Free Transmigration by J. T. McIntosh Page B

indicated she was at least a normal

thirteen-year-old if not a precocious thirteen-year-old.
     
     
"The police have gone," said Judy. "But they asked us to let them know

if anybody inquired about Mr. Fletcher. It seems hardly anything is

known about him . . . are you relatives, by any chance?"
     
     
"No . . . I'm Anita Somerset and this is Ian Ross. We met Mr. Fletcher

through experiments at the university."
     
     
"Experiments?" Judy, leading them upstairs to Fletcher's room, paused

on the stairs to look back.
     
     
"Yes."
     
     
She recollected herself. "Oh, I'm Judy MacDonald. My mother is the

landlady. She had to go to the police station again."
     
     
"Yes, of course."
     
     
Ross, who had restrained himself so far, started to say something,

but Anita, suspicious in advance of anything he might choose to say,

dug him in the ribs with her elbow.
     
     
Perhaps, Fletcher thought wonderingly, he had achieved something

worth-while after all, in death if not in life. How it was possible by

briefly inhabiting Judy's mind to effect such a transformation he had

no idea, but then he had no idea either how he managed to jump from mind

to mind.
     
     
They entered Fletcher's room. It was much as he had left it. The police

had put everything back as they found it.
     
     
"This is where he lived, said Judy. "The furniture isn't his, but everything

else is. There's a gold watch, typewriter, radio, clothes. Do you know

anyone who should get them?"
     
     
"I'm afraid not," said. Anita. She stood irresolute, not knowing how to

go on. Then she said: "Fletcher's definitely dead, I suppose? I mean,

there's no doubt?"
     
     
The quizzical glance Judy shot at her meant more to Fletcher than it

did to Anita or Ross. To them it only indicated her surprise that people

who had read of a man's death in the newspaper should doubt that he was

dead. To Fletcher it indicated speculation if Anita suspected what she

knew -- that Fletcher had not died when his body did.
     
     
"Well, in the fall his brain was smashed, his neck was broken and his

back was broken, all instantly," Judy said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I don't know how anyone can be much deader than that."
     
     
Anita shuddered. But she went on steadily: "That's part of what I

mean. He must have been pretty badly smashed up. Could there be any

mistake in identification?"
     
     
"No," said Judy firmly. "His face wasn't injured."
     
     
"There's no question of suicide, I suppose?" said Ross casually.
     
     
Again that quizzical glance. "Why should there be? Mr. Fletcher apparently

leaned on the gate, and for some reason it had been unfastened --

probably by children. The police at first hinted my mother should have

done something about that gate, but then they looked around and merely

suggested it should be padlocked, since it's never used now. Every

building in the street has a basement well like ours, some in use, some

not. There are stone steps leading down, with a railing on the street side

and not on the other. Some have gates like ours, some have none. Children

play on the stairs, and sometimes fall. My mother said she never heard

of anyone being seriously hurt before. This is old property . . . "
     
     
"But the gate was normally shut," Ross persisted.
     
     
"Yes, with a bolt. No padlock. It couldn't open by itself. And there's

a spring to shut the gate if it's opened. This morning the gate was shut

but not bolted."
     
     
"Who found the body?"
     
     
"I did. About seven. I was thirsty and went down for the milk."
     
     
Judy was perfectly composed. The night before she must have felt Fletcher

leave her. To discover the body on her return to the house would have

prompted many awkward questions. So she had sensibly waited until a

reasonable opportunity of finding the body presented itself.
     
     
"You can't tell me anyone who should know about Mr. Fletcher?" she said.
     
     
"No," said Anita. "I knew he was rather solitary