Death on Allhallowe’en Read Online Free

not. I’ve never seen that motor car round here.’ He seemed to recollect himself. ‘That’s the priest’s hiding-hole over there.’
    It was impossible to tell whether the term was used facetiously or in spite. He certainly did not smile as he pointed to a fairly large house built in Victorian style of red brick, a typical English parsonage of the last century.
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Carolus.
    â€˜There’s no call to thank me. Anyone could have told you. I don’t have anything to do with all that myself.’
    â€˜All what?’
    â€˜Popery. I’m chapel,’ said the man curtly.
    â€˜Ah,’ said Carolus. There did not seem much else to say.
    â€˜Bowing and scraping. Incense is an abomination unto me. Are you one of those?’
    An ambiguous question.
    â€˜I’m a friend of Mr Stainer’s.’
    â€˜I don’t say there’s anything wrong with the man himself. His ways don’t suit ours, that’s all. Dressing the boys up in scarlet and lace. Mass, he calls it. You know where it leads to, all that?’
    â€™No. Where?’
    â€˜To hell. That’s where. You better tell him that. I’ve told him often enough.’
    â€˜I will,’ said Carolus. ‘Would you tell me your name?’
    â€˜Smith. Ebby Smith. He knows me. I’ve warned him. Renounce the devil and all his works, I said.’
    â€˜Ah, yes. The devil,’ said Carolus. ‘Do you get much of him round here?’
    Ebby Smith gave him a last hostile look and hobbled away.
    The rectory door was opened by a cheery woman wearing a bright blond wig.
    â€˜The Rec’s expecting you,’ she said, with a toothy but welcoming smile. ‘He’s in the stud.’
    Carolus, not yet accustomed to this passion for abbreviation, was slightly puzzled, but said, ‘Thank you.’
    â€˜I live here,’ she explained, ‘with my husb. Chuck your coat down there—I’ll put it away. The stud’s down the pass. You’ll find him there writing his serm. I’ll bring you both some tea. Like crumps? Good.’
    Carolus found John in the room indicated, but he was not writing his sermon, or anything else. He was dozing by a big log fire.
    â€˜I ought to have prepared you for Mrs Lark,’ said John when they had exchanged greetings. ‘She’s a good soul but a little difficult to follow. I don’t mind being called the Rec but the Sacs for the Sacraments and mats for matins are harder to take, while I had to draw the line at the Blessed Vir. She has an invalid husband whom I rarely see.
    â€˜The house is far too big for me and the Larks share it, and in return she feeds me, assisted by what is known as occasional help from the village. Mrs Lark keeps remarkably cheerful so I don’t complain. She must have been rather a surprise for you.’
    â€˜I was prepared for eccentrics,’ said Carolus. ‘I asked the way of a character named Ebby Smith.’
    â€˜Oh, You did. Yes, character’s right. He lives in a tiny cottagewith an enormous family and gives his congregation fire and brimstone in a bethel down the road every Sunday. He thinks I’m a sort of pimp for the Scarlet Woman. A curiously old-fashioned point of view. Nowadays I’m more used to being considered a credulous but harmless fool so ignorant of elementary biology that I believe in God. Ebby at least does that.’
    â€˜And the corollary?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t know. Could be I suppose. Good. Here’s the tea. Thank you, Mrs Lark.’
    â€˜I told Mr Deene there were crumps,’ said Mrs Lark. ‘I forgot—they’re muffs. But they’re nice and hot with plenty of butt. You’re not slimming, are you? No, you don’t need to.’
    Very pleasant, thought Carolus, looking at the bright fire and the comfortable chairs, the silver tea-things and the muffins. Only someone born and bred in Great Britain