Bodies from the Library 4 by Tony Medawar

Author:Tony Medawar [Crane, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-07-02T17:00:00+00:00

PART VI

Another day of sunshine: of blue sky and blue sea, of gulls wheeling over the harbour, of little wavelets lapping the side of the quay, of the sea-scented warmth of the air struck up from sun-baked stone. But in the hearts of the seven victims being driven before Mr Dickinson along the quay to where the launch waited to take them out to the yacht, there was no sunshine.

Gloria was uneasy and frightened, trying desperately to keep the balance between Mr Thoms and Evan Stone, till at last it should be possible to announce to the world that the money-bags had won. Thom-Thom, jealous and suspicious, doting and anxious, tried by forced geniality to conceal from his secretary that anything could be wrong; Evan felt wretchedly that he was somehow disloyal to his employer in stealing the prize from him, by reason of twenty years of devotion compared to Mr Thoms’ one.

Jenny walked droopingly with downcast eyes, Julian very upright and handsome, but obviously ill at ease. Only Truda forgot her personal troubles, overwhelming though those might be, and gave her mind to the full significance of the horror that overshadowed them all. One of them—one of them!—walked even now in the terror of shameful death; one of them, before this morning was out, would stand accused of murder.

Was one of them afraid, now; afraid in his heart, coldly, desperately despairingly afraid of what was so soon to come? Oh, Julian, my love, not you! Not you! She could not endure to see his brown eyes so clouded, to see the insouciant laughter wiped so bleakly from his troubled face. Julian, the gay, the smiling, the irresponsible, the clean of heart—with downcast eyes and grim, set mouth, and nervous hands … Oh, Julian—not you! She closed her thoughts against the bare whisper of it. Mystery there might be, and questions unanswered and an undercurrent of ugliness that she did not understand; but she walked along at his side in her cool, summer dress, and looked up into his face, and gave him all her trust. Let the mind whisper ugly doubts the heart knew best.

They sat silently in the launch as it scudded across the blue waters to the little white yacht nosing at her mooring out in the bay; or stood in the stern, the light breeze ruffling their hair, the light spray needling their faces with a million tiny tonic touches, barely perceptible.

When they boarded the Cariad, Mr Dickinson assembled them all in the well and faced them, leaning back against the wheel, Inspector Trickett standing stolidly beside him, silently looking on. ‘I want to take you down afterwards to the cabin; the lunch will be laid out just as it was five days ago, when Mr Winson died. They’re doing it now.’

Tiggy’s little face, upraised to his in wonder and curiosity, was the face of a flower; for she had for the moment left off her spectacles. He said; ‘Why don’t you go and help them

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