The Casebook of Newbury & Hobbes Read Online Free PDF Page A

shattered windows and splintered stonework, or growing up and out through large holes in the thatched roof. Moss and lichen clung to the lintels; vines and creepers dripped from the guttering. No lights burned in the windows, and Black suspected they had not for some time. If this was the house belonging to Old Mab, then she had clearly quit the place a good while ago—far longer than the handful of months implied by the barman at The Saracen’s Head. Everything about the cottage suggested it was returning to nature, left to spoil and degenerate, given over to the trees and the moss.
    “I think this must be the place Mr Blackstone was searching for,” said Newbury, approaching the building and peering in through one of the windows. What remained of the glass was smeared with mossy spores, and a thick bundle of ropey branches erupted from the hole, obscuring the interior from view. The door, however, was hanging open on one damaged hinge, hinting at a shadowy room beyond.
    “Well, there’s clearly no one living here,” said Black, glad for the brief respite from their forced march through the trees. He reached into his jacket and withdrew his silver cigarette tin, popping it open and extracting a Guinea Gold. He rested it between his lips while he sought out his box of Lucifers. “Perhaps Old Mab has moved on, and when the valet discovered the house, he abandoned his search.”
    The light was thin and pale now, peeking through the treetops in narrow shafts and pooling on the mulch by their feet.
    “Then why didn’t he return to the manor?” asked Newbury as he circled the decrepit building, searching for any signs of life. The wind whistled loudly through the overhead branches. Pools of dead leaves stirred near Black’s boots. “Surely even the most stubborn of men would want to be surrounded by familiar faces as he faced death?”
    Black shrugged, blowing smoke from his nostrils. “Perhaps,” he said, noncommittally. “Or perhaps he wasn’t ready to give up yet. Either way, it doesn’t appear that he found what he was looking for here.”
    “Hmm,” said Newbury, unsure. “I’m going to take a quick look inside. You wait here.”
    Black watched as Newbury picked his way around a twisted knot of tree roots that had erupted from the soil by the threshold, and pushed at the door. The rusted hinge creaked in protest and the door broke free, clattering noisily to the ground. The sudden sound was like a thunderclap in the clearing, and startled birds burst out of the surrounding trees, cawing as they took flight. Startled, Newbury stepped back, glancing over his shoulder at Black. Then, with a shrug, he turned and disappeared inside.
    Black took another long draw on his cigarette, kicking idly at the dry leaves. Newbury would return in a few moments to report the house was empty, and then hopefully he’d relent, allowing them to make the long trek back to the manor before night set in. They’d have to resume their search for the missing valet in the morning.
    “That was qui—” Black sensed movement and glanced up at the cottage expecting to see Newbury in the doorway, but everything was still and the words died on his lips. He paused, listening intently, tuning out the background sounds of the wood. There it was again: a noise like the rustling of dry leaves. This time it was followed by something that sounded very much like a strangled gasp.
    “Sir Maurice?” Without hesitation Black rushed to the door of the cottage, ducking his head beneath the lintel and scrabbling in to look for Newbury. It was gloomy inside, and the first thing that struck him was the thick, mouldy stench of the place. The second was that Newbury appeared to be grappling with a writhing tree root that had snaked around his neck and was attempting to lift him off his feet.
    “Get... it... off... me!” gurgled Newbury, when he caught sight of Black in the doorway, cigarette still drooping from his lips. Newbury’s arms flailed