From Afar Read Online Free

means of getting it never seemed to occur to her. Rather she seemed to think she could take whatever she needed, and the increasingly evident fact that she could not made her impatient. I had all my work cut out steering her clear of pure and simple kleptomania.
    Otherwise I did all she asked. Got the place furnished as she wanted it, and had the big and ancient sign ‘The Beeches’ put up properly outside the gates, installed Mrs. Wilson and her husband. Yes, I even traveled in my own car thirty miles to business every day, not forgetting the thirty miles back, and all the time I wondered what in hell for.
    How Beryl occupied her time while I was away I had no idea of course, but from her reserved comments and those of the servants I gathered she spent a lot of time shopping—and going to London on the local bus service to do it! Now why should she—?
    Definitely, I was getting all tied up. And her attitude was most unhelpful when after a week of this sort of thing, I tackled her directly about it.
    â€œWhy should it concern you, Dick?” she asked tonelessly, as we sat at dinner in the dining hall in the gloom of the fall evening. “I don’t ask you what you do in your office. Why does it matter what I do here?”
    â€œThat isn’t like you, Berry,” I said reproachfully. “Before the car smash we shared all our joys and sorrows at the end of the day, but now—I don’t understand you! Hang it, it’s almost as though you’re not the same girl!”
    â€œIs it?” She went on eating, unmoved. I put a blunt question.
    â€œWhat have you been buying in town, anyway?”
    â€œBooks—instruments—odds and ends. I feel the need of a hobby.”
    I frowned. “What sort of books? I filled nearly a library full in this place—”
    â€œBut you did not include up-to-date directories. I bought one or two. Thought I’d like to study up on a few people. Who’s Who stuff.”
    I opened my mouth to comment, but I just could not. It was too much for me. Besides, I couldn’t see any books, or instruments, or odds and ends....
    â€œThey’re in the basement,” Beryl said, as though she had read my thoughts. “Only I’d rather you didn’t go down there. I’ve got a sort of den and you might upset things.”
    I flung down my knife and fork and exploded: “Look here, what sort of a damned set-up is this—?”
    I had to stop short because Mrs. Wilson came in. She started to say something about an Inspector, then a big man with woolly white hair, a red face, and shrewd gray eyes came in behind her. He had on a heavy overcoat and held his hat in his hand.
    â€œâ€™Evenin’ folks! Sorry to butt in like this.... Inspector Hilton’s the name—law an’ order in this little community. I’d like a few words with you.”
    I recovered suddenly from my surprise. “Why—er—sure. Take a seat, won’t you?” Then I dismissed Mrs. Wilson and introduced Beryl. Hilton nodded, then his red face became grim.
    â€œIt’s a matter o’ murder,” he said. “Over at the ‘Mount’. I’m handling it until the Yard takes over. So, I thought I’d made a few inquiries.... You may know that Boyd Harkness, the retired millionaire candy king, lived at the ‘Mount’.”
    I remembered that the residence was about two miles away.
    â€œI’ve heard so,” I nodded. “Murdered, eh? That’s bad.”
    â€œYes. Strangled.” Hilton’s tiny little gray eyes flashed from me to Beryl. “Strangled, with a piece of cord wrapped three times round his neck,” he added slowly.
    We waited, then he said, “You’re new around here, eh?”
    â€œMeaning—what?” I asked him shortly.
    â€œNothin’—’cept that you’re new. The crime up at the ‘Mount’ is a blunderer’s job.