The Moonless Night by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online

help,” Marie volunteered at once.
    “I might be able to use you,” he allowed with condescension. “You could strike up a friendship with Madame Monet. She’s in on this, or my name ain’t David Boltwood. I’ll take Benson around to the telescope at the Point and out in the yacht, if that dashed keel is dry. He mentioned wanting to go out, you recall. Funny they’d send down a chap that don’t know how to sail for a job like this. Daresay he’s a topnotch sailor, but is only pretending he ain’t to lull our suspicions.”
    Miss Boltwood was ready to believe him not only a prime sailor but an admiral, a general, a demi-god. “And the winch and chain. You must teach him how to use that, in case of an emergency.”
    “I’ll show him everything. No need to worry your head, my dear.”
    “He is very handsome, isn’t he, Dave?” she asked a little shyly.
    “A regular out-and-outer. I bet he’s no kin to Mama at all. I never heard of him before, did you? Mama’s whole family were stumpy, platter-faced people, like you.”
    “You have a more platter-shaped face than I have! And Mama’s mother was a Benson before she married. Biddy said she has heard Papa mention Mr. Benson before.”
    “You don’t think his name is really Benson!” David asked, amazed at her naiveté. “No such a thing. It’s what’s known as a cover, for him to have an excuse to be battening himself on us. Whole countryside knows we never have a soul visiting us because of Papa’s nerves, and this is to explain it away. He’s letting on he’s Benson, and come here to give you a gander. If you look lively, you might set up a flirtation with him, but we’ll be pretty busy, Benson and I.” David’s shoulders went back a little straighter as he spoke, somewhat in emulation of the spy who called himself Mr. Benson.
    “He would hardly need any special excuse at such a time as this. Everyone has the house full of guests.”
    “You didn’t see any at Bolt Hall, did you? Madame Monet hinting as hard as she could to come to us, and that skint of a Papa... Of course, I realize he is not at all well,” he added leniently.
    “David, do you mean to say you want that vulgar hussy here?”
    “There’s not a vulgar bone in her body. That’s Biddy giving you such antique ideas. She’d pass for a stylish woman in a city. It’s just here in this place she ain’t appreciated. Why, she’s French, and you must know the French are famous for their elegance. I mean to mention it to Benson when I get to know him a little better tomorrow. See what he has to say about it.”
    “We must try to get Biddy to stop pestering him, too, about the mole on his cheek.”
    “Has she been at him with her leeches and nostrums already?”
    “She talked about leeches for ten minutes. I was ready to sink with embarrassment.”
    “Lord, what a bunch of flats he’ll think us! But I’ll drop him the hint she’s crazy. Well, I’d better get to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. Maybe I should just drop in and see if Benson is comfortable.”
    “It’s after one o’clock,” Marie pointed out.
    “You don’t think a spy is in his bed at one o’clock! He'll be working over a secret code or sending a message off to the Prime Minister,” he told her, amazed at her lack of percipience.
    When David tapped at Mr. Benson’s door, there was no reply. A careful peek into the room showed him an empty bed, which was just as it should be. Mr. Benson knew better than to go to bed at one-thirty in the morning. David assumed he was burning the midnight oil in the library, with a decanter of brandy at his elbow to aid concentration, but when he got there, there was no sign of Mr. Benson. If the master was busy, obviously his assistant must not retire either, and for an hour David rummaged noisily through the house looking for ten thousand pounds. He was still at it when Mr. Benson came slipping in at the library door, which he had cunningly left on the latch before