The Girl In The Cellar by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online

cold.’
    ‘How do you know she was dead? Anyone who is in a faint may be cold.’
    She pulled her hand away from him, and put both hands over her eyes.
    ‘Why do you make me say it? She had been shot from behind. Her head—oh—’
    ‘You’re sure she was dead?’
    She dropped her hands from her eyes and said, ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure—quite sure. Nobody could be alive with a wound like that.’
    There was a pause. He believed her. He didn’t know why, but he did believe her. He got up, walked to the door of the shed, and stood there. When he turned his manner had changed. He said, ‘How much have you told them here?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    She felt as if he was looking through and through her.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I kept thinking—perhaps I should—remember—’
    ‘Well, go on. What did you do?’
    ‘I came up the steps.’
    ‘With the light in your hand?’
    ‘No—I put it out’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I was afraid.’
    ‘Of what?’
    ‘That someone had killed her.’
    ‘Who else was in the house?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    She was looking at him all the time.
    ‘What did you do?’
    ‘The hall was dark—the front door wasn’t quite shut—I came out into the street—’
    ‘What street?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘I don’t know. It was quiet—dark. It went into a street with buses. I got into a bus. It brought me to the station.’
    ‘What made you come here?’
    ‘There was a Miss Silver—she was in the bus—’
    ‘Miss Silver?’
    Something in his tone surprised her. She said, ‘Do you know her?’
    ‘What is she like?’
    She turned her thoughts back.
    ‘She’s small—not young—old-fashioned looking—like the governess out of an old-fashioned story book. She was very kind and—and—practical. She had on a black coat and a kind of a fur tippet, and a hat with red roses on one side and little sort of whisks of black net on the other. I think she saw that I didn’t know what to do. She took me into the station to have tea, and I told her all about it.’ She stopped there with an air of finality. She had told him what she knew. Now it was for him to do something about it.
    He sat in frowning silence. If this was true? He believed that it was true. He couldn’t say why, but he did believe it.
    His thoughts strayed off to Miss Silver. He had met her. She was a friend of Frank Abbott’s. He could check up with her. He didn’t really need to. He could feel the girl straining to tell the truth as she saw it. It was a very queer business—very queer indeed.
    CHAPTER 11
    They came back towards the house. There was no more said. She had a curious feeling of relief. She hadn’t to think any more, or plan, or be troubled. It was his business, and he was fully able for it.
    When they were still some way from the house he stopped her, his right hand on her arm.
    ‘Wait a minute—we’ve got to say the same thing.’
    Those clear eyes of hers looked up at him. When he saw that she wasn’t going to speak, he said, ‘We’ve got to say the same thing. I had to send you here—that is, I had to send Anne—’
    ‘If I’m not Anne, you didn’t send me.’ The words came out a mere statement of fact. Behind the calmness of her tone there was a dreadful void feeling. If she wasn’t Anne, who was she? The answer to that came fast and breathless, ‘I am Anne.’ There must be thousands and thousands of Annes in the world. She was one of them, if she wasn’t Anne Fancourt.
    He said, ‘Look here—’ He stopped, and then began all over again. ‘You haven’t said anything about this to Lilian and Harriet?’
    She went on looking at him with those clear eyes. She said, ‘No,’ and then, after a pause, ‘I didn’t know—I didn’t remember. I thought perhaps I might remember—’ Her voice faded out.
    He said, ‘Then I think it would be best just to go on in the same way. I shan’t be staying, so it won’t be difficult for you. I must try and find out what has happened to her.’
    She said, still