A Man Lay Dead Read Online Free

A Man Lay Dead
Book: A Man Lay Dead Read Online Free
Author: Ngaio Marsh
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Police, Police Procedural, det_classic, Alleyn; Roderick (Fictitious character)
Pages:
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you’ve no right to order me down like this,” she was saving in a rapid undertone. “You treat me as if I were completely at your beck and call.”
    “Well… don’t you rather enjoy it?”
    Nigel felt suddenly sick. That was Charles’s voice. He heard a match scrape, and visualized his cousin’s long face and sleek head slanted forward to light his cigarette. Marjorie Wilde had begun again.
    “But you are insufferable, my good Charles… Darling, why are you such a beast to me? You might at least—”
    “Well, my dear? I might at least — what?”
    “What is the position between you and Rosamund?”
    “Rosamund is cryptic. She tells me she is too fond of me to marry me.”
    “And yet all the time… with me… you — oh, Charles, can’t you
see
?”
    “Yes, I see.” Rankin’s voice was furry — half tender, half possessive.
    “I’m a fool,” whispered Mrs. Wilde.
    “Are you? Yes, you are rather a little goat. Come here.”
    Her broken murmuring was suddenly checked. Silence followed, and Nigel felt positively indecent.
    “Now, Madam!” said Rankin softly.
    “Do you love me?”
    “No. Not quite, my dear. But you’re very attractive. Won’t that do?”
    “Do you love Rosamund?”
    “Oh, good Lord, Marjorie!”
    “I hate you!” she said quickly. “I could — I could…”
    “Be quiet, Marjorie — you’re making a scene. No, don’t struggle. I’m going to kiss you again.”
    Nigel heard a sharp, vicious little sound, rapid footsteps hurrying away, and a second later a door slammed.
    “Damn!” exclaimed Charles thoughtfully. Nigel pictured him nursing his cheek. Then he, too, evidently went out by the far door. As this door opened Nigel heard voices in the hall beyond.
    The booming of the gong filled the house with clamour. He went out of the gun-room into the drawing-room.
    At that instant the drawing-room lights went out.
    A moment later he heard the far door open and quietly close again.
    Standing stock still in the abrupt darkness of this strange place, his mind worked quickly and coherently. Marjorie Wilde and Rankin had both gone into the hall, he knew. Obviously, no one else had entered the drawing-room while they had been there. The only explanation was that someone else had been in the drawing-room, hidden in the L-shaped alcove when he walked through to the gun-room, someone who, like himself, had overheard the scene between those two. His eyes soon adapted themselves to the comparative darkness. He made his way gingerly to the door, opened it, and walked out into the hall. Nobody noticed him. The entire house-party was collected round Rankin, who seemed to be concluding one of his “pre-prandial” stories. Under cover of a roar of laughter, Nigel joined the group.
    “Hullo, here he is!” exclaimed Sir Hubert. “Everybody down? Then let’s go in.”

Chapter III
“You Are The Corpse”
    Nobody got up very early at Frantock on Sunday mornings. Nigel, wandering down to breakfast at half-past nine, found himself alone with the sausages.
    He had scarcely turned his attention to the
Sunday Times
when he was told that a long-distance call had come through for him from London. He found Jamison, his taciturn chief, at the other end of the wire. “Hullo, Bathgate. Sorry to tear you away from your champagne. How are the seats of the mighty?”
    “Very much like other people’s seats, only not so kickworthy,” said Nigel.
    “Coarse is never comic, my boy. Look here, isn’t your host a bit of an authority on Russia? Well, an unknown Pole has been stuck in the gizzard in Soho, and there’s some hare been started about a secret society in the West-End. Sounds bogus to me, but see if you can get a story out of him. ‘Are Poles Russians, or are they Poles apart?’ Something of that sort. Remember me to the third footman. Good morning.”
    Nigel grinned and hung up the receiver. Then he paused meditatively.
    “What with daggers, deaths, and eavesdroppings,” he pondered,
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