A Cold Treachery Read Online Free PDF Page B

and then she seemed to fall asleep against him. He woke her, urging her to fight the cold.
    More tea, and then he set her back where she belonged, and took off the brake.
    “We can't wait any longer. Talk to me,” he commanded. “I don't care what you say, nonsense if you like. Verse. Songs. But talk. Concentrate on that, not the pain.”
    “I never knew it could hurt so to breathe,” she said finally. “I can only—”
    “Yes, I understand. And that's all right. Go on,” he said again.
    “I can't feel my feet—”
    “They'll be fine, as soon as we find help. Do you know this part of the country? Is there a farmhouse near here?”
    “I—I can't remember—”
    He took one hand from the wheel and gripped hers where they were clenched under the blanket. They were still cold, her leather gloves wet through.
    “Take off your gloves, and if you can bear it, tuck your hands under your arms . . .”
    She did as she was told, cradling her body. “That helps—” she told him. “Except for my p-poor feet.” She had twisted herself in the seat to shut the wind out of her face and ease her ribs. He couldn't see her features except as a blur against the dark rug.
    “Have you come far? It's foul weather to be on the road!”
    “I—I drove down from Car-Carlisle—”
    He eventually came upon a lane with wind-drifted snow blocking it, and got out to plow his way up the hill to the porch of a house, his shoes thickly encrusted. Although he knocked with his fist, no one came to the door, and there were no lamps lit. He stepped back, and could see no smoke in the chimney.
    “Empty as a drunkard's purse,” Hamish grumbled as Rutledge started back down the drive.
    “No one at home,” he told his passenger as he climbed once more behind the wheel. “We'll find another soon enough.” And hoped that he was right.

C HAPTER F IVE

    T he road rose over a hill and then dipped again. Off to his left Rutledge could see a turning with a fingerpost, and a hundred yards beyond that, the rough shape of a house. The wind carried the heavy scent of woodsmoke to him, and he said cheerfully, pointing, “Over there. You'll be by a fire soon!”
    The lane came up so quickly he nearly missed it—no more than a long rutted bit of track that twisted up to the house and around to the yard.
    He took it carefully, testing the snow depth with his wheels. But the tires were able to find purchase, and he went up the slight rise with less difficulty than he'd anticipated, the powerful motor coming to his aid.
    A dog began to bark with savage ferocity as Rutledge approached the yard behind the house. It was not on a chain and ran bounding beside the motorcar, lips drawn back in a snarl. Even after he'd come to a full stop, it put its forelegs on the motorcar and dared him to step down.
    “Set your foot within range, and he'll clamp his teeth on it,” Hamish warned.
    Rutledge blew the horn. Once and then again.
    A lamp flared in an upstairs window. The sash went up and a gray head looked out.
    “Who are you? What the hell do you want, waking the family like that?”
    “Call off your dog and come down. I'm a policeman, and I have a woman here. There's been an accident. She needs help and she needs it quickly.”
    “You're no policeman I'm familiar with!”
    “Inspector Rutledge, from London. I've come north at the request of the Chief Constable to assist Inspector Greeley in Urskdale.”
    “And I could call myself the King of Siam, if I was of a mind to. I'm not opening my door this night to any man without proper authority.”
    The dog was growling deep in its throat, reflecting his master's truculence.
    Rutledge shifted the motorcar into reverse. “Please yourself. Inspector Greeley will be expecting you at Urskdale gaol tomorrow at noon.” It was the voice of command. “The charge will be obstructing a police officer in the course of his duties.” The vehicle began to move.
    “Stay where you are!” Cursing, the man withdrew his