An Impartial Witness Read Online Free PDF

land under my feet once more.
    Dover Castle was a familiar sight looming above us, half hidden in the clouds, its walls dark with rain. A friend was on duty there, but I didn’t catch a glimpse of him. We were pressing on, for the sake of the worst cases, and pulled into London late in the afternoon. A watery sun greeted us, the worst of the storm well behind us.
    I was relieved of my duties there, and after seeing the train on its way again, I took the omnibus to the corner of our street and walked down to the flat I shared with friends.
    None of them was at home, but there were signs that Mary might be on leave again as well, and I left her a note before taking a leisurely bath and falling into bed. It was Thursday evening, and I’d have enjoyed dining out if I hadn’t been so tired.
    Mary came in later, bringing me a cup of tea and a plate of cheeses and biscuits that she’d just received from home. She was small, British fair, with rosy cheeks and dimples. The soldiers adored her, wrote poems to her blue eyes and curls, and flirted outrageously with her, but her heart was in the Navy, the first officer on a cruiser.
    “You can’t sleep away your leave,” she said cheerfully. “How long do you have?”
    “Ten days,” I said, stretching and yawning. “I thought I might go home for the last half of it.”
    “Your parents will be delighted.” She paused, then said, “I’ve heard stories. Was it a bad crossing?”
    “Very bad. I thought I would never be able to swallow food again. Now I’m ravenous. Tell your father how grateful I am that he is in the cheese business. I haven’t had a Stilton this good since the war began.”
    “And these are the leftover bits. Think what it would be like to have half a wheel to ourselves.”
    Laughing, we caught up on news, chatting among the biscuit crumbs, and then Mary said something that nearly caused me to choke on my tea.
    “I’ve an invitation to spend the weekend with friends. A house party in the country. Would you like to come?”
    “It would make a nice change. Do I know them?”
    “I don’t believe you do. It’s the Melton family. But I think you convoyed Serena’s brother home from France. Lieutenant Evanson. He killed himself not long ago, had you heard? Serena’s husband will be coming home after a fortnight somewhere he can’t talk about; it’s his birthday, and she wants to do something nice to celebrate— here !” She reached out to pound me on the back as I turned red from coughing.
    I cleared my throat and said politely, “Surely this is a family occasion—she wouldn’t care to have strangers hanging about.”
    “The truth is, nearly everyone they know is somewhere else—in France, at sea, in the Middle East. She told me I could bring one of my flatmates with me, if I cared to. She wants it to be a gay weekend, no sadness to mar it.”
    I thought of the envelope with Marjorie Evanson’s photograph still sealed in it. I’d carried it through France and now it lay in the top drawer of the small chest under my window, where I’d put it when I unpacked. It was Mrs. Melton who had decided that it shouldn’t be buried with her brother. I thought I’d guessed why, but both Matron and I had felt it was—wrong. I really shouldn’t go to this house party.
    On the other hand, I hadn’t had any news about the search for the killer. Perhaps I could satisfy my curiosity without causing any trouble.
    “Yes, all right. If she’ll have me. But it might be best if we don’t say anything about my having nursed her brother. It could bring up—painful memories.”
    “If you don’t mind, then I won’t.”
    Which is how I found myself on a crowded train to Oxford-shire, with malice aforethought.
     
    The house where the Meltons lived was within walking distance of the station. We arranged to have our valises brought there by trap and set out on foot. It was a lovely day, and the dusty scents of summer wafted from the front gardens of the small