The Dusky Hour Read Online Free PDF

“Not quite – well, not normal even. Why on earth should anyone...? Looks to me like suicide – or accident.”
    â€œAccident we can rule out,” the colonel answered. “The tracks show the car had been standing some time before being driven over the edge. Suicide is possible. People intending suicide do sometimes destroy all papers and evidence of identity. Even the tailor’s tabs seem to have been removed. But, then, the papers we did find were there, and it’s more likely they were overlooked by someone else than forgotten by the dead man himself – especially as they seem somewhat compromising. We may trace him through the car, of course. And we haven’t the report of the doctors yet. They are doing the post-mortem, and they may find something to show one way or the other. There’s another point. There’s evidence two or three shots were heard close together about four o’clock, and a noise that it seems likely was the car falling. A delivery-van driver, it was. He didn’t trouble to investigate; didn’t think much of it, and was late on his rounds anyhow. Someone shooting rabbits, he thought. But he did mention it when he got back, so there is proof he actually heard something and he seems fairly sure about the time. Also a man working in the field beyond the chalk-pit says he saw someone leaving the copse late in the afternoon, though he’s pretty vague about the exact hour. He can’t give the least description of him, except that it was a man dressed in what he calls gentleman’s clothes, which means, I gather, a dark lounge suit, and that he was holding a hat before his face. No hat can be found belonging to the dead man, and, though plenty of people don’t wear one nowadays, especially when driving, still, Norris says the man he saw had one. Only why take away a hat of all things? It might be it was being held before the face by way of disguise,” he added thoughtfully.
    â€œIs Norris quite certain the dead man is the same as the man he saw before?” Mr. Moffatt asked.
    â€œOh, yes, he is quite clear about that; thought his behaviour so queer he noticed him particularly. I was wondering – most unpleasant, of course – I hate to do it – but I shall have to ask you to see if you can recognise the body. There must, one supposes, be some reason why he was watching your place.”
    â€œI can’t imagine...” Mr. Moffatt insisted. “Of course, if you think it necessary...”
    â€œI knew we could depend on you,” declared the colonel heartily. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have to ask you. Oh, by the way, Mr. Pegley – was that his name? – have you known him long? You have another friend staying with you, too, I think?”
    â€œYes. A man named Larson; very nice fellow, down for the week-end. City man – finance, companies, all that sort of thing. Ena and I met him on the Berengaria two years ago, when we went to Boston to visit Ena’s uncle there. Larson put me under a considerable obligation during the voyage.”
    â€œMay I ask in what way?”
    â€œWell, in confidence, of course. As a matter of fact, I had been playing poker a good deal. Silly, no doubt. Bridge is my game, not poker. I ought to have known better. Dropped a tidy sum. Larson looked on one night. Never said a word. He’s like that. Just watched. Next day told me the play was crooked. Said it just like that. ‘Crooked play last night,’ like ‘Nice morning, isn’t it?’ or ‘Lunch bell gone yet?’ I – well, I didn’t know what to think. He offered to prove it. He joined us next night. Told me what to do. I won back all I had lost and nearly fifty more. Spoiling the Egyptians, eh?”
    â€œAnd Larson?”
    â€œDropped a fiver. He wouldn’t let me return it; said he had had more than his money’s worth in fun. He watched them, saw how