there, she smothered a yawn and said,
    â€œIs that all?”
    And in a moment Garry was off into one of his rages. It was like something blowing up, and it always frightened her, deep down under her self-control. If there had been any light, she would have seen his face quite, quite colourless, lips drawn back from the pointed, irregular teeth, eyes frightfully black, a ring of white showing all round the iris. Gran had been right when she said “Keep clear of the black.” But she didn’t know Garry. Susan