The Death of Ruth Read Online Free PDF

as I entered my front gate I suddenly felt quite fortunate and glad to be home.
    I have always been relieved that Molly is never nervous whilst I am away. It was I, not Molly, who reacted nervously when our home was robbed. I was also damned annoyed at losing the recently purchased television, radio and record player which I had not bothered to insure against theft.
    I knew from years of similar reunions that Molly would be in the kitchen. That the table would be nicely set for dinner. I knew that we would eat lamb cutlets—it was Wednesday—I knew that on opening the front door, I would take off my raincoat and call, ‘Molly, I’m home, dear!’ and that she would come into the hall, wearing a crisp apron with her hair neatly groomed, smiling, saying, ‘Hello, John dear. So—you’re home!’
    â€˜Yes,’ I would answer, ‘I’m home,’ and I would kiss her cheek and she would kiss the air or perhaps her kiss would land on my ear.
    But that evening—three years ago—when I stood in the hall calling, ‘Molly, I’m home,’ although I was not then aware of it, the pattern of our lives changed, for instead ofcoming into the hall, Molly called to me from the living room, saying, ‘John, in here! John! I’m in the living room.’
    I went into the living room. Molly sat on a stiff-backed chair with her left leg resting on a stool, and the ankle was bandaged.
    Concerned, I was about to ask her what had happened, when a man—a stranger—sitting on another stiff-backed chair, got to his feet and spoke to me, introducing himself as Grey and explaining that he belonged to a branch of the police force which made enquiries about missing persons.
    â€˜Missing persons?’ I looked at Molly. Molly was home. I was home.
    â€˜Who is missing?’ I asked.
    Molly and the detective evidently expected the other to answer. A short silence ensued, then Grey informed me that our neighbour, Ruth Moyston, had presumably left her home two days before, and that, so far, no one knew of her whereabouts. Her husband, Ralph Moyston, had been upset about his wife going away without a word to anyone, but he, Moyston, had not become deeply alarmed until that afternoon and he had notified the police.
    Grey explained that he was in our home, questioning us, because he had been told that my wife and Mrs Moyston were friends, and of course, because we were not only the Moystons’ closest, but their only neighbours.
    â€˜That’s correct!’ I said and I added, ‘My goodness!’ I sat down and took out my pipe. I was intrigued because nothing quite as dramatic as this had happened to us before. ‘My goodness,’ I repeated, ‘What can have happened to her?’
    â€˜Why do you say that?’ asked Grey.
    â€˜I beg your pardon—say what?’
    â€˜Surmise that something has happened to Mrs Moyston? So far, her husband, her children and your wife, have all been asking, “Where can she have gone?”’
    â€˜Oh,’ I interrupted, ‘I meant that too. Ruth is such a loner,and certainly, although she’s forever yelling that she intends to take off and leave Ralph and the kids, I have never known her to be away from home for one night, let alone two.’
    I was becoming more interested, quite enthusiastic, and Grey was becoming quite animated in his manner and expression as he took a notebook from one of his pockets, saying, ‘Never?’
    â€˜What?’ I asked, ‘Never … what?’
    â€˜Mrs Moyston has
never
been away from her home overnight?’
    â€˜So far as I know, and except for my business trips and holidays I am always at home in the evenings, and I assure you I should know, for Ruth—Mrs Moyston—is a loud-mouthed, noisy woman.’ I stuffed tobacco into my pipe, lit a match to it and puffed away.
    Grey lost his animation, saying flatly, ‘Mr Blake, if you’re