Todd, Charles Read Online Free Page A

what comes in and out these doors every day. It looked like a king's ransom, there on the veldt, but I know better now. I've asked Mr. James if he'd be kind enough to invest what an old aunt left me. I told him I'd run through it in six months, else. And he's agreed. You'd be smart to do the same. Soon we'll be twice as rich, and then there's no stopping us." He smiled. "Mr. James sees a coal miner's brat with brains in his head. He's a snob, he thinks I'm a clever monkey doing tricks to amuse him. But in the end, it's Mr. James who's jumping through hoops of my making. I'm a clerk now, and mark my words, I'll go higher, as high as I please. And if you're a wise one, you'll hang on to my coattails. I didn't do you a bad turn in the Transvaal, did I? We haven't hanged yet, have we?"
    Penrith said, "You're a clever monkey, all right. The question is, do I trust you? And how far?"
    Quarles laughed harshly. "Suit yourself. But don't come whining to me when your pittance runs out and there's no way to replace it. And don't think you can blackmail me into saving your arse. You'll hang beside me."

3
    SOMERSET, NEAR EXMOOR May 1920
     
    There was a stone terrace on the northern side of the house, with a dramatic view down to the sea. The town of Minehead was invisible around the next headland to the east, and to the west, Exmoor rolled to the horizon, empty as far as the eye could see.
    Not even a gull's cry broke the stillness, though they sailed on the wind above the water, wings bright in the morning sun. Rutledge sat in a comfortable chair by the terrace wall, more relaxed than he'd been in some time.
    Half an hour later a faint line of gray was making itself known in the far distance, storm clouds building somewhere over Cornwall. A pity, he thought, watching them. The weather had held fair so far. All that was needed was barely another twenty-four hours, for tomorrow's wedding. After that the rain could fall.
    He had taken a few days of leave. Edgar Maitland, a friend from before the war, had asked Rutledge to come to Somerset to meet his bride and to stand up with him at the wedding.
    This had been Maitland's grandfather's house, and Rutledge could understand why his friend preferred to live here most of the year now, keeping his flat for the occasional visit to London. Edgar had also inherited his grandfather's law firm in nearby Dunster and appeared to be well on his way to becoming a country solicitor.
    Rutledge and Maitland had lost touch after 1917, but when Maitland had come to town in April to buy a ring for his bride, he'd tracked Rutledge down at Scotland Yard. France had changed both men, but they understood that these differences were safest left unspoken. What had drawn them together at university had been an enthusiasm for tennis and cricket; what had made them friends was a feeling for the law, and this each of them, in their own way, had held on to through the nightmare of war, seeing their salvation in returning to it.
    Maitland had often good-naturedly berated Rutledge for choosing to join the police. "A waste, old man, you must see that."
    And Rutledge always answered, "I have no ambition to be a K.C. I've left that to you."
    When Rutledge had met Elise on his arrival in Dunster, he'd had reservations about the match. She was young, pretty, and in love. The question was whether she was up to the task of caring for a man who'd lost his leg in France, and with it, for many months, his selfworth. Unlike the steady, happy man Rutledge had seen in London, now Edgar was by turns moody and excited as the wedding day approached. And that boded ill for the future.
    Indeed, last night when they were alone on the terrace, darkness obscuring their faces and only their voices betraying their feelings, Edgar had said morosely, "I can't dance. She says she doesn't care for dancing. Or play tennis. She doesn't care for tennis. She says. But that's now. What about next year, or the year after, if she's bored and some other