Down Under (31 page)

“I've been sleeping, and you haven't. Oh, Oliver!”

“Don't you worry, darling. I'm going to do about eighteen hours, and then your father's going to marry us, and we're going away like we planned.”

She kept tight hold of his hand.

“I want to know what happened. It was stupid of me to faint, but when we got through that door and I heard it shut, I thought, ‘We're safe,' and then I couldn't go on.”

“I know—I didn't know what to do. You—you frightened me. I stood still, and then—I thought I'd gone queer in the head, because I thought I heard voices—all confused and a long way off. I went that way, and when I'd gone about fifty yards I felt the wind blowing down on the top of my head, and someone gave a shout, and someone sang out, ‘Who's there?' and I looked up—and I saw a star—”

“Oh, Oliver—where were you?”

“At the bottom of the old shaft at Hillick St Anne's.”

“Hillick St Anne's?”

Oliver nodded.

“That's why they killed that poor fellow John Smith. He was investigating the shaft, and the shaft runs down into the passage between the steel gate and the Angel.”

“Who shouted? Who was there?”

“That old trump Benbow Smith with the Chief Constable and a posse of police. I gather he had moved heaven and earth and the Cabinet to get them there in time. They brought you along by way of the Angel, and when I was sure you weren't dead I went back with them.”

Rose Anne looked at him with piteous eyes.

“Nannie?” she said in a whisper.

Oliver put her hand to his lips.

“Don't mind too much, darling. They're under arrest—all three of the Garstnets. She might have killed you—I can't forget that. It's a beastly business. She broke down and confessed everything. She says they threatened Florrie, and she didn't dare to go against them—it's her own expression.”

“Poor Nannie!”

“Garstnet went to pieces too. He'll turn King's evidence. He showed us the way back.”

“What happened—tell me.”

“The Old Fox is dead. There was the most frightful shemozzle when Philip found out that we were gone—”

“Marie—he didn't hurt Marie? I felt dreadful about her afterwards.”

“No—he hadn't time. He was going to all right. She very nearly kissed me, poor girl. She and Spenlow were both for it, but the old man dug in his toes about Spenlow. He was firmly convinced he would die if Spenlow wasn't there to keep him alive. So he and Philip had a blazing row, and it finished with Amos falling down in a fit. Mark chipped in then, and fetched Spenlow to his father. Philip flung away to hunt us down. We found the Old Fox just about gone when we got there, with Spenlow looking after Kim, quite sober and uncommon lucky to be alive.”

“And the others?”

Oliver frowned.

“Horribly pathetic. Poor drugged creatures—quite a lot of them didn't want to come away, but Spenlow says they'll be all right. The French girl had hysterics, but she had come round enough to roll the glad eye at us before we got back.”

“Us?” said Rose Anne.

“The Chief Constable, Benbow Smith, all the policemen, and me,” said Oliver firmly. “Ernie and Fanny got away with their baby, and so did Mark Rennard.”

“Oh, I'm glad,” said Rose Anne.

“So am I—at least I'm glad about Fanny and Ernie. I thought I'd make a bit of time for them, so I didn't say anything about the Oakham Place entrance until right at the last, just as we were coming away. That door opened to the same word as the other. Ernie wouldn't know it, but Mark would, and he must have let them through. Anyhow they were gone, and Oakham Place was empty. I don't think they'll look very hard for Ernie. I don't know about Mark.”

“Mark hated it,” said Rose Anne. “He's got a wife and children somewhere in the country, I don't know where. They run a road house—at least I think they do. I'd like Mark to get away.”

Miss Hortensia came in with a highly disapproving air.

“Good morning, Rose Anne. I am glad to see that you are better. You slept long enough, I am sure. Oliver, on the other hand, has had no sleep at all, and he ought to be in bed instead of lounging about in here. If you really insist on getting married tomorrow, he had better go to his room and get some rest. Anything less like a bridegroom than he looks at present—”

Oliver turned round laughing. Even Aunt Hortensia couldn't make him angry on this blessed day of release.

“I'm going—I'm really going. Eighteen hours' beauty sleep and I shall be the admiration of all beholders.”

He kissed Rose Anne's hand again and got up to go. A striped pyjama leg showed beneath the dressing-gown.

“Modesty is evidently out of fashion,” said Miss Hortensia in her most acid tones.

Oliver fled.

About the Author

Patricia Wentworth (1878–1961) was one of the masters of classic English mystery writing. Born in India as Dora Amy Elles, she began writing after the death of her first husband, publishing her first novel in 1910. In the 1920s, she introduced the character who would make her famous: Miss Maud Silver, the former governess whose stout figure, fondness for Tennyson, and passion for knitting served to disguise a keen intellect. Along with Agatha Christie's Miss Marple, Miss Silver is the definitive embodiment of the English style of cozy mysteries.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1937 by J.B. Lippincott Company

Cover design by Maurcio Díaz

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3317-6

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10038

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