The Cases of Susan Dare Read Online Free PDF Page A

was not, however, to be alone in the cottage, for Michela sat there, composedly awaiting her.
    “Do you mind,” said Michela, “if I spend the night here? There’s two beds in there. You see—” she hesitated, her flat dark eyes were furtive—“I’m—afraid.”
    “Of what?” said Susan, after a moment. “Of whom?”
    “I don’t know who,” said Michela, “or what.”
    After a long, singularly still moment Susan forced herself to say evenly:
    “Stay if you are nervous. It’s safe here.” Was it? Susan continued hurriedly: “Mars will send up dinner.”
    Michela’s thick white hand made an impatient movement.
    “Call it nerves—although I’ve not a nerve in my body. But when Mars comes with dinner—just be sure it is Mars before you open the door, will you? Although as to that— I don’t know. But I brought my revolver—loaded.” She reached into her pocket, and Susan sat upright, abruptly. Susan, whose knowledge of revolvers had such a wide and peculiar range that any policeman, learning of it, would arrest her on suspicion alone, was nevertheless somewhat uneasy in their immediate vicinity.
    “Afraid?” said Michela.
    “Not at all,” said Susan. “But I don’t think a revolver will be necessary.”
    “I hope not, I’m sure,” said Michela somberly and stared at the fire.
    After that, as Susan later reflected, there was not much to be said. The only interruption during the whole queer evening was the arrival of Mars and dinner.
    Later in the evening Michela spoke again, abruptly. “I didn’t kill Joe,” she said. And after another long silence she said unexpectedly: “Did Christabel ask you how to kill him and get by with it?”
    “ No !”
    “Oh.” Michela looked at her queerly. “I thought maybe she’d got you to plan it for her. You—knowing so much about murders and all.”
    “She didn’t,” said Susan forcefully. “And I don’t plan murders for my friends, I assure you. I’m going to bed.”
    Michela, following her, put the revolver on the small table between the two beds.
    If the night before had been heavy with apprehension, this night was an active nightmare. Susan tossed and turned and was uneasily conscious that Michela was awake and restless, too.
    Susan must have slept at last, though, for she waked up with a start and sat upright, instantly aware of some movement in the room. Then she saw a figure dimly outlined against the window. It was Michela.
    Susan joined her. “What are you doing?”
    “Hush,” whispered Michela. Her face was pressed against the glass. Susan looked, too, but could see only blackness.
    “There’s someone out there,” whispered Michela. “And if he moves again I’m going to shoot.”
    Susan was suddenly aware that the ice-cold thing against her arm was the revolver.
    “You are not,” said Susan and wrenched the thing out of Michela’s hand. Michela gasped and whirled, and Susan said grimly: “Go back to bed. Nobody’s out there.”
    “How do you know?” said Michela, her voice sulky.
    “I don’t,” said Susan, very much astonished at herself, but clutching the revolver firmly. “But I do know that you aren’t going to start shooting. If there’s any shooting to be done,” said Susan with aplomb, “I’ll do it myself. Go to bed.”
    But long after Michela was quiet Susan still sat bolt upright, clutching the revolver and listening.
    Along toward dawn, out of the mêlée of confused, unhappy thoughts, the vagrant little recollection of a recollection came back to tantalize her. Something she’d known and now did not know. This time she returned as completely as she could over the track her thoughts had taken in the hope of capturing it by association. She’d been thinking of the murder and of the possible suspects; that if Michela had not murdered Joe, then there were left Randy and Christabel and Tryon Welles. And she didn’t want it to be Christabel; it must not be Christabel. And that left Randy and Tryon