The Death Miser by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey [Creasey, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media

16

The Miser Speaks

QUINION shifted his gaze with an effort. There was something at once terrifying and yet fascinating about those glowing, reddish-brown eyes, which seemed to be gazing into his own. Relaxing a little to ease the strain on his arms, he found himself shivering; his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin. It was not the first time since he had rescued the dog from Thomas Loder that he had experienced the unfamiliar sensation of fear which had overwhelmed him as he stared at the man whom he was sure was The Miser.

The old man was walking slowly across the hall, and Quinion, who had been able to see all the means of egress when he had made his first quick glance round, felt fairly certain that he was going towards the room which opened from the hall to the right of the settee. Easing himself round again he managed to see the slow, deliberate, and yet unwavering footsteps of the old man. It was from an awkward angle, for he could only look beneath the settee, but he saw the gleaming patent shoes stop, and heard the handle of a door turning. Then he could see the door opening inwards.

A confused murmur of voices reached his ears. It was obvious that the room into which The Miser was walking was not empty. Several chairs scraped, the murmuring increased, and then, as the heel of the old man’s shoe passed out of Quinion’s sight, a silence followed. The door closed before Quinion heard any further sound.

For several minutes the two men stayed behind the settee without speaking. Then de Lorne inquired, with a plaintive whisper, whether it wasn’t possible for Jimmy to take most of his foot off his, de Lorne’s, nose.

Removing his foot, Quinion worked himself into a sitting position, with his legs beneath the settee.

‘Quite like home, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Feeling comfortable?’

‘I haven’t been comfortable for five minutes on end since you dragged me out of the Café of Clouds,’ de Lorne grumbled.

‘Stop grousing or I’ll put my foot on your nose again. Peter, did you see him?’

‘I saw a pair of patent shoes,’ admitted de Lorne grudgingly, ‘but the rest of everything was hidden behind that size twelve foot of yours.’

‘I only take elevens. Peter, unless I’m mistaken, those patent shoes clad the great feet of the Big Noise of Loder’s little outfit.…’

‘Seriously?’

‘Of course I’m serious. What’s worrying me is, how can we get into that room without being seen or heard?’

‘Why not take a squint upstairs while the old devil’s gone? It was an old man, wasn’t it?’

‘Very old,’ said Quinion glibly. ‘Twice as old as Methuselah.’

‘You’re lying again,’ accused de Lorne. ‘What I was about to say, is …’

‘You mean “was”,’ interrupted Quinion pedantically. ‘It’s quite a sound idea. We might learn a lot from upstairs, but on the other hand, I’m mighty curious as to what’s going on in that room. Listen. There’s the front door, the door at the top of

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