Miss Pinkerton by Mary Roberts Rinehart

Author:Mary Roberts Rinehart [Rinehart, Mary Roberts]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2018-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XVIII

Standing there with the wind blowing my uniform about me, I had a moment of doubt. Never before had I worked against the Inspector, and I felt disloyal and uncomfortable. Yet the Inspector wanted the facts, and if this girl offered one way to get at them, then it seemed to me that it was my duty to use her.

But I was convinced that Paula had not told me all the truth. Indeed, had it not been that the letter had not been found, I might have gone so far as to suspect her of planting such a letter after the crime! Certain as she was that someone inside that house had killed Herbert Wynne, she might conceivably have gone even to such a length to bring out what she felt were the facts.

But the letter had not been found, and inside that house I was certain that old Miss Juliet Mitchell was at that moment making her peace with her God, and was about to sign Charlie Elliott’s death warrant.

I was roused by Paula touching my arm. “Listen,” she said. “Why can’t you get me into that house and upstairs? Now.”

“I might, if you had come clean as I asked you.”

She colored faintly. “I’ve told you all I can,” she said. “I’ll give you my word for this, Miss Adams. I’ll show whatever I find to you. Absolutely. And you can tell the police.”

“Then, you know where this letter is? Or was?”

“I think I do. I’m not certain.”

“Why not let me look?”

But she made an impatient gesture. “Why should I?” she demanded. “I’ve trusted you, and I think you’re friendly. But this is a life and death matter, and after all they employ you.” She changed her tone. “I’m sorry, but you’ll not regret it. I promise you that.”

I agreed, at last. Agreed with an uncomfortable feeling that Paula was probably being shadowed all the time, and that the Inspector might come down on me with one of his rare rages when he found it out. She followed me to the front of the house, and rather to my surprise it was empty. Florence Lenz had disappeared and there was no sign of Hugo. The house was very quiet, except for Mary, scrubbing viciously somewhere in the rear.

I turned and nodded to Paula, and she slipped in, looking about her nervously. Everything was quiet as we reached the landing; Miss Juliet’s door was still closed, and from behind it came the faint monotonous sound of her voice. But just as I reached the door leading into my own room, which adjoined Miss Juliet’s, I heard Hugo’s heavy step in the hall overhead. He was coming down from the third floor.

Both of us stopped, petrified. Then I caught Paula and shoved her—there is no other word—into my room and followed her. As I closed the door, Hugo was on the stairs above! I stood for a moment, facing the door and holding the knob, and I confess that my heart was beating a good hundred and fifty, and then some.

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