Death Walks in Eastrepps by Francis Beeding

Author:Francis Beeding [Beeding, Francis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Detection
Publisher: Roy Glashan's Library
Published: 2021-03-22T23:00:00+00:00

IV.

ROBERT ELDRIDGE, with Margaret at White Cottage, had ceased to recognise himself. Was this the man who travelled weekly to Fenchurch Street, who wore a black coat with striped trousers, spats and a hard collar? With Margaret he was transformed—a conquistador, a hero home from the West. Or he was clad in a wide tunic, trimmed with a key-pattern in gold; his head was crowned with honeysuckle. She was in his arms by a purple sea, as in the film he had seen at the Tivoli the other day. Love on an Island.... This was his island—this room in which the hours slipped away with Margaret as in another life than his own.

"Bob," she said, "you're exceeding your allowance."

But he pulled her closer to him and kissed her again.

"One day in seven, Margaret," he said. "We must make the most of it."

After a time she drew away a little impatiently, he thought.

"Dear," he asked, "what is it?"

She put a hand up and played with the lobe of his left ear, a gesture which filled him with a delight admittedly foolish.

"Bob," she said, "I do get so tired of waiting. I just sit here day after day and wonder how long we shall have to go on like this. Then, of course, there is Dick, who threatens to spoil it all. This is the greatest thing in our lives, but, just because it ought to be so fine, all this secrecy and fear is unbearable. I never want to see again this flat land, the grey sea and this beastly little town."

He rose from his chair, took a turn down the room and back again.

"I know how you feel." he said. "But we shall not have to wait much longer."

How lovely were her arms as they stretched towards him to lie across his shoulders!—like the necks of two white swans, he thought, and wished he could write poetry.

"Only a very short time now," he continued. "I can promise you that."

He swung away again, and, reaching up to the mantelpiece, found and lighted a cigarette.

"Nobody wants to live here less than I do," he went on.

"I thought you rather liked the place," she said.

"I did like it once upon a time—in fact, I still have nothing very definite against it. But somehow these last few days...."

He broke off.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"I have taken a dislike to it," said Eldridge.

"Anything in particular?"

"The fact is," he said after a pause, "I've had a bit of a fright, and I suppose I haven't yet had time to shake it off."

Margaret's eyes grew wide with alarm. "What is it?" she asked. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I haven't seen you until to-night since it happened."

"But, Bob, please tell me what it is?" Eldridge paused a moment.

"It has to do with these awful murders," he began. "Well?"

"Has it ever struck you, my dear, that they have happened always on a night when you and I have been together?"

"I hadn't noticed it, Bob. But what if they have?"

"It was an odd coincidence.

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