Dead or Alive Read Free Page A

you’ll be saved the trouble,” he had said, and was gone. And that was the last touch and the last word she had had from Robin O’Hara.
    She left the touch alone, but she told Bill about the words, her voice halting on the syllables and ceasing when she had said “trouble.” It was trouble he had brought her, and it was the last of all the words that he had had for her.
    After a time she said suddenly, “Letters kept coming for him. Then Colonel Garratt rang up. I said I didn’t know where he was, and he said they didn’t know either. I went to see him, and he asked me if Robin had told me what he was doing. I said no, he never talked about his work. Then Colonel Garratt said Robin’s job wasn’t a dangerous one, but he thought he’d been working a line of his own, and that it might have taken him up against very dangerous people. He said they would make inquiries. A week later they found his wallet in the river. It was quite empty. Colonel Garratt said I ought to be prepared—they thought something had happened to Robin. In December—there was a body—they thought—was his. I thought he was dead.”
    â€œGarratt wrote to me in December.”
    Grim details about an unrecognizable corpse had been Garratt’s idea of a Christmas letter.
    â€œI thought he was dead,” said Meg again.
    â€œAnd what made you think he wasn’t?”
    She lifted her hand to her cheek and leaned on it. The worst part was over.
    â€œColonel Garratt said I ought to see a lawyer and get leave to presume death. There wasn’t any will. There was a little money in the bank, but there was a packet of some sort labelled ‘To be opened by my wife in case of my death.’”
    Bill exclaimed.
    â€œI think it’s only papers. They wouldn’t let me see it or anything. He had only brought it in the week before. The manager said he must have legal proof that Robin was dead before he could hand it over. I don’t suppose it’s anything that matters. It can’t be money, because he was always saying how hard up he was.”
    It sounded off to Bill. But then O’Hara was just the sort of fellow to do an odd thing like that. He said with a frown,
    â€œDid you see a lawyer?”
    Meg’s hand went down again. She said,
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you?”
    â€œBecause that’s when I began to think Robin wasn’t dead.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œThings began to happen.”
    â€œWhat things?”
    â€œLittle things—they frightened me. It’s so dreadful not to be sure. It’s so dreadful to think that there’s someone who wants to keep you like that—not sure—never knowing.”
    Her hands were twisting in her lap, fingers interlocked and knuckles white. Bill leaned forward and put his own hand over them, a big, warm hand.
    â€œSteady, Meg. Just go on telling me what happened.”
    She didn’t speak at once. A minute dragged by. He wondered what she was going to say. He took his hand away and leaned back, and as if that had been a signal, Meg said,
    â€œThe first thing was a newspaper. Someone must have put it in the letter-box. I found it on the floor when I got up.”
    The bitter cold of that January morning came back as she spoke. Her feet were as cold as they had been bare on the linoleum and she had stopped to pick the paper up. It wasn’t a paper she had ever taken. She told Bill that, and was glad to have something that was easy to say.
    â€œIt wasn’t a paper I’d ever had before. It hadn’t come through the post. I thought it had been left by mistake. It was folded inside out. I thought that was funny. Then I saw some of the letters were underlined. No, that’s wrong—they weren’t underlined—they had lines drawn round them. I couldn’t help putting the marked letters together. The first one was an I. After that an A and an M, and