Into the Valley of Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

dear, that I have read every one of these newspaper accounts and I cannot see any gap in all the evidence they say was brought against Mr. Steadman. Not the least gap.”
    Vilkins’s face did fall as she heard this. “But, Unwin,” she said, “you’re the only one as could.”
    “And there’s little more, I fear, that I can do now. One thing only I am sure about.”
    “That Jack Steadman didn’t never do it?”
    “Well, that, yes. But one small step beyond, too.”
    “Well, step it out for a girl, for ’eaven’s sake.”
    “It’s just this: If you look at the whole matter as it were upside-down, you see at once one certain thing.”
    “Upside-down? ’Ave I got to stand on me blinkin’ ’ead then?”
    “No. No, my dear. You have got to—or rather
I
have got to —turn the whole affair top to bottom in my mind. One must start by saying, not what everyone else has declared, that Jack Steadman must be guilty, but by saying no, if one thing is certain it is that Jack Steadman did not kill Alfred Goode. Then one thing is clear.”
    “It ain’t to me,” said Vilkins.
    “No? Well, I shall tell you. It is that not only must someone else have killed Alfred Goode, but that that person went to great lengths to make sure that Jack Steadman would die, too.”
    “But ’e ain’t dead.”
    “Not today he isn’t. But by next Friday morning he will be. Unless I can find—unless you and I, Vilkins dear—can find who is that person who wished both Alfred Goode and JackSteadman out of the way. Unless we can find who that is, and prove it.”
    “Yeh,” said Vilkins. She stood in thought for a moment, sturdy feet planted wide apart. “Yeh. Well, Unwin, you’ll ’ave to do the thinking. That’s for certain. I ain’t up to it. Not by a mile. So you eat your supper, an’ I’ll get on with ’elping Mrs. Steadman, which is something what I can do and what she needs, poor soul.”
    So Vilkins clumped out, and Miss Unwin turned her attention to the chop and the potatoes and the fresh bluey-green sea-kale that awaited her. But she found she had little appetite.
    Then, wanting something to drink, she took up the jug of ale Vilkins had brought on the tray, only to find she had forgotten to add a glass.
    There was a bell on the table, a little brass shepherdess under whose ample skirt a clapper lurked. But Miss Unwin did not want to demand service at a time when the Rising Sun was in such difficulties. So she set out to see if she could find a tumbler without troubling anybody.
    And just as she got down to the foot of the stairs, she saw stepping in at the wide door, fully illuminated by the still strong daylight of July, an unmistakable figure.
    It was that of a man she had not known for a very long period. But when she had had dealings with him, they had been so vital to her well-being, to her life even, that his face, his bearing, and everything about Kim had been impressed on her mind for ever.
    Had she encountered him in a London street, as she might have expected possibly to happen, she would have had no hesitation in taking the first turning she could so as to avoid coming face-to-face with him. But his appearance here, miles and miles from the metropolis, was so astonishing to her that before she could stop herself, she came out with his name.
    “Mr. Superintendent Heavitree.”
    He looked up at the sound of her voice, and it was at once apparent that he, too, had recognised her.
    “Miss Unwin. Good gracious me. What on earth brings you to these parts?”
    Miss Unwin stepped off the last tread of the stairs and advanced a little along the passageway. Now that she had met the man who once had tried to persuade her to confess to a murder she had not committed, she was not going to show any fear of him, nor any dislike.
    “Why, Mr. Superintendent,” she answered, “I might ask the same question of you. What on earth brings you to the town of Chipping Compton?”
    Her adversary of old looked little different