The Empty Coffins Read Free

double-crosser in a sideshow? Why, you poor, foolish little fathead—”
    â€œI’m not!” Elsie interrupted angrily. “He’s genuine. He told me all about myself—my past, and my future. He said he was very sorry but I have no future beyond the next eight months; and that can only mean—death. He was very kind and sympathetic and—”
    â€œI should think he was,” Mrs. Burrows inter­rupted dryly. “How much did he charge for his infamous opinion?”
    â€œTen pounds. I went over to the fair last night—and I quite enjoyed myself until I went in to see him. I wish to heaven I’d never gone. I wouldn’t have done, only you had a breakdown job last night, Peter, and you couldn’t join me.”
    Peter gave a grim look. “Elsie, the sooner you stop believing a lot of claptrap the better. You allow things to upset you too easily. The villagers’ gossip, for instance, and now this idiot, who claims to know the future— I know what I’m going to do. I’m going down there to have a word with him this evening, and I’m not so sure I shan’t bring an action against him for up­setting you like this.”
    â€œBut Peter, he’s genuine,” Elsie insisted. “How could he read my past like he did if he weren’t?”
    â€œI dunno. These sideshow merchants are up to all the tricks. Anyway. I’m going to see him— now . Want to come with me?”
    Elsie shuddered. “Not at any price. I just couldn’t bear to look at the man again. He’s so strange—and yet so gentle. So—other-worldly.”
    â€œMaybe a good punch in the nose will even him up,” Peter snapped, then he relaxed a little and gave the girl a kiss. “Now stop worrying, sweet­heart. I’ll be back later and let you know what happened. If it should be very late I’ll give a ring instead. In any case I’ll be here tomorrow evening as usual and we’ll keep that theatre date in Branscombe.”
    He said good night to Mrs. Burrows, and Elsie saw him as far as the door. Her face, with the pink cheeks and tearful eyes, made him smile en­couragingly.
    â€œSuch rubbish,” he chided, patting her arm. “When you’re ninety you’ll tell this piffle to your great-grandchildren.”
    With that he opened the door and a hurricane blast of wind and rain smote him. Wrapping his coat collar up round his ears he went down the steps to his waiting saloon and clambered into it. In a moment or two he was driving down the wide driveway of the house and gained the main road into the village a few seconds later.
    The night was the foulest he had known for some time. The leaf-bare trees at the side of the road, clearly illumined by the car head­lights, were bending double in the fury of the gale. Rain splashed in torrents down the windscreen. Back and forth clicked the wiper, leav­ing a clear view ahead through the segment it cut into the downpour.
    Then Peter gave a start of surprise. Ahead of him, drawn to the side of the lane, was a car. Leaning into the engine, flashing a torch, was a man’s figure. As he came nearer Peter recognized the car as Dr. Meadows’, and the man was Meadows himself.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Doc?” Peter pulled up and low­ered his driving window. “Run into trouble?”
    Soaked, rain dripping from his soft hat, Meadows came over the pool-swamped roadway.
    â€œEngine trouble. Wet probably. Mind giving me a tow in?”
    â€œI’ll do better than that. Hop in before you get even wetter. I’ll run you home then I’ll have my garage boys come and pick your car up. How about Mrs. Naysmith? Still got to see her?”
    Meadows climbed in beside Peter and slammed the door.
    â€œShe can wait. Nothing important, anyway, and I’m too wet to bother at the moment. Just drop me at home, son, if you don’t