The White Cottage Mystery Read Free Page B

said, ‘the situation is a difficult one. You suggest that your life was made a burden to you by this man. You had a note from him this morning, you ignored it; he came across to your house presumably to fetch you – you
say
you hear a shot and go in to find him dead, but what can I think?’
    The woman sat up suddenly in her chair and stared at him, her eyes glazing with surprise.
    â€˜You don’t think – I – ?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, it’s too monstrous! You can’t – you don’t – ’
    â€˜Calm yourself, my dear lady. Nothing has been said at all yet,’ said W.T., his fatherly manner returning; but the woman was terrified, and she spoke wildly.
    â€˜But you can’t think of such a thing!’ she insisted. ‘Why, my baby was with me the whole time – she can tell you I didn’t leave the garden for some moments after the shot was fired. Send for her – ask her – she’ll tell you.’
    The old detective understood her mood too well to refuse her, and he despatched the constable for the child.
    She waited until he returned, her head held high but the shadow of fear still lurking in her blue eyes.
    A few minutes later the door opened and the red-headed policeman ushered in a tall gaunt woman of sixty-five or so, who bore in her arms a sturdy little pig-tailed girl in a flannel nightgown.
    W.T. smiled at her.
    â€˜Bring the baby here a moment, please,’ he said.
    The woman looked at him fiercely, and he was conscious that her black eyes were suspicious and hostile.
    He held out his arms for the child, however, and unwillingly she gave her to him.
    W.T. set the little creature on his knee, where she sat solemnly staring at him with the blank impenetrable eyes of five years old.
    â€˜What’s your name?’ he demanded, smiling at her blandly.
    â€˜Joan Alice,’ said she after some hesitation.
    â€˜A nice name,’ said the detective. ‘Now, Joan Alice, you were in the garden this evening with your mother, weren’t you?’
    The child did not reply and the nervous woman on the other side of the table leant across to her eagerly.
    â€˜Tell him, darling,’ she said, striving vainly to keep the anxiety out of her tone; ‘you remember being in the garden with Mummy this evening – you remember when we pulled up the weeds so that the flowers could grow – ’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Joan Alice, with sudden enthusiasm, ‘an’ I put the weeds in my pail, didn’t I?’
    The woman sighed with relief, and the detective continued to question the child.
    â€˜Joan Alice,’ he said, ‘now try to remember hard. When you were in the garden with your mamma did you hear a big bang somewhere inside the house?’
    The child did not answer him, having apparently lost interest in the proceedings; she was playing with the fountain-pen sticking out of his coat pocket.
    â€˜Joan,
darling
’ – the woman’s voice was frantic – ‘try to remember – did you hear the bang?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said the child.
    â€˜And were you with your mamma in the garden then?’
    â€˜You were, weren’t you, baby?’ The fear in the woman’s voice was terrible to hear.
    The child looked up solemnly and shook her head.
    â€˜No,’ she said suddenly and distinctly. ‘I was by the bonfire, entying my pail – you remember, Mumma, you sent me to.’
    â€˜Where was the bonfire?’
    â€˜Oh, down the garden a long way,’ said the child, her careless tones uncanny in the tension-hung room.
    â€˜You couldn’t see your mamma when you heard the bang?’ The detective spoke hesitantly, as if loath to continue the inquiry.
    â€˜Oh no.’
    â€˜Joan!’ There was reproach, appeal and terror in the woman’s voice, and the child looked at her, frightened.
    The detective rose to his feet and handed the child back to the