Comes the Dark Stranger Read Online Free PDF

corner he looked back again, but this time the door to the studio was closed and the veranda deserted.

4
    I T was still raining heavily as he walked away from the house, and when he reached the main road he hesitated on the corner, looking for a bus stop. There was a small general store opposite, and he bought some cigarettes and checked on Charles Graham’s address. It was only a quarter of a mile away on the main road into town, and he decided to walk.
    He wondered if Graham had changed much. Seven years was a long time, but then Graham hadn’t been very old. He couldn’t be more than thirty-two or three now. As he walked along the wet pavement he tried to visualize the others. Wilby, a rough lout of a man with a long record of petty crimes, but a good soldier. Crowther had been a student, fresh from university, and Charles Graham had worked for his uncle, learning to be a woolbroker. And what about Reggie Steele? Shane tried hard, but was unable to remember.
    It was something to which he was becoming accustomed by now, an irritating hangover from his illness that made him forget odd, unimportant things, leaving exasperating blanks in his memory.
    He found Graham’s place with no difficulty. It was a large and pretentious, late-Victorian town house in grey stone standing remotely in a sea of smooth lawns and flower-beds. It had one unusual feature. Most of the second storey was taken up by a large conservatory, with a terrace that looked out over the valley to the town below.
    Shane checked the address again, and then shrugged and walked along the drive to the front door. He pressed a button and a peal of chimes sounded melodiously from somewhere inside. After a moment or two he heard steps approaching. The door opened, a pleasant-faced, motherly looking old woman peered out at him. She was wearing a large white apron and there was flour on her hands.
    ‘I’d like to see Mr Graham if he’s at home,’ Shane said.
    A look of complete astonishment passed across her face. ‘But Mr Graham never receives visitors, sir. Not since his trouble. I thought everyone knew that.’
    Shane concealed his surprise and smiled pleasantly. ‘I think he’ll see me if you tell him I’m here. We’re very old friends. I’ve been away for several years, and we haven’t seen each other for quite a while.’
    She looked uncertain and wiped her hands on the apron. ‘I’ll tell Mr Graham you’re here, sir, if you insist, but I don’t think it’ll do any good.’
    Shane gave her his name, and she crossed the hall and mounted the broad stairway. He turned to the oak-panelled wall and examined some of the paintings hanging there. They were all excellent, mostly originals, and when his eyes fell on the exquisite Chinese vase on the table by the door he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. Whatever else had troubled Charles Graham during the past seven years one thing was obvious. It wasn’t shortage of money.
    There was a slight cough behind him, and he turned to find the old woman standing there, an expression of amazement on her face. ‘Mr Graham would like you to come up to the conservatory, sir. It’s on the second floor. I’ll show you the way.’
    He followed her up the thickly carpeted stairs. They passed along a broad corridor and mounted another flight of stairs to the second storey. Facing them was an oak door strengthened with bands of wrought iron, and she opened it and motioned him inside.
    Rain drummed steadily against the glass roof, and a brooding quiet hung over everything. It was like stepping into a Turkish bath, and clammy heat enveloped Shane with a heavy hand so that sweat sprang to his brow and he peeled off his coat and draped it over a chair by the door.
    The place was like a jungle, a mass of green leaves and trailing vines, topped by a profusion of exotic flowers, and a strange, heady perfume touched everything with invisible fingers, making him feel vaguely uneasy. Over everything there hung the hot,