Free The Watersplash by Patricia Wentworth Page A

she said,
    “Well, I believe you. I don’t suppose anyone else would, but on the whole I think I do. But if I hold my tongue I’ll be taking a considerable risk. I suppose you know that.”
    “No one will—know.”
    “I hope not, but there is always the chance. I mentioned at the work-party that I intended to go over to the church to see you about the music. It is just possible that someone may have seen William Jackson either going up to the church or coming away from it.”
    He said,
    “It was dark.”
    “Yes, it was dark. But there is that risk. I am not inclined to make too light of it. If I do this for you, I think there is something which you might do for me.”
    In his relief, he could only stammer,
    “Yes—yes—anything.”
    Her tone was precise and businesslike as she replied.
    “At the time of his death your brother Jonathan owed us quite a large sum of money.”
    “Jonathan!”
    “It can hardly be news to you that he was in the habit of running up debts.”
    “But James paid them—settled everything.”
    “He did not settle this one. You see, he had warned me against lending money to Jonathan. I had not taken his advice.”
    Arnold sat up straight. Two facts dominated his mind.
    James had certainly paid all Jonathan’s debts. To the last farthing.
    He had no choice but to accept this supposititious debt of Mildred Blake’s and discharge it. If he wanted to stop her mouth.
    He had, in fact, exchanged one blackmailer for another, and a more formidable one.
    CHAPTER XII
    The inquest was short and formal, and the verdict “Death by misadventure.” Mr. Ball read the funeral service, and the widow wept at the graveside in the old black coat and skirt which had been Miss Lucy Wayne’s second-best. Next week she would be going into service again, at the Vicarage. There was Joe Hodges and his wife wanting the cottage, and even if she felt as if she could stay there by herself, there were nearly all her savings spent, and better to work while she could and have the rent coming in to put by for a rainy day. Mrs. Ball might be a newcomer, but she was a real lady. Annie knew a real lady when she saw one, and if she had to go into service again she would rather it was up at the Vicarage than anywhere else. Only when you’ve had a home of your own— The tears ran down her ravaged face. She knew in her heart that she might not have had one for long. William had been a bad husband. He drank, he had begun to knock her about, and there was that girl in Embank. The cottage had been bought with her money, but it was in his name. She stood by the open grave and wept, and how many of her tears were for William, and how many were for her lost savings, and her lost hope, and her lost pride, she probably did not know herself.
    The inquest and the funeral were still to come when Clarice Dean rang up the south lodge just after lunch on Saturday. The telephone was in Miss Ora’s room, so she waited till she had seen Miss Mildred go down the street, and then slipped out to the telephone-box by Mrs. Alexander’s shop. It was soundproof if you were careful to see that the door had really caught, only of course you had to remember that you were on a party line, and that anyone might be listening in. Not that it mattered in this case. She didn’t mind who heard her talking in an intimate and affectionate manner to Edward Random.
    But it wasn’t Edward who answered from the south lodge, it was Susan Wayne. Clarice made a lively grimace. Was Edward never at home? She had tried for him last night, and as late as she dared. Of course Susan might be just officious, butting in and taking the call, when she was only a visitor in the house and it wasn’t any of her business. She said in her high, sweet voice,
    “Oh, Susan, is that you? How nice! Have you started up at the Hall yet?”
    “No—not till Monday. Did you want to speak to Emmeline?”
    Clarice allowed herself a little silvery laugh.
    “Well, no, darling. As a