|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 6
"There are three sets of prints in all. First a very deep one where
the party had landed, then another broken up like, where she had
turned round, and the third set with the heel-marks very deep where
she had sprung back over the hedge."
_"She?"_ I shouted.
"The prints, sir," resumed Coates, unmoved, "are those of a lady's
high-heeled shoes."
I sat bolt upright in bed, staring at the man and scarcely able to
credit my senses. Words failed me. Whereupon:
"Will you have tea or coffee for breakfast?" inquired Coates.
"Tea or coffee be damned, Coates!" I cried. "I'm going out to look at
those footprints! If you had seen what I saw last night, even your old
mahogany countenance would relax for once, I assure you."
"Indeed, sir," said Coates; "did you see the lady, then?"
"Lady!" I exclaimed, tumbling out of bed. "If the eyes that looked at
me last night belonged to a 'lady' either I am mad or the 'lady' is of
another world."
I pulled on a bath-robe and hurried out into the garden, Coates
showing me the spot where he had found the mysterious foot-prints. A
very brief examination sufficed to convince me that his account had
been correct. Some one wearing high-heeled shoes clearly enough had
stood there at some time whilst the soil was quite wet; and as no
track led to or from the marks, Coates' conclusion that the person who
had made them must have come over the hedge was the only feasible one.
I turned to him in amazement, but recognizing in time the wildly
fantastic nature of the sight which I had seen in the night, I
refrained from speaking of the blazing eyes and made my way to the
bathroom wondering if some chance reflection might not have deceived
me and the presence of a woman's footmarks at the same spot be no
more than a singular coincidence. Even so the mystery of their
presence there remained unexplained.
My thoughts were diverted from a trend of profitless conjecture when
shortly after breakfast time my 'phone bell rang. It was the editor of
the _Planet_, to whom I had been indebted for a number of special
commissions--including my fascinating quest of the Giant Gnu, which,
generally supposed to be extinct, was reported by certain natives and
others to survive in a remote corner of the Dark Continent.
Readers of the _Planet_ will remember that although I failed to
discover the Gnu I came upon a number of notable things on my journey
through the almost unexplored country about the head-waters of the
Niger.
"A most extraordinary case has cropped up," he said, "quite in your
line, I think, Addison. Evidently a murder, and the circumstances seem
to be most dramatic and unusual. I should be glad if you would take it
up."
I inquired without much enthusiasm for details. Criminology was one of
my hobbies, and in several instances I had traced cases of alleged
haunting and other supposedly supernatural happenings to a criminal
source; but the ordinary sordid murder did not interest me.
"The body of Sir Marcus Coverly has been found in a crate!" explained
my friend. "The crate was being lowered into the hold of the S.S.
_Oritoga_ at the West India Docks. It had been delivered by a
conveyance specially hired for the purpose apparently, as the
_Oritoga_ is due to sail in an hour. There are all sorts of curious
details but these you can learn for yourself. Don't trouble to call at
the office; proceed straight to the dock."
"Right!" I said shortly. "I'll start immediately."
And this sudden decision had been brought about by the mention of the
victim's name. Indeed, as I replaced the receiver on the hook I
observed that my hand was shaking and I have little doubt that I had
grown pale.
In the first place, then, let me confess that my retirement to the odd
little retreat which at this time was my home, and my absorption in
the obscure studies to which I have referred were not so much due to
any natural liking for the life of a recluse as to the shattering of
certain matrimonial designs. I had learned of the wreck of my hopes
upon reading a press paragraph which announced the engagement of
Isobel Merlin to Eric Coverly. And it was as much to conceal my
disappointment from the world as for any better reason that I had
slunk into retirement; for if I am slow to come to a decision in such
a matter, once come to, it is of no light moment.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|