The Ghost of Christmas Past Read Online Free Page B

interested.
    She
looked at him closely for the first time. He was very handsome, and had the
last vestiges of a tan, which left him with a slightly pale and wan look. His
eyes were deep, almost violet blue, rimmed with thick dark lashes. He had taken
his hat off to reveal that whilst his short hair was black, there were fine
silver streaks running through it. She wondered if she had misjudged his age,
and that perhaps he was older. But his face was that of a young man. Something
had sent him prematurely grey. Not that it was unattractive. The hint of silver
gave him a distinguished air.
    He
had arrived in Midchester from nowhere, the only other stranger in Midchester,
apart from the dead man. And he had been in the vicinity of the pond. On the
other hand, Doctor Wheston knew him, and Doubleday would hardly be likely to
make himself known to his old friend, or even to be near the victim as he lay
dying and still capable of speech if he had killed Sanderson. Assuming it was
Sanderson.
    There
was definitely something mysterious about Liam Doubleday. She tried to remember
something else that had seemed odd to her at the time, but it floated just out
of her reach, before bursting like a lone balloon.
    After
Doctor Wheston had finished treating her aunt, and taken some coffee himself,
Elizabeth said farewell to the two men at the gates of Bedlington Hall. She
made her way to the Constable’s house, where she informed Constable Hounds
about the possible identity of the dead man. The constable lived in a small
cottage on the edge of the village. Given the lack of any real crime in Midchester,
Hounds earned his real living as a blacksmith. His forge was next door to the
cottage.
    “Yes,
I reckon you’re right, Miss Dearheart,” said Hounds. “I shouldn't need to
bother Her Ladyship over this. My own investigations point to it being Sanderson.
A gentleman by that name had booked into the Bear Inn on Friday night, I reckon
to go and see your aunt. He has not returned since Sunday morning, when he
mentioned to the landlord that he had to go out and meet someone. He left all
his stuff there. The landlord is out today, visiting the brewery, but when he
returns I'll ask him to identify the dead man. That's not all. There's more
news, which will solve the case for us.”
    “What
news?” asked Elizabeth.
    “His
brother, Albert Sanderson has been in a mental institution for some time. He
escaped a few months ago and is still at large. So it is likely that Mr.
Sanderson died at the hands of his own brother.”
    “How
does that follow?” asked Elizabeth.
    “His
brother is a madman, and on the run from a mad house to which our victim sent
him. Surely that is enough evidence.”
    “Just
because his brother has mental problems does not make him a murderer,” said
Elizabeth.
    “Well
that’s where you’re wrong, Miss Dearheart. You see, there are rumours that Mr.
Albert Sanderson murdered one of his clients to get the man’s money. That’s why
he ended up in the institution.”
    “My
aunt never mentioned that.”
    “She
happen doesn't know. It was all hushed up. They’ve got money you see. Rich
people can easily avoid scandal. But everyone knew he’d done it. Scotland Yard
are sending me a picture of him. Meanwhile, I will have to put up a poster,
with a description.”
    “But
if the Sandersons had money, why would Albert need to steal it from a client?”
    “Men
get greedy, Miss. And he's not quite right in the head.”
    “What
does he look like?” asked Elizabeth. “So we can all be on the lookout for him.”
    Hounds
read from the sheet of paper in front of him. “He's thirty-five years old, about
six feet tall. Got blue eyes and dark hair.”
    “What?”
Elizabeth felt the room sway around her.
    “Are
you alright, Miss?”
    “Yes,
I'm just a little … isn't it strange, how normal his description seems? He
could be anyone, couldn't he?”
    “Yes,
that's true. Be on your guard, Miss Dearheart. Mad men can seem very