The Yellow Snake by Edgar Wallace Read Free Book Online Page B

men were tearing up the path. Three laden lorries were parked unevenly before the cottage, which was alive with men, and reminded her of a troubled ant-hill. The local builder, whom she knew, came up with a smile.
        "What do you think of this, Miss Joan—a thousand pounds worth of repair work on a hundred pound cottage!"
        She could only look and wonder. In the night, the roof had been stripped of slates and supporting beams, so that only the bare shell of the cottage remained.
        "We got the floors out and the pipes laid by four o'clock," said the builder proudly. "I've hired every labourer within twenty miles."
        "But why on earth is Mr Lynne doing all this?" she asked.
        "You know him, Miss?" asked the man, in surprise, and she went red. It was impossible to explain that the Slaters' Cottage was to be her home (as she believed) and that his eccentric employer was her future husband.
        "Yes, I know him," she said awkwardly. "He is—a friend of mine."
        "Oh!"
        Evidently this statement checked a certain frankness on the part of Mr Carter. Joan could almost guess what he would have said.
        She was smiling as she came back to the road. This freakish and feverish rebuilding of Slaters' Cottage was exactly the thing she would have expected from Clifford Lynne. Why she should, she did not know. Only it seemed as though he had been especially revealed to her; that she alone of the family understood him.
        She heard a clatter of hoofs behind her, and moved to the side of the road.
        " Bon jour —which I understand is French!"
        She turned, startled. It was the man who at that moment was in her thoughts. He was riding a shaggy old pony, sleepy-eyed, almost as dishevelled as himself.
        "What an awful trouble you must have had to find a horse that matched you!" she said. "I've seen your car—that was a perfect fit!"
        Clifford Lynne's eyes puckered as though he was laughing, but no sound came; yet she could have sworn he was shaking with laughter.
        "You're very rude," he said, as he slipped from the pony's back, "and offensive! But don't let us start quarrelling before we are married. And where did you see the car?"
        She did not answer this.
        "Why are you rebuilding this awful old cottage?" she asked. "Mr Carter said it will cost you thousands."
        He looked at her for a little while without speaking, fingering his beard.
        "I thought I would," he said absently. "I'm kind of eccentric. Living in a hot climate for so long may have affected my brain. I've known lots of fellows go like that! It's rather romantic, too," he mused. "I thought I'd get some climbing roses and honeysuckle, and perhaps run a cabbage patch and chickens—are you fond of chickens?" he asked innocently. "Black Dorkings or White Wyandottes, or vice versa? Or ducks perhaps?"
        They had reached the end of the road, the shaggy pony following obediently.
        "Old Mr Bray was rather set on your marrying one of our family, wasn't he?" she asked, so unexpectedly that for the moment he was taken aback.
        "Why, yes," he said.
        "And you were awfully fond of Mr Bray?"
        He nodded.
        "Yes, I think so. You see, we lived together for so long, and he was a likeable old devil. And he nursed me through cholera, and if it hadn't been for him I should have pegged out—which is Spanish for died. I certainly liked him."
        "You liked him so much," she challenged, "that when he asked you to come to England and marry one of his relations, you promised——"
        "Not immediately," he pleaded. "I made no promise for an awful long time. To tell you the truth, I thought he was mad."
        "But you did promise," she insisted. "And shall I tell you something else you promised?"
        He was silent.
        "You told poor Mr Bray you would say nothing that would make the girl reject you and spoil his