The Wrong Way Down by Elizabeth Daly Read Free Book Online Page A

Higgs,” said Miss Vance.
    Miss Higgs barely inclined her head. A very good-looking girl in her twenties, with an expression of languid disdain. She wore no hat, and her long velvet dress was rather informal. She might have been the product of a conventional bringing up and a fashionable school.
    â€œMr. Bowles,” said Miss Vance.
    Mr. Bowles was a little startling. He stood at the right-end side of the mantel, just behind Miss Higgs, and there was a glass on the shelf at his elbow. He was of medium height, dark, with heavy shoulders. He kept his heavy face lowered, and looked up at Gamadge from cold observant eyes. The eyes were a little sunken—Mr. Bowles might be needing sleep. He wore a blue pin-stripe suit that had not been pressed recently.
    He muttered something that was meant to be affable.
    The bouncer after all? thought Gamadge.
    â€œAnd,” said Miss Vance, “Mr. Simpson.”
    Mr. Simpson’s suit had not been handed to him off a rack; nor did it need pressing. It was dark, well-cut and expensive. He was dark, well-made and expensive-looking himself. A young fellow, not more than twenty-five; brown-eyed, brown-haired, slim, self-confident. And if he’s psychic, thought Gamadge, then so am I.
    There was a big crystal globe on the mantel. Gamadge asked with naïve interest: “Do you use a globe, Miss Vance?”
    â€œNo, that’s something I used to use. I don’t use anything now. Won’t you have a drink first, Mr. Gamadge? Before you tell us what you want to know?”
    Mr. Simpson took a step towards a side table on which was a whiskey tray, but Gamadge shook his head. “No thanks, nothing for me. I won’t keep you waiting. I’ll get right down to business.”
    There was a long cherry-wood table below the windows, clear except for some big magazines. Gamadge went over to the table, heaped the magazines at one end of it, laid his parcel down, and unrolled it. Miss Vance came to stand beside him.
    â€œSomething has been lost,” he said. “I thought this might help you to find it.”
    â€œBy clairvoyance?”
    â€œBy clairvoyance of course.”
    â€œSometimes a related object does help.”
    â€œThis is a related object.” Gamadge stripped off the inside wrapping of brown paper, and laid the aquatint face upwards on the table. He kept it flat with both hands, and looked at Iris Vance. She stood absolutely still. Wonderful control of the muscles, Gamadge thought.
    The group by the fire watched her. Moments passed.
    â€œI see that you remember Lady Audley,” said Gamadge. “You would, naturally.”
    She slowly raised her eyes and looked at Gamadge with polite inquiry. “Know it? To my knowledge I’ve never seen it before.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that; I thought you’d remember it, since it comes from the Ashbury house on Park Avenue.”
    â€œI haven’t been there, except for a short call on Miss Paxton last Sunday afternoon, for many years. Not since I was a child.”
    â€œSo she told me.”
    â€œWhat has been lost, Mr. Gamadge?”
    â€œThe other Lady Audley, a much better one; what is called a proof before letter. You know what that is?”
    â€œNo, I really don’t.”
    â€œAn engraving with no inscription on it. It hung in the hall until—let me see—Sunday evening. Then it developed letters—all this…” Gamadge ran his finger along the lettering. “Miss Paxton noticed that it had done so, and mentioned the queer fact to me today.”
    She looked down at the picture, and then up at him again. “I really don’t understand at all.”
    â€œYou’ve never met another such case of this kind of spirit writing?”
    â€œI never even heard of such a thing.”
    â€œI’m so ignorant about the occult. I hoped you could explain it. A proof before letter is so much more valuable, you know.”
    Mr. Bowles