The White Cottage Mystery by Margery Allingham Read Free Book Online Page B

nodded.
    â€˜As he came out of the dining-room he must have heard Kathreen coming, and so took shelter in this corner until he had an opportunity to escape. He must have been there until the inspector arrived and herded everyone into the drawing-room. Then he saw his chance and slipped out.’
    Morning brought no news from the ports, and the detective was clearly disappointed. The inquest had been fixed for the following afternoon, and since they would both have to attend it, Jerry and his father spent the day in the village making what inquiries they could about the dead man.
    The curious atmosphere of secrecy in the Christensen household also was too strong to be ignored. W.T. was puzzled.
    â€˜Cellini may have done the murder,’ he said, ‘but I can’t help feeling that some interesting facts about all sorts of people will come to light before he is sentenced.’
    Jerry sighed.
    â€˜I hope not,’ he said involuntarily.
    The older man smiled wryly.
    â€˜I know,’ he said. ‘That is often the real tragedy of a case like this. The whole of our civilization is one network of little intrigues, some harmless, others serious, all going on in the dark just under the surface. A crime calls the attention of the community to one point, and the searchlight of public interest is switched on to this particular section of the network. The trouble is that the light does not fall upon one spot alone, but shows up all the surrounding knots and tangles, making them out of all proportion by their proximity to the murder.’
    â€˜Foul!’ said Jerry, whose thoughts were dwelling almost entirely upon Norah this morning, and they walked on in silence.
    Inquiries in the village were not altogether helpful. The detectivediscovered little that he did not know already. The dead man had not been liked by the countryfolk because, as they said, ‘he kept himself to himself’. Of Cellini no one knew anything save that he seemed to have followed his employer like a shadow, the one hardly ever being seen abroad without the other.
    The day passed without any discovery of any importance, and W.T. began to get restless. He and Jerry were seated in the private room in the ‘Blue Boar’, having their evening meal, when a phone call disturbed them. W.T. left the table eagerly and returned five minutes later, a more satisfied expression on his face than it had worn all day.
    â€˜At last,’ he said, reseating himself, ‘they’ve found the car. Cellini left it in a Folkestone garage just before six o’clock last night. A boat for Boulogne left the harbour at six-fifteen, and Inspector Deadwood is of the opinion that he probably caught it and got across before the general call was put out to the ports.’
    Jerry looked up.
    â€˜That’s pretty serious, isn’t it? I mean, there’s not much chance of getting him now, is there?’
    â€˜Oh dear me, yes!’ W.T. was brightening up visibly, and the gloom which had enveloped him all day now began to disperse like fog before the sun. ‘You can chase a man in one country as well as another,’ he said. ‘The French police have been informed of course, and will doubtless render us every assistance in their power … Feel like a trip to the Continent, Jerry?’
    â€˜Why, is it likely?’
    â€˜Very,’ said the old man. ‘I must get an extradition order.’
    Late the following afternoon, as father and son walked back to the ‘Blue Boar’ from the inquest they were met with a message.
    Cellini located in Paris. French police report arrest impossible at the moment. M. le Gris of the Intelligence Department will explain by word of mouth alone. – Deadwood.
    W.T. and Jerry exchanged glances.
    â€˜What does it mean?’ the boy demanded, his forehead puckering.
    W.T. thrust his fingers through his white hair till it stood up on his head like a cockatoo’s crest.
    â€˜Goodness