The Longer Bodies by Gladys Mitchell Read Free Book Online Page A

alarm clock which stood on top of a small cupboard on the landing opposite her bedroom door.
    The door was open, then. Somebody had come in!
    Priscilla gave a wild glance round the darkened room. A feeling of panic came over her. With shaking hand she relighted the candle and by its light gathered up the things she required for the night. Go to the window she would not. Stay by herself she could not.
    â€˜I’m sorry to be a nuisance to you,’ she observed, walking into Celia’s bedroom, armed with nightdress, dressing gown, and brush and comb, ‘but I’m not going to sleep alone.’
    Celia looked round in surprise. She finished dabbing night-cream on to her face and then smiled happily.
    â€˜Three cheers for the company,’ she announced.
    â€˜Before we go to bed I propose we lock the door,’ said Priscilla. ‘I’d feel ever so much safer. I don’t want to frighten you, but someone came into my room just now in a sort of queer way—I can’t explain it quite—and I
know
I saw Great-aunt’s bathchair careering round the sports field at twenty miles an hour.’
    Celia giggled, unimpressed, and, bending down and groping under the large four-poster bed, she produced the leg of a chair. It was made of solid mahogany, was beautifully turned and polished, and made a weighty, well-balanced weapon. She grasped it in both hands and wagged it playfully at Priscilla.
    â€˜Anybody who comes in here will wish he hadn’t,’ she observed with spirit. ‘I vote we fix a notice on the door: Visitors Enter at Their Own Risk. What about it?’
    Priscilla laughed.
    â€˜I know you think I’m an idiot,’ she said, ‘but I don’t care. And I’ve brought a box of chocolates, so you needn’t say you don’t want me, because I’ve made up my mind to stay.’
    Half an hour later Celia was still awake. A vision came to her of Great-aunt Puddequet taking the air in the bathchair round the cinder track, and she began to chuckle softly. An insane desire to go and see whether she was still at it took hold of her. She slid out of bed.
    The moon was full now. The sky was clear. Every object in the room was clearly to be seen.
    â€˜Lovely night for a record-breaking run,’ thought the sister of a champion cyclist, giggling to herself.
    She crept to the door and turned the key. Priscilla stirred in her sleep, responsive to the slight sound of the moving lock, but she did not wake. Celia took her dressing gown off a chair, and slipped out of the room. The thick carpets everywhere gave grateful warmth to her bare feet. She passed up the long passage to Priscilla’s room and peeped in at the open door.
    A figure was bending over the bed.
    Celia Brown-Jenkins drew in her breath sharply. Then she said, very distinctly:
    â€˜Hands up!’
    The figure swung round to face the sound of her voice.
    â€˜Shut up, you little idiot,’ he hissed.
    â€˜Oh, Clive, it’s you!’ said Celia helplessly. ‘Whatever are you doing?’
    Clive stepped to the door and laid his hand on her arm.
    â€˜Get back to bed,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s something funny going on, and I’m out to know what it is. Whose room is this?’
    â€˜It’s Priscilla’s. But she’s in my room now,’ said Celia. ‘Clive, go to bed.’
    Clive drew her on to the landing and softly closed the door of Priscilla’s room.
    â€˜I can’t get back to my hut tonight,’ he whispered. ‘Door’s locked between the sunk garden and the sports field. And the kitchen regions are all locked up too. I should make an awful row getting out. I shall go down to the dining room and sleep on the settee.’
    â€˜I’ll give you an eiderdown,’ whispered Celia. ‘Come with me.’
    She led the way to her room, went in, and immediately returned with the eiderdown, which she thrust into his