The Hangman's Whip by Mignon G. Eberhart

Author:Mignon G. Eberhart [Eberhart, Mignon G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453257289
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-05-29T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

SHE STOPPED STILL IN the driveway.

It seemed to her a kind of evil, pursuing fate that it should be Howland. Howland who had happened (or had he followed her and watched?) to the garage. Howland who guessed Richard’s presence. Anyone else in the place could have been depended upon to keep Richard’s presence there a secret.

Howland said: “There’s no use pretending he isn’t there. I suppose he’s been hiding in the room up in the loft. Jonas must have been bringing him food and standing guard for him. He’s a sly old fox, Jonas. Well, my dear. Shall I go and see Richard? Although I don’t really want to see him. It’s you I want to talk to.”

She must warn Richard; that was mainly in her mind. Howland, still smiling imperturbably, drew her arm through his own and turned her toward the drive leading to the house.

“It’s a good time, Search,” he said, “to get things clear between us. Remember what I said to you—a few days ago in your little apartment way up on the tenth floor—there in Chicago?”

This time she answered. “Yes.”

“All right. You were ready to say yes then; you told me only to wait a little. You intended to marry me then. Didn’t you?”

“Not then.”

“But later. You almost promised. But that night you came up here and saw Richard. And turned me down flat.”

“Are you going to the sheriff? For revenge—” That was wrong; she stopped abruptly, wishing there had not been ridicule (and a thin edge of fright) in her voice. Howland was still smiling, but his upper lip began to draw back a little under his short dark mustache.

“Did I threaten to go to the sheriff and say, ‘Look here, the man you want for murder is hiding in the loft room of the old garage on the Abbott place’? Within a stone’s throw of the house and the cottage where the murder occurred.” He chuckled a little softly. “It is like the old saying, a murderer returns to the scene of the crime.”

“Howland, stop.”

“Oh, I’m not going to do it. Even if you can’t bring yourself to ask me “

“You can’t believe he murdered her!”

There was the spatter of gravel from beyond the next curve in the driveway and the sound of someone whistling sharply and tunelessly between his teeth. It was Calvin, and he walked around the curve and brought up quickly when he saw them.

“Oh, I was looking for you. Say, listen, Howland, it’s all set for the inquest tomorrow morning. At ten. Whether they find Dick or not between now and then. Don’t you think you’d better sort of—well, coach us in what kind of answers we are to make?”

“Nervous, Calvin?” said Howland, smiling.

Calvin’s shoulders gave a jerk. “Of course I’m nervous. I hate anything like that. Family troubles aired. All kinds of impertinent questions. Besides, there’s—there’s my position to consider.”

“Afraid you’ll lose a few votes?”

“If enough mud is thrown some of it is likely to stick,” said Calvin nervously.

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