A Tall Dark Stranger Read Online Free Page A

writer. He knew who the note was from.”
    “Was there money in his pocket?” Aunt Talbot asked, hastening homeward without breaking stride.
    “Not a sou. His watch is gone as well. I noticed he was wearing one yesterday.”
    Auntie considered this for a moment, then said, “Since the murderer left the note behind when he went through Stoddart’s pockets, can we assume that he is not the man who wrote it?”
    “The note was folded up and in the bottom of his watch pocket. If the murderer pulled the watch out by its chain, he’d never have noticed the note.”
    “An unsigned, printed note doesn’t tell us much,” I ventured.
    “On the contrary,” my aunt said. “It tells us a great deal: that Stoddart was buying something clandestinely. Their meeting in the meadow at six in the morning suggests the seller wanted the utmost privacy. And that suggests some manner of illegality.”
    “The note doesn’t say six in the morning,” I pointed out. “Perhaps the meeting was for six last night, or tonight, or any night. It might have been in his pocket for days.”
    Auntie again considered for a moment, then jerked her head in acknowledgment. “Point taken,” she said curtly.
    “What is more interesting is that the meeting occurred in our water meadow,” I said. “Stoddart must have been meeting someone from this neighborhood who would know about it.”
    “That path through the meadow isn’t actually public, but it’s used widely by all the locals,” Auntie mentioned.
    The path she referred to joins two parallel roads. By cutting through the meadow pedestrians can cut a mile from their route. But still, it is only locals who would know about it.
    We continued discussing this exciting event after we reached home. We went in by the back door, the closest way. I noticed Cook had George out picking vegetables. Inez had stuck by her vow not to venture out into the garden. Already the effects of the murder were being felt. It seemed almost incredible that a murder should have occurred in this peaceful corner of the land.
    George looked up to tell us that the groom was taking Mrs. Murray’s gig home and would return in our carriage. One can always count on George to be on top of things. He knew we would want to go to the village ourselves that afternoon.
    We sat in the Rose Saloon, each of us keeping one eye turned to the window to watch for McAdam’s arrival. Auntie forgot herself so far as to accept a small glass of wine to recover her breath. She sipped at it as if it were hemlock.
    Lollie passed around the note, held in place on a plate to keep it from falling apart. It was sodden, but the pulp that remained suggested that it had been a cheap sort of paper. Luckily, the message had been written in pencil. Ink would have run, making the writing illegible.
    “A gentleman would have written in ink,” Aunt Talbot informed us.
    “I wonder what he was exchanging the money for,” Lollie said.
    “I shouldn’t be surprised if he was a spy for Boney, paying for war secrets,” Aunt Talbot replied. “Did he have a foreign accent at all?”
    “No, not a trace,” I said.
    “An Englishman, then. A traitor along with all the rest. Never trust a fire hand. I wonder if McAdam would let me take a print of it. Much the best way to read the lines and mounts.”
    The print is taken by smearing the hand with ink, placing a clean paper on a sheet of glass, and pressing the hand on the paper. The result is then studied with a magnifying glass to reveal the clues as to the person’s character. Even the whorls and loops on the fingertips are examined.
    “Don’t be a ghoul, Aunt Maude,” Lollie scolded.
    “His character hardly matters now,” she said. “The man is dead. He’ll no longer afflict society.”
    “You’re hard on Mr. Stoddart,” I said. “Are you forgetting he’s the victim? You speak as though he were the murderer.”
    Auntie looked quite surprised at this. Lollie seemed to have forgotten it as well. I