Wraiths of Time Read Online Free

as she stood up. “The Greenleys are pets, I won’t rock any boats to make trouble for Dr. Joe.”
    Jason was unlocking her apartment door for her when they heard the steady shrill of the telephone inside. “Oh!” She sent the door spinning with a hard push and crossed the dark living room in a rush to catch up the phone which gave one last demanding ring.
    â€œTallahassee?” It was Dr. Joe, and he sounded odd, his voice strained.
    â€œYes—”
    â€œThank goodness I got you. Can you come down right now to the museum? I wouldn’t ask except it is of the utmost importance.” Then the line clicked off so suddenly she stood there, startled. This was not Dr. Greenley’s way …
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œDr. Greenley.” She put the phone down. “He just told me to come down to the museum—at this hour!—and hung up. Something’s happened! It must have!”
    â€œI’ll take you.” Jason moved behind her to shut the door, taking out the key to hand to her. She felt a little dazed. In her two years of work—first as a junior assistant, then as a full-fledged assistant—this had never happened. She could feel the uneasiness now even as she had felt that shadow of a third presence, which, of course, had never been there, accompanying her through the museum.
    â€œThere’s something terribly wrong,” she murmured as Jason settled beside her in the car and started to work his way out of the parking lot.
    â€œSure, that Carey,” he returned.
    But what could Dr. Carey have done or said to make Dr. Joe call her down to the museum at night? She could not think of anything and was still bewildered when Jason brought her to the same back door they had entered some hours earlier. There was a light in the hall now and just inside the door was Hawes. He swung it open.
    â€œGo right on up, Miss Mitford. The elevator’s waiting.”
    Jason had moved out but Tallahassee turned. “No, you stay here, Jas—if it’s department business I’ll do more than put a foot wrong to bring a stranger into it.”
    â€œYou sure?” He looked both concerned and doubtful.
    She nodded vigorously enough, she hoped, to satisfy him.
    â€œI’m sure. And if it’s going to be a long session I’ll phone down and Mr. Hawes can tell you. I know you have to take the early plane out. That all right, Mr. Hawes?”
    â€œSure thing, Miss.”
    As Tallahassee entered the elevator, she half expected to feel that other presence. But there was nothing, except the rather eerie sensation that was always part of the museum when it was closed to the public and most of the staff was gone, intensified perhaps by the fact this was night. The storm which had promised earlier had not yet broken, but the sky outside was still overclouded and now she heard, even through the thickness of the walls about her, a roll of what could only be distant thunder.
    Thunder of drums—somehow that phrase slipped into her mind as she shifted from one foot to the other impatiently, waiting for the elevator to reach the fifth floor. Drums meant so much in Africa—the famous “talking drums” whose expertly induced sounds could actually mimic tribal tongues so that they could be understood.…
    The elevator door opened, and she looked into the open hall. There was a light on behind the frosted glass of Dr. Greenley’s door. Tallahassee found herself breathing as swiftly as if she had been running. Deliberately she made herself walk more slowly. She was not going to burst into Dr. Joe’s office as if she had been called from play like some forgetful child.
    When she knocked and heard his muffled voice in answer, she worked to summon full control. And a moment later she was facing him across a desk that was no longer stacked with papers as it had been all the length of time she had known him. Those had been swept to the floor, a