Dark Threat Read Free Page B

the shiny walnut carving which emerged from the padded arms of the Victorian chair.
    She had to repeat her question, because he just sat there, fingering the smooth wood and frowning at the pattern on the bright blue carpet which had kept its colour so well. Reflecting with satisfaction that it looked as good as new, she said, ‘Will you not tell me what I can do for you?’
    She saw him start, glance at her quickly, and then away again. Whether people use words to convey their thoughts or to conceal them, there is one thing very difficult to conceal from a practised observer. In that momentary glance Miss Silver had seen that thing quite plainly. It was the look you may see in the eyes of a horse about to shy. She thought this young man was reluctant to face whatever it was that had brought him here. He was not the first. A great many people had brought their fears, their faults, and their follies into this room, hoping for they hardly knew what, and then sat nervous and tongue-tied until she helped them out. She smiled encouragingly at Roger Pilgrim, and addressed him very much as if he had been ten years old.
    ‘Something is troubling you. You will feel better when you have told me what it is. Perhaps you might begin by telling me who gave you my address.’
    This undoubtedly came as a relief. He removed his gaze from the multi-coloured roses, paeonies, and acanthus leaves with which the carpet was festooned, and said, ‘Oh, it was Frank—Frank Abbott.’
    Miss Silver’s smile became warmer and less impersonal.
    ‘Sergeant Abbott is a great friend of mine. Have you know him for long?’
    ‘Well, as a matter of fact, we were at school together. He’s a bit older, but our families knew each other. He comes down to stay with some cousins near us. As a matter of fact, he was there last week-end having a spot of leave after ’flu, and I got talking to him. Frank’s a pretty sound fellow—though you wouldn’t think it to look at him, if you know what I mean.’ He gave a short nervous laugh. ‘Seems awfully funny, somebody you’ve been at school with being a policeman. Detective Sergeant Abbott! You know, we used to call him Fug at school. He used to put on masses of hair-fug. I remember his having a lot which fairly stank of White Rose, and the maths master going round smelling us all till he found out who it was, and sending Fug to wash his head.’
    While recounting this anecdote he looked a little happier, but the worried frown returned as he concluded,
    ‘He told me I’d better come and see you. He says you’re a marvel. But I don’t see what anyone can really do. You see there isn’t any evidence—Fug said so himself. He said there was nothing the police could take any notice of. You see, I put it up to him because of his being at Scotland Yard, but he said there really wasn’t anything they would do about it, and he advised me to come to you. Only I don’t suppose it’s any use.’
    Miss Silver’s needles clicked briskly. She had the new pattern well in hand. She coughed and said,
    ‘You do not expect me to reply to that, do you? If you will tell me what you seem to have told Sergeant Abbott, I may be able to give you an opinion. Pray proceed.’
    Roger Pilgrim proceeded. This was the voice of authority. He blurted out, ‘I think someone’s trying to kill me,’ and immediately thought how damfool silly it sounded.
    Miss Silver said, ‘Dear me!’ And then, ‘What makes you thinks so?’
    He stared at her. There she sat, the picture of a mild old maid, looking at him across her knitting. He might have been saying he thought it was going to rain. He kicked himself for having come. She probably thought he was a neurotic ass. Perhaps he was a neurotic ass. He frowned at the carpet and said, ‘What’s the good of my telling you? When I put it into words it sounds idiotic’
    Miss Silver coughed.
    ‘Whatever it is, it is certainly worrying you. If there was no cause for your worry, you would be