Among the Mad Read Online Free PDF Page A

turned her back on the kitchen. “And
thank you for not saying anything to my father about the incident on Christmas
Eve. I can’t have him worrying.”
    “Of course, I understood the situation. Now then, can
you return today? I can have a motor car at your door by eight.”
    “That’s certainly urgent.”
    “I wouldn’t ask if it was not critical. We need to
draw upon all resources, Miss Dobbs, and in this case, I believe you are a most
valuable resource.”
    “I’ll be ready at eight.”
    “Thank you. I will brief you on our return to London.”
    “Until then.” Maisie frowned when she realized that
Stratton would himself be coming to collect her. She set down the receiver and
walked into her father’s kitchen. Jook rose from her place alongside the stove
and came to Maisie, nudging her hand with a welcoming wet nose.
    “Dad, I’m sorry about this, but I’ve got to go back to
London.”
    “I thought as much. You don’t get these Scotland Yard
blokes making telephone calls early on a Boxing Day morning for nothing.” He
paused, taking a frying pan from the stove and slipping two eggs and a rasher
of bacon on a plate. “I’ve had mine, but you can’t be shooting off up there
without a good breakfast inside you, so get stuck into that. We can at least
sit together for a while until you’ve to leave.”
    Maisie sat at the table and as she began to eat, her
father filled two mugs with tea, set one in front of her and seated himself
opposite his daughter.
    “You know, I don’t hanker after the Smoke at all.”
Frankie shook his head and shrugged. “I thought I would when I first came down
to Chelstone, in the war. But aside from sometimes missing the market, you
know, a bit of banter, the companionship of it all, I don’t miss London. Not one bit. Last time I went up there to see you, it’d changed too much for my
liking. I couldn’t believe the racket. I mean, when I was boy, you had your
noise, but not like now, not with all them motors and lorries and the horses
and carts vying for a bit of road. And when you go into a shop, there’s tills
with bells, them adding and typewriting machines in the background when you’re
at the bank. Can’t hear yourself think. And now it’s full of people out of
work. Then, of course, there’s them who’ve got too much—mind you, that’s always
been the way. But it seems, oh, I dunno—a desperate sort of place to me.”
    Maisie stopped eating for a moment and regarded her
father. It was at times like this that he surprised her most. He often began
such proclamations with the words, “I’m an ordinary bloke, but . . . ” And on
such occasions, Maisie found him far from ordinary.
    “Yes, it’s a desperate place for a lot of people, Dad.
And the irony of it is that it means, in many cases, someone like me stays in
business.”
    Frankie nodded. “That’s what worries me. And Detective
Inspectors who know where to find you and ring early on a Boxing Day morning.
Desperate, I would say.”
    Maisie changed the subject, though she knew Frankie
was more than aware of her conversational maneuver. He would take her lead and
speak of this and that, of minor goings-on at Chelstone Manor, anything except
the fact that soon his beloved daughter would be collected by a senior Scotland
Yard detective because something untoward had happened in what he considered to
be a desperate sort of place.
     
     
    “HERE’S THE SITUATION.” Stratton turned to Maisie as the
driver negotiated the narrow country lanes that led from Chelstone to Tonbridge
and then on to the main London road. “A threat has been received by the Home
Secretary and is now in the hands of Scotland Yard. I am one of three senior
officers designated to deal with the situation. Seeing as the threat pertains
to what amounts to murder, I was called in immediately.”
    “What sort of threat is it?”
    “That’s just it, it hasn’t been spelled out, just the
consequence. A letter was received at