The Dig by John Preston Read Free Book Online

as the garden outside. It might have been filled with hoar frost. The noise was louder now, much louder than I had expected. So loud that I saw the cause of it immediately. For some reason, the window was open and the wooden end of the curtain cord was swinging about, banging against the wall.
    Crossing the room, I closed the window. It slid shut quite easily. Only then did I notice that the bed had been made. All the other beds in all the other rooms had been left stripped — there was no reason to do otherwise. This one, though, had unmistakably been made. I could see the sheets pulled up over the pillows, as well as a square of blanket neatly folded at the foot of the bed.
    I also thought that I could smell a very faint aroma; it seemed to be threaded through the air. Perfume, but with something else too. Something more medicinal, like liniment.
    When I turned on the light, the brightness made my eyes shrink. But even in that first flash of illumination, I saw something else. The bed was not only made; there were two imprints there. Two figures had lain there. The outlines oftheir forms were clearly visible in the pillows, as well as on the contours of the sheets. Also in two small, rounded depressions on the center of the folded blanket.
    Sitting down on the foot of the bed, I put my hand on the linen sheet. It was cold to the touch. On the table beside the bed were a mug and a teacup. The mug was not one I had seen before. It was made of brown earthenware with a narrow glazed silver band around the rim. There was what appeared to be the outline of a lip on the silver rim.
    On the side of the mug was a picture of a man sitting astride a horse. Beneath it was a printed rhyme:
    Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your gray mare
    All along, down along, out along lee
    For I want to go to Widdecombe Fair
    Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney
,
    Peter Davy, Dan’l Widdon, ’Arry ’Awk
,
    Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all
,
    Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all
.
    In the morning I awoke in my own bed with no memory of how I had got back there. When I sat up, I saw there was even more of my hair lying on the pillow than usual. I flushed it away before Ellen came.
    It is pointless pretending that my spirits lifted at the news that Mr. Reid Moir and Mr. Maynard had come to visit. I felt sotired I had been hoping to have the morning alone. However, I could hardly refuse to see them.
    Mr. Reid Moir was a tailor before he became a palaeontologist. As a result, he is always immaculately turned out. Today, he was wearing a dove-gray suit with a matching tie. In his hand he held a book. Although he is a tall, well-built man, he is very light and fluent on his feet. There is a suppleness about his body generally that goes with his air of lacquered sensuality. Mr. Maynard followed him through the door, a couple of steps behind.
    “Mrs. Pretty,” Reid Moir murmured. “Always a pleasure.”
    I asked them to sit down. They did so, on opposite ends of the sofa. Glancing down at the carpet, I was relieved to see there was no evidence of Mr. Brown’s having been sick.
    “How may I be of assistance, gentlemen?”
    “It’s about Brown,” said Reid Moir.
    “Yes? What about Mr. Brown?”
    I thought at first they had come to inquire about his health. This, however, turned out not to be the case. “There is a project the museum is involved with over at Stanton,” Reid Moir went on. “A Roman villa. It’s a project we are hoping to complete before — should hostilities commence. Brown was working at Stanton before he came here. In fact, he did so on the understanding that he would return there once he had finished. Without wishing to beat about the bush, we rather hoped he would be back by now.”
    “I had no idea Mr. Brown was here on loan,” I said.
    “Not on loan, Mrs. Pretty.” Reid Moir smiled agreeably, while crossing one leg over the other. “I would hardly putit like that. But I understand that, despite everyone’s best efforts,