Free The Cases of Susan Dare by Mignon G. Eberhart Page B

had asked.
    “Nothing,” said Susan. “But I’ve had appendicitis.”
    “Oh,” said Jim, relieved. “Then you can—oh, take a pulse, make a show of nursing. She’s not sick, you know. If she were, we could not do this.”
    “I can shake a thermometer without dropping it,” said Susan. “If the doctor will help—”
    “Oh, he’ll help all right,” said Lieutenant Mohrn somewhat grimly. “We have his consent and approval.”
    She pulled a small brown hat over her hair and then remembered to change gold slippers to brown oxfords.
    In the hall Jim was waiting.
    “Mohrn had to go,” he said. “I’ll take you out. Glenn Ash is about an hour’s run from town.”
    “All right,” said Susan. She scribbled a note to Huldah and spoke soberly to the dog, who liked to have things explained to him.
    “I’m going to a house in Glenn Ash,” she said gravely. “Be a good dog. And don’t chase the neighbor’s cat.”
    He pushed a cold nose against her hand. He didn’t want her to go, and he thought the matter of Petruchkin the cat might better have been ignored. Then the front door closed and he heard presently two doors bang and a car drive away. He returned to the library. But he was gradually aware that the peace and snugness were gone. He felt gloomily that it would have been very much better if the woman had stayed at home.
    And the woman, riding along a rainswept road, rather agreed with him. She peered through the rain-shot light lanes ahead and reviewed in her mind the few facts that she knew. And they were brief enough.
    At the home of one Gladstone Denisty in Glenn Ash a servant had been murdered. Had been shot in the back and found (where he’d fallen) in a ravine near the house. There was no weapon found, and anyway he couldn’t have shot himself. There were no signs of attempted burglary. There were, indeed, no clues. He was a quiet, well-behaved man and an efficient servant and had been with the Denisty family for some time; so far as could be discovered, his life held no secrets.
    Yet that morning he had been found in the ravine, murdered.
    The household consisted of Gladstone Denisty and his wife; his mother and brother, and two remaining servants.
    “It’s Mrs. Gladstone Denisty—her first name is Felicia—whom we want you to nurse,” Lieutenant Mohrn had said. “There’s more to the thing than meets the eye. You see, the only lead we have leads to the Denisty home; this man was killed by a bullet of the same caliber as that of a revolver which is known to have been in the Denisty house—property of nobody in particular—and which has disappeared within the last week. But that’s all we know. And we thought if we could get you inside the house—just to watch things, you know. There’s no possible danger to you.”
    “There’s always danger,” said Jim brusquely, “where there’s murder.”
    “If Miss Dare thinks there’s danger, she’s to leave,” said Lieutenant Mohrn wearily. “All I want her to do is get a—line on things.”
    And Jim, somehow grudgingly, had said nothing; still said nothing.
    It was a long ride to Glenn Ash, and that night a difficult one, owing to the rain and wind. But they did finally turn off the winding side road into a driveway and stop.
    Susan could barely see the great dark bulk of the house looming above with only a light or two showing.
    Then Jim’s hand was guiding her up some brick steps and across a wide veranda. He put his mouth to her ear: “If anything happens that you don’t like, leave. At once.” And Susan whispered, “I will,” and Jim was gone, and the wide door was opening, and a very pretty maid was taking her bag and leading her swiftly upstairs. The household had retired, said the maid, and Mrs. Denisty would see her in the morning.
    “You mean Mrs. Gladstone Denisty?” asked Susan.
    “Oh, no, ma’am. Mrs. Denisty,” said the maid. “Is there anything—? Thank you. Good-night, ma’am.”
    Susan, after a thoughtful