The Jade God by Alan Sullivan (snow like ashes series txt) 📕

the cottage, I noticed a light inside. That surprised me, as I knew it had not been occupied since Mr. Thursby left.”

“That’s quite right.”

“Well, sir, there’s a man there now. Is that with your permission?”

Derrick’s pulse beat a little faster. “What sort of a man?”

“Middle-aged, sir, queer face, queer clothes, sitting on a chair and staring.”

“At what?”

“At nothing, sir, so far as I could make out. A thickset party, his skin burned and brown as though he’d come off the sea. Black hair, he has, and big hands and odd eyes that never stirred. It was the eyes that took me. He’s an ugly-looking customer all round, sir, but I thought I’d better see you before I pulled him in, just in case. What puzzled me was the lamp being lit and the blind up, if he’d no right to be there. There, was a bundle on the floor beside him.”

“I’m glad you came in first. How long have you been on duty in the village?”

“Matter of a year and a half now, sir. I was transferred here just about the time Mr. Thursby left Beech Lodge.”

“Well, I’ve been here a little more than a week. You knew, of course, that this was Mr. Millicent’s house?”

“Yes, sir, we all know that. There wasn’t much chance of forgetting it.”

“But I don’t suppose you personally know anything about his death⁠—or murder, if you like?”

The constable shook his head. “I know what the rest of the force knows, and I’ve read the evidence at the inquest. But there wasn’t anything dug up then that was of any real use.”

Derrick nodded. “I had heard nothing of it up to a week ago, not even a whisper when I leased this house last month. Now I’m beginning to feel as though I’d known it all my life. What does the sergeant think about it?”

“I’m not supposed to say anything about what’s not my duty, sir,” replied the man a trifle stiffly.

“You’re probably right there; is this the first time you’ve been in this room?”

The constable looked ponderously about, his eyes glinting at sight of the desk. He knew what had happened there. Then at the portrait, with a hard stare.

“Yes, sir, first time.”

“Ever been in the house at all?”

“No, sir, never crossed the doorstep.”

“I suppose you know that Mr. Millicent was found dead at this desk with a stab in his neck? That’s him above the mantel. They say it’s very like him and, oddly, something like me.”

“I was told about that, sir. A harmless-looking gentleman, I should say.”

“And you’ll probably remember that the only person on whom suspicion really fell was Mr. Millicent’s gardener. I think that’s common knowledge, too.”

“Yes, sir, it is, but he cleared himself somehow, got out of the country, and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Well,” said Derrick slowly, “that’s the man you found in the cottage, the late gardener of Beech Lodge, and I’ve engaged him to work for me. Can you guess why, constable?”

The policeman’s mouth opened wide. “But he’s the one who the sergeant thinks⁠—” He broke off confusedly, while over his face spread a look of dawning astonishment and admiration. “By George, sir, but you’ve done a bold thing, and there’s not many would have done it. Perhaps you’re on the right track. But what brought the fellow here again into the middle of it?”

Derrick smiled grimly. “Now you’re asking too much. We haven’t come to that yet, and there’s no immediate hurry. Main thing is, he’s here and settled for the present. That gives one time to think. As for my end of it, I may be on the right track, and I may not. At any rate, I’m going to make a push for it. So far, I’m trying to piece some of the bits together, and Martin’s arrival is one of them. There’s bound to be a good deal more. So don’t disturb our friend in the cottage, for I fancy he’ll be rather badly needed. And, look here, do you think the sergeant will be willing to have a talk about this matter?”

“If you’re on the track of the man who killed Mr. Millicent, the sergeant would walk twenty miles to see you. I think he dreams about that case every night. It’s a sort of reflection on the police force of Bamberley. It hurts him. That’s the way he feels still.”

“Good! But perhaps it would be better if I went to see him. I’ll do that within the next few weeks. Meantime do you have to report this visit?”

“Only that the cottage is occupied with your authority. That takes it off our special list of empty buildings.”

“I’d be glad if it went no further than that, and the sergeant will agree with me there. Good night, officer. I shall sleep peacefully now, thanks to you. You can’t take a drink, I suppose?”

The big man smiled ruefully. “No, sir; thanks just the same. I think you’ll be a welcome visitor at the station. Good night, and I’ll slip past the cottage without disturbing our friend.”

He saluted, the French window closed behind him without a sound, and his great bulk melted into the darkness.

IV Jean

Some two weeks after the staff of Beech Lodge had been completed by the engagement of the gardener, Mrs. Millicent and her daughter were walking along a quiet lane at a little distance from their old home. The house itself they had not seen since the time of the tragedy, and over them still hung the weight of a great grief. It had touched Mrs. Millicent’s hair with gray and given her a strangely wistful expression. Her sorrow was increased by the belief that her husband had had an enemy, the husband who had worshiped her with love and devotion for twenty years of married companionship. What enemy could such a man make in all the world?

For Jean, her daughter, the blow had been no less severe. And it had a deeper significance. Dazed and stupefied, she was nevertheless aware of the power