Free The Darke Chronicles by David Stuart Davies Page B

until Mr Stone is a little more…’ He made a gesture with his hands to suggest stability. ‘The lady didn’t surprise our man because it’s clear that she was murdered where she was found.’ Thornton took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Maybe murder was the motive, and the burglary bit is a bit of show.’
    ‘A sleight of hand, Edward? Very much in keeping with my line of thinking.’
    ‘What is your precise line of thinking?’
    ‘Nothing definite as yet. I agree that murder – rather than theft – appears to be the motive, but as for the rest … well, I’m afraid the waters are too cloudy at the moment, but something tells me that all is not as it seems.’
    ‘Andthen there’s this mysterious attacker in the street. Are you sure you didn’t get a good look at him?’
    Darke shook his head. ‘I can tell you nothing about him, not even his height. He was too far away and in shadow. Carla will give you the same story.’
    ‘You don’t suppose he could be the murderer do you?’ asked Grey, stifling a yawn.
    Thornton pursed his lips. ‘At the beginning of an investigation we have to consider every eventuality. What do you think, Luther? Could he have run up here and murdered Mrs Stone and got away before you arrived?’
    ‘It’s possible, I suppose, but unlikely,’ Darke said. ‘I think she was murdered before the attack. The whole affair seems strange. What would be the motive for murdering Mrs Stone, I wonder? I suppose it’s possible that someone has a grudge against Stone and wanted to take some kind of revenge against him. He’s certainly not the most charming of men.’
    ‘We’ll have to ask him if he has any ideas – but not now. He looks like he’s had his brain scrambled. Poor devil. We’d better get him to the Yard for the night so’s we can interview him in the morning. Perhaps you’d like to be in on that.’
    Darke nodded.
    ‘Very well, come along to my office at eleven tomorrow.’
    ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

    Darke and Carla walked slowly back to the hill, in search of a cab. Their minds were awhirl with the evening’s events.
    ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something I’m not seeing,’ said Darke softly, almost to himself.
    Carla smiled. ‘You’re not seeing the fellow with the knife.’
    ‘That’s true, but then neither are you. And where did he go? He vanished from view pretty sharpish.’
    ‘Ratherlike you in the sack before they set it alight. The Disappearing Man.’
    ‘Exactly. Just like an illusion.’

    Darke found a cab and escorted Carla home, before returning to his own quarters in Manchester Square. His mind was too active for sleep so, slipping on his smoking jacket and pouring himself a large whisky, he sat before the dying embers of the fire and ran over the events of the evening yet again. There was something unreal, contrived about things, as though he and Carla had participated in some kind of new magic act. At first he blamed his over-active imagination. He admitted that his fascination with mystery and illusion led him to see such affectations in normal life. But he knew that this excuse did not carry weight. He was certain that the incidents he had witnessed that evening were not exactly as they had been portrayed. Something was not real. That was his instinct, and he always trusted his instinct. There was some subterfuge at work, but at present he could not fathom what.
    He took himself slowly through all that had happened that night, from the moment Carla had entered his dressing room until Edward had arrived at Stone’s house. He used his mind as a third eye, seeing himself along with the other characters in the strange drama. It was a three-dimensional dumb show. As the images paraded before his inner vision, he began to get a tingling sensation on the back of his neck.
    ‘Maybe,’ he said slowly, opening his eyes, his lips trembling on the brink of a smile. ‘Maybe.’
    As he sat back in his chair and took a