Free Mystery Mile by Margery Allingham Page A

at any rate, he would be as stubborn as a mule.
    â€˜You intend, I suppose,’ he said, ‘to stay here until you’ve found the solution to your crossword?’
    Judge Lobbett nodded. ‘I certainly had that idea,’ he said. ‘But after the terrible affair this evening I don’t know what to say.’ He glanced at Campion. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘In your opinion what sort of chance have I got of getting my man if I stay here?’
    The younger man rose to his feet. ‘One,’ he said, an unusually convincing tone in his voice. ‘You’re in England, and I don’t think it would be any too easy for our friend Simister to do anything on a very big scale. He couldn’t get half his best people out of your country, for instance, so there’s just one chance in a hundred that he’ll do the job himself. The mountain may come to Mahomet for once; and in that case I doubt whether anyone is in any real danger except yourself.’
    Judge Lobbett nodded to the closed door behind the younger man. ‘Maybe so,’ he said, ‘but what about that?’
    Campion remained silent for some moments, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
    â€˜I fancy,’ he said at last, hesitating as if he were weighing every word, ‘that there’s something more than ordinarily mysterious about that. Poor old boy!’

8 The Envelope
    THE CHANGE IN the drawing-room in the Dower House was extraordinary. The cosiness, the peace had vanished. The fire had burned down to a few red and grey coals, the candles had shrunk in their sticks, and the room was cold and desolate.
    The two girls sat huddled together in the window-seat. Biddy was not crying; she sat up stiffly, her back against the folded wooden shutter. Her face was very pale, and the same twisted, suffering expression was still engraved upon it.
    The other girl sat close to her, her small hand resting upon her knee.
    â€˜I can’t tell you how unbelievable it is,’ Biddy burst out suddenly, keeping her voice down instinctively as if she feared to be overheard. ‘It’s so unlike him. I didn’t think he had a care in the world, and no greater worry than the attendance at the Sunday school. Why should he have done this horrible, horrible thing?’
    Isopel could not answer her.
    â€˜To think of it! He must have known when he said good night to me. He must have gone over there deliberately, written the letter to Mr Topliss, sent Alice over here with that note, and then gone into that little cupboard all by himself and – oh –’
    She leaned back against the shutter and closed her eyes.
    Isopel nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. The lashes drooped over her dark eyes and a sombre expression passed over her young face. ‘For the last six weeks I’ve lived in an atmosphere like this. I’m growing callous, I think. At first, Schuyler, father’s secretary. I’d known him since I was a kid. They found him in dad’s chair, shot through the head.’ She shuddered. ‘They must have shot him through the window from a block opposite.Ever since then it’s been one after the other. Wills – the butler; then our new chauffeur, and then Doc Wetherby, who was walking down the street with father. I was scared then. But afterwards, on board ship and at our hotel in London, I was so frightened I thought I should go out of my mind. And then when we came down here it seemed like an escape.’ She sighed. ‘That house of yours across the park, and this one – they were so quiet, undisturbed for centuries, it seemed that nothing terrible could happen in them. But now we’ve brought you this horror. Sometimes I feel’ – her voice sank to a whisper – ‘that we’ve roused the devil. There’s some ghastly evil power dogging us, something from which we can’t escape.’
    She spoke quite seriously, and the gravity of her