Free Death Knocks Three Times by Anthony Gilbert

crossing to speak to him.
    “Mr. Sherren?” he said. “The lady told me to say that if you’re going to Greenglades she can take you along with her.”
    And, “Thanks, chum,” said Mr. Crook under his breath. “Now we know where we’re going.”
    Sheepishly John accepted the offer.
    “Well, Mr. Sherren,” said the dragon composedly, “I dare say I am right in thinking you are here for the same reason as myself—to visit Miss Bond. I noticed your name on your suitcase in the train.”
    He tried to pass it off casually. “Yes, I’ve come down for a night or two. Not that I had heard from Aunt Clara that she was troubled about any anonymous letters, but—^you might call it telepathy, I suppose. I had a feeling something was wrong.”
    “Really, Mr. Sherren? Very interesting. You feel something is wrong. I know she is in danger—in great danger.”
    He couldn’t meet her eyes. She was a terrible woman. He wondered if her secret source of knowledge told her anything else, that he’d come down to carry out the threats in the anonymous letters and murder his Aunt Clara. It wouldn’t have surprised him in the least.

8
    M ISS BOND might be in peril of her life, but there was nothing to indicate that fact as she came forward into the lounge of Greenglades to greet her visitors. When she saw John her brows rose.
    “My dear John, this is an unexpected pleasure. Or perhaps Miss Pettigrew has called you into conference.”
    “Not at all,” said John, quickly. “We met quite by chance on the train.”
    “Traveling in the same carriage,” amplified Miss Pettigrew. “An unexpected pleasure for me also.”
    “I am afraid your letter must have gone astray,” Miss Bond continued. “However, as you are here, perhaps you can be of assistance. You call yourself a realist, I believe. I have something here real enough to make your hair stand on end—what’s left of it.” Smiling, she turned to Miss Pettigrew. “How are you, Frances?
    You never seem to change. It was good of you to come so far for an old woman’s whim.”
    She led the way into a small, cheerful, well-furnished sitting room. Miss Pettigrew looked around with interest.
    “I was very fond of Isabel, as you know, Clara. I always thought if I were a man I should have wanted to marry her. She was so obviously the type that needs looking after. Pretty and fluffy and no brains at all, as Mr. Herbert puts it—or words to that effect. Dear me, Clara, is this your private sitting room?”
    “I told the proprietor I had a friend coming down and should require privacy to discuss personal afiEairs, and he put this room at my disposal.”
    “I mentioned to your nephew, when I realized his identity, my object in coming down here today,” acknowledged Miss Pettigrew. “Or shall I say one of my objects? Do you mean, Clara, there have been more letters?”
    “A truly significant one at last. Up to the present I had refused to take the matter seriously. The world is full of halfwitted people who think this sort of activity a joke.”
    “A joke in very poor taste, Clara, you will agree.”
    “My dear Frances, the taste of most people is deplorable. Here is the latest—effusion.”
    She opened her large black-velvet reticule and cast down a slip of paper on which was printed:
     
    Make the most of your next birthday. Miss Bond. It will be your last.
     
    “A definite threat, as you see.”
    “A climax, perhaps,” amended Miss Pettigrew. “Have you the others, Clara, or did you think them beneath contempt?”
    “I kept them, naturally. It is never possible to forecast how a matter like this will turn out. I have them here.”
    There were three notes leading up to the climax; all were roughly printed on cheap, lined paper, all were undated and unsigned. The first read:
     
    This is her aniversary. How are you Reeling now?
     
    and had arrived on the unfortunate Isabel’s birthday. The second ran:
     
    The souls of the righteous are in the hands of God. There