Free Miss Marple and Mystery by Agatha Christie Page A

to make a new will, and your master was talking about shooting him. Not five minutes later the shot was heard. Oh! yes, clear enough. Silly young fool.’
    Clear enough indeed. Dermot’s heart sank as he realized the overwhelming nature of the evidence against him. Danger indeed – horrible danger! And no way out save that of flight. He set his wits to work. Presently he suggested making a cup of tea. Cawley assented readily enough. He had already searched the flat and knew there was no back entrance.
    Dermot was permitted to depart to the kitchen. Once there he put the kettle on, and chinked cups and saucers industriously. Then he stole swiftly to the window and lifted the sash. The flat was on the second floor, and outside the window was a small wire lift used by tradesmen which ran up and down on its steel cable.
    Like a flash Dermot was outside the window and swinging himself down the wire rope. It cut into his hands, making them bleed, but he went on desperately.
    A few minutes later he was emerging cautiously from the back of the block. Turning the corner, he cannoned into a figure standing by the sidewalk. To his utter amazement he recognized Jack Trent. Trent was fully alive to the perils of the situation.
    ‘My God! Dermot! Quick, don’t hang about here.’
    Taking him by the arm, he led him down a by-street then down another. A lonely taxi was sighted and hailed and they jumped in, Trent giving the man his own address.
    ‘Safest place for the moment. There we can decide what to do next to put those fools off the track. I came round here hoping to be able to warn you before the police got here, but I was too late.’
    ‘I didn’t even know that you had heard of it. Jack, you don’t believe –’
    ‘Of course not, old fellow, not for one minute. I know you far too well. All the same, it’s a nasty business for you. They came round asking questions – what time you got to the Grafton Galleries, when you left, etc. Dermot, who could have done the old boy in?’
    ‘I can’t imagine. Whoever did it put the revolver in my drawer, I suppose. Must have been watching us pretty closely.’
    ‘That seance business was damned funny. “ Don’t go home .” Meant for poor old West. He did go home, and got shot.’
    ‘It applies to me to,’ said Dermot. ‘I went home and found a planted revolver and a police inspector.’
    ‘Well, I hope it doesn’t get me too,’ said Trent. ‘Here we are.’
    He paid the taxi, opened the door with his latch-key, and guided Dermot up the dark stairs to his den, which was a small room on the first floor.
    He threw open the door and Dermot walked in, whilst Trent switched on the light, and then came to join him.
    ‘Pretty safe here for the time being,’ he remarked. ‘Now we can get our heads together and decide what is best to be done.’
    ‘I’ve made a fool of myself,’ said Dermot suddenly. ‘I ought to have faced it out. I see more clearly now. The whole thing’s a plot. What the devil are you laughing at?’
    For Trent was leaning back in his chair, shaking with unrestrained mirth. There was something horrible in the sound – something horrible, too, about the man altogether. There was a curious light in his eyes.
    ‘A damned clever plot,’ he gasped out. ‘Dermot, my boy, you’re done for.’
    He drew the telephone towards him.
    ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Dermot.
    ‘Ring up Scotland Yard. Tell ’em their bird’s here – safe under lock and key. Yes, I locked the door when I came in and the key’s in my pocket. No good looking at that other door behind me. That leads into Claire’s room, and she always locks it on her side. She’s afraid of me, you know. Been afraid of me a long time. She always knows when I’m thinking about that knife – a long sharp knife. No, you don’t –’
    Dermot had been about to make a rush at him, but the other had suddenly produced an ugly-looking revolver.
    ‘That’s the second of them,’ chuckled Trent.