Todd, Charles - Ian Rutledge 14 - The Confession by Charles Todd

Todd, Charles - Ian Rutledge 14 - The Confession by Charles Todd

Author:Charles Todd [Todd, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical
ISBN: 9780062101358
Google: srMszbz83kcC
Amazon: B00DTOR78M
Goodreads: 11999397
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-12-14T23:00:00+00:00


Chapter 15

Rutledge stayed very still, certain that he had been spotted. That something, some inadvertent movement, had given him away. Then, finally, the man turned back to his contemplation of the water.

Even now he couldn’t be sure. Was it Russell standing there? Or someone from the village?

He let the edge of the heavy drapes fall gently back into place and was across the room in swift long strides, shutting the door and making his way to the staircase. It had taken him fewer than two minutes to go down the stairs and reach the room overlooking the terrace.

But when he looked out, he saw no one on the landing stage or on the lawns.

Whoever had been there was gone.

And he had no idea where.

He searched the landings, the grounds, and the park for nearly three-quarters of an hour, but if Russell had come to River’s Edge, he’d disappeared.

There was still the chance that he’d seen someone from the village, but Rutledge was unconvinced. What would possibly bring them out this far at this hour of the night?

There had been no indication that the house had or was being used to store contraband, although it wouldn’t have surprised him to find that it had been on occasion.

An empty house on the water was always a great temptation. A boat could easily come up this far on a dark night, put in at the landing long enough for the goods in bulk to be unloaded and carried up to the terrace doors. A fairly decent livelihood. But this gift had been handed to them at the same time that crossing the channel had become impossible. The villagers must have cursed their luck. And if the smuggling that he had witnessed was any example, they hadn’t reestablished their contacts or else they were unable to afford more than three men could carry.

Hamish said, “They’re a suspicious lot at best. They wouldna’ trust strangers in France any more than strangers in yon village.”

Rutledge had to agree with him.

He gave up the search finally. Whoever had been here had gone, either by boat or on foot. Quietly and without being seen. Walking down the choked drive to his motorcar, Rutledge was glad he’d left it some distance from the stone gates.

All the same, he was relieved to find it just as he’d left it, motor and tires intact. He had no taste for walking all the way to Furnham.

The Dragonfly Inn was dark, but when Rutledge tried the door, it opened. A small lamp burned in the little room behind Reception, and he called to the man who was usually there. No one answered. He wondered how the inn made enough money to stay open, given the owner’s aversion to strangers.

And then he realized the answer to that.

Ordinarily this was where the contraband was brought—except when a man from Scotland Yard had stubbornly taken up residence. It could be sorted and passed on at leisure but more importantly controlled by the chosen few involved. The



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