The Luck Runs Out by Charlotte MacLeod Read Free Book Online Page A

didn’t happen to come past these barns on the way?”
    “No, I proceeded in a direct line from my starting point. That is, I passed the Shandys’ house and continued on the path that stretches up across the campus to connect with the street upon which I reside. There seemed no reason to do otherwise. Had I but known what perfidy was brewing—”
    “Yeah, well, that’s how it is with perfidy,” said the lieutenant “Did you meet anybody on the way?”
    “Possibly. I do not recall. I was lost in thought.”
    “What were you thinking about?”
    “My thoughts were of a private nature,” the professor replied with immense dignity. “I cannot imagine they would be germane to your inquiry. However, I think I can fairly state that, among other things, I was ruminating on the desirability of drinking a glass of hot milk before going to bed. I subsequently did so, should you care for that information.”
    “Who fixed it for you?”
    Stott surveyed the officer calmly with his small, bright blue eyes.
    “I heated the milk myself. Since the death of my wife, I have become accustomed to performing small domestic tasks.”
    “Then you live alone? You don’t have a housekeeper or anybody?”
    “An extremely capable woman named Mrs. Lomax comes twice a week to clean the house. I take most of my meals at the faculty dining room. I do not require a live-in servant. Am I to infer that you are giving me an opportunity to provide what I believe is known as an alibi and that I am failing to do so?”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” said the lieutenant “Mind taking a look at the body? Can you tell me if this is exactly the way Miss Flackley was dressed when you last saw her?”
    “No,” said Professor Stott after a thoughtful scrutiny, “it is not. Having four daughters and four daughters-in-law, I have been compelled to develop an awareness of sartorial detail. Aside from the bloodstains now so lamentably present, the gown itself is the same. The ornamental objects adorning her person, an old-fashioned gold locket and bracelet, are the same. However, you doubtless observe that the material of her gown is thin and last evening was chilly. When I last saw her, she had enveloped herself in a length of heavy brown material known, I believe, as a stole. The stole was of mohair yarn. Mohair is obtained from the fleece of the angora goat. I could give you some interesting statistics about the angora goat if you wish.”
    “Some other time,” said the lieutenant. “Sergeant Mullins, start searching the grounds for a brown mohair stole.”
    “While you’re at it,” Sandy put in, “you might keep an eye out for a large brown van that says ‘Flackley the Farrier’ on the sides. I expect you’ll find the stole in the van.”
    The state policeman seemed a bit weary of hearing about the van. He looked Shandy up and down once or twice, then asked, “You a friend of this gentleman?”
    “Of Professor Stott?”
    Shandy was a trifle embarrassed by the question. The men of Balaclava were not accustomed to parading their feelings for one another, except in cases of open enmity. He searched for words.
    “I believe I am entitled to claim that relationship. We have been colleagues for over eighteen years. I was a pallbearer at his wife’s funeral. He has been a frequent guest at my house.”
    “He was there all last evening, right?”
    “I thought we’d established that.”
    “And so was this Miss Flackley, right? How come you invited them together?”
    “I didn’t invite them at all,” Shandy replied. “My wife did. Not that I wasn’t pleased to have them, of course.”
    “Sure. So why did your wife invite them together?”
    “Because she thought it would be a good idea, I suppose. If you’re trying to intimate that she or I or anybody else thought of Professor Stott and Miss Flackley as a—er—couple, you’re barking up the wrong tree. My wife has not lived at Balaclava long. She was previously unacquainted with