THE CRIME AT TATTENHAM CORNER (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes

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СКАЧАТЬ said Sophie Burslem faintly.

      She was stretching herself lazily while from beneath her half-closed eyelids her eyes were keenly watching every moment of the maid's. Had she not been called a good amateur actress in the days that were gone? She would have to act today if she had never acted in her life before.

      "I have put all my savings on Peep o' Day," the maid went on. "My young man, he has done the same. We shall have something to talk about tonight, I expect, my lady."

      Beneath the silken counterpane Sophie Burslem's hands were twisting themselves together in an agony. Then came another of the sounds she was dreading. In the adjoining room some one was moving about opening and shutting drawers; then came silence; then a loud knocking at the door of her room. She made herself speak quietly:

      "What is that, Forbes? Just see, will you?" Then she waited again in that blank, awful expectancy. There was a murmured colloquy at the door; strain her ears as she might she could only catch a word or two.

      At last Forbes came back. "It is James, my lady; he wants to know if you can tell him where Sir John is?"

      "Sir John! I don't know. Has he gone out?"

      "I suppose so, my lady. Somebody wants to see him on important business, and he is not in his room. They are saying he has not slept there, my lady."

      "What?" Sophie Burslem raised herself on one elbow. Then she laughed. "Nonsense! Really for a moment you quite frightened me, Forbes. I expect Sir John has gone out to put a little more on Peep o' Day. He went over to Oxley last night, you know. Mr. Harker said he had never had a colt he felt so confident about. He is a beauty, Forbes!"

      "Yes, my lady."

      But the maid still hesitated. Was she really watching her furtively, Sophie wondered, or was it just her own fancy? Was she always going to be fanciful now?

      "James says—please what is he to say to the man on the phone, my lady? He has rung up twice before this morning, James says, and it's from Scotland Yard, my lady."

      "Scotland Yard!" For one moment Sophie Burslem's heart seemed to stop beating; then went on again with great suffocating throbs. This time she was sure that her laugh did her credit. So had she laughed on the stage in the old days at Elmhurst. "Poor Forbes! You really look quite frightened. Don't you know that detectives are down at Oxley watching Peep o' Day? It is something to do with that, of course. But why is James up here? Where is Ellerby?"

      "I don't know, my lady. He went out ever so early this morning; we are wondering when he will be back, my lady."

      "Rather an extraordinary proceeding on Ellerby's part," Sophie commented dryly. "Get my bath ready, please, Forbes, and tell James Sir John will be in directly, I expect."

      She slipped on the side of the bed as she spoke and sat there watching Forbes as she went into the bathroom and turned on the tap.

      Sophie Burslem looked very young this morning—too young to be Sir John's wife. She was a dainty vision in her soft, silken night-robe, with her pretty rounded neck and arms bare. Her shingled, chestnut hair was ruffled, it needed no permanent waving. The pink and white skin was as clear as ever, only the great, appealing brown eyes had altered indefinably. In the big pier-glass opposite she fancied that others could see the terrible fear that lurked in them, the dark circles round them. Long ago some one used to tell her that she had laughing eyes. Would anybody ever say that again? she asked herself. Just now they seemed to move of their own volition, glancing here and there into every corner fearfully. Suddenly they were caught by a tumbled heap of white by the sofa near the window. It was the frock she had worn last night just as she had thrown it down. She stared at it in a species of fascinated horror. Surely she was not mistaken. Across one fold there was an ugly, dark stain!

      She got up and went over to it, her bare feet pattering over the polished boards between.

      Forbes came back. "My lady, my lady, your slippers."

      Sophie turned round and stood before the heap on the floor, her hands behind her, her breath coming quick and fast.

      "Nonsense! I don't want slippers. You can go, Forbes. I will ring when I am ready."

      Thus dismissed the maid had no choice but to depart. When the door had closed behind her, Sophie turned, and swiftly, noiselessly, almost threw herself on the tumbled white frock! Yes, she had made no mistake. Right in front, just where the silver girdle was caught up by a buckle of brilliants, a reddish brown stain ran almost down to the hem. She put out one finger and touched it—it was dry, quite dry. But there wasn't one minute to lose. At all hazards that ghastly stain must be done away with. She tore at it with her small, strong hands, but though the silk was soft it was tough, and she could make no impression on it. She caught up a pair of nail-scissors and cut and jagged ruthlessly. Then when she held the long, ragged strip in her hand, she gazed at the remains of what had been one of her prettiest gowns, in despair.

      What on earth would Forbes say? But there was no time to think of that now. She caught up the remains of the frock and running into her dressing-room thrust it deep down into the well of the great wardrobe that took up all one side of the room. Then she crammed other things on the top and shut the door firmly. Later on she must think of something to tell Forbes, for now there was nothing to be done but to go on as usual until—She went into her bathroom, crushing up the piece of silk she had torn off in her hand.

      She splashed in and out of the warm, scented water, then, when she had rubbed herself down, she lighted a match and tried to set the silk on fire. In vain, it would do nothing but smoulder and make a pungent, acrid smell of burning. What in Heaven's name was she to do? She dashed open the windows as far as they would go; she unstoppered one of the great bottles of scent on the dressing-table and flung the contents about bathroom and bedroom. Then a sudden inspiration came to her.

      Inside the dressing-case, with its wonderful gold and jewelled fittings, which had been one of her husband's wedding presents, there was a secret drawer. She ran across, put the silk in the drawer, fastening it with a catch of which she alone knew the secret.

      She rang for Forbes. The maid came in, wrinkling up her nose.

      "Such a smell of burning, my lady!" Her beadlike, inquisitive eyes glanced round the room.

      "I don't notice it," said Sophie. "Perhaps the gardeners are burning weeds outside. Give me my things quickly, Forbes; I must not be late for breakfast. Sir John means to start early."

      The maid said nothing, but her sniff became accentuated as she went on with her mistress's toilet, set the soft shingled hair, and finally brought out the gown of grey marocain which Lady Burslem had decided to wear for the races.

      Sophie let herself be dressed as if she had been a lay figure. All the while she was listening, listening. At last she was dressed, and her maid clasped a short string of pearls round her neck in place of the long necklace she generally wore.

      She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. So she had seen herself look a hundred times—and yet would not the first person she met see the horror shadowing her eyes?

      She went down to the breakfast-room. Everything was just as usual. A pile of letters lay beside her plate. Sir John's letters and The Times, folded as he liked it, lay by his. She went round the table and sat down. The very orderly, everyday aspect of the room held something sinister, some suggestion of evil to her jaundiced mind.

      Though she drank a cup of tea feverishly СКАЧАТЬ