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

some common and half-understood impulse. Surrounded by something, they knew not what, it was good to be like this and touch each other in the shadows of life. It brought Derrick a throb of divine comfort, strange and new. It was his turn to feel not so utterly alone.

“Tomorrow, and after that?” she asked.

He told her, and what he had arranged with Burke.

“I’m glad. Just think of Martin all these years, how he must have loved her in spite of everything; what it must have cost him to go away as he did, and under suspicion, just to save her. And all that hidden behind his strange and threatening face. It could not have been anything he did that killed her love for him. Jack, dear, I can only feel pity, all the pity in the world, and you must feel only that, too. That poor woman would not want to live it all over again. And, oh, it does make me want to be understanding and merciful when I can to everyone, always!”

XI A Strange Confession

The whole earth, bathed in bright sun and clear air, looked younger when Derrick walked into Bamberley next morning. It seemed but an hour since he had piloted Jean back through the fog, and when they parted she had clung to him for a wonderful moment that needed no words. His mind was still in a whirl, and with difficulty he pitched it forward to Bamberley jail.

Martin had been brought there in the gray of dawn, and with him the body of his wife, which rested where so lately the stiff figure of the peddler lay till subjugated consciousness mysteriously returned. There had been no chance to talk with Blunt, nor did Martin want to talk. He had sat for hours, quite motionless, turning the thing over and over in his slow brain, and it seemed that from the truth itself there was least to be feared. It was strange for him even to contemplate truth now. He was innocent of murder, but he was a perjurer nevertheless. He would have to risk that. Burke did not speak to him, and the moments dragged inflexibly on. But there was a new look in his swarthy face when Derrick entered the cell in company with the sergeant. He got up and nodded awkwardly.

“Do you want Blunt here when you question this man?” asked Burke. “I’ll answer for it that nothing has been fixed up between them since last night.”

“Do you see any objection?”

“They’re your questions, sir, not mine.”

Derrick hesitated a moment but felt persuaded that already he had got far enough under the skin of things to detect any probable collusion. He rather wanted to see these two men together and see if he could corroborate or disprove the story of one from the eyes of the other. Then something suggested that with death so near at hand there was little prospect of collusion.

“Yes, I think Blunt had better be here.”

Martin gave him a swift glance in which there was something that was almost gratitude for his confidence. Blunt was brought in by Peters, the constable. Peters’s face was full of an unbounded curiosity, and he was unaffectedly disgusted when Burke motioned him to withdraw. The peddler looked now not more than forty, and only in the brightness of his eyes was there anything of the bent and bearded man who had opened his pack at the cottage of Beech Lodge. One temple was swollen from Burke’s blow, but there was no animosity about him. Nor was there any suggestion of fear. He glanced not at all at Martin but sent Derrick a long, steady stare. There was knowledge in that stare, and a certain unshakable fortitude. Such men in times past had died on the rack without a whisper of confession. Their bodies one can conquer, but not their spirits. Derrick knew then that what Blunt would say would be the truth; as much of it as he thought wise, and no more.

“Well, Martin,” began the former slowly, “Miss Derrick and I and all of us are more than sorry about what happened last night, and what I don’t understand is why your poor wife and you should have thought it best to say nothing to us of what you were to each other. Even now I am not here to examine you, I have no right to do anything like that, but just to ask whether you do think it wise to say something of your own free will. I think”⁠—here he hesitated a little⁠—“that I’ve been fairly decent to you since you came. As to your wife, she never said anything which gave us the slightest inkling of the situation.”

The man regarded him with unfathomable eyes, and here again there was no fear. He seemed to be weighing chances, and at the same time to be prepared for any outcome. Presently he looked full at the peddler, and Derrick noted that the latter nodded ever so slightly, while once more there spread from him that nameless atmosphere of authority. Then Martin took a long breath and began in a deep voice, rough and broken with emotion.

“You’ve always been straight with me, Mr. Derrick, and now I’m going to be just as straight with you. I can’t help letting myself in for it”⁠—here he glanced swiftly at Burke⁠—“but I don’t much care what happens. What’s more, I’d just as soon Blunt heard what I’ve got to say, and he can check me up when I get off the track, if he wants to. I’ll start at the beginning, and that’s about eight years ago when we went up country in Burma.”

“Who do you mean by we?”

“My wife and me. I had been trading along the Irawadi, been there for some years, when I heard there was good business to be done further up. We were about ready to pull out, but I changed my plans. Ever been in