The Ruby in the Smoke Read Online Free PDF

table on the veranda, and a wooden chair by the door. He offered her the chair and then spoke in a low voice.
    "I have an enemy, Miss Lockhart, and that enemy is now yours, too. She—it is a woman—is quite, quite evil. She is in this house now, which is why we must hide out here, and why you must leave very soon. Your father—"
    "But why? What have I done to her? Who is she?"
    "Please—I can't explain now. I shall, believe me. I know nothing of what caused your father's death—nothing of the Seven Blessings, nothing of the South China Sea, nothing of the shipping trade. He could not have known about the evil which has fallen on me, and which now ... I can't help you. I can do nothing. His trust was misplaced, yet again."
    "Again?"
    She saw a look of desperate unhappiness cross his face.

    It was the look of a man utterly without hope, and it frightened her.
    She could only think of the letter from the Elast. "Did you once live in Chatham?" she said.
    '*Yes—a long time ago. But please—there's no time. Take this—"
    He opened a drawer in the table and took out a package wrapped in brown paper. It was about six inches long, and sealed with string and sealing wax.
    "This will tell you everything. Perhaps, since he said nothing to you about it, I shouldn't either. . . . You will have a shock when you read this. Please be ready for it. But your life's in danger whether you know it or not, and at least you'll know why."
    She took the package. Her hands were trembling badly; he saw it, and for one strange moment took them both in his and bent his head over them.
    Then a door opened.
    He sprang away, gray-faced, and a middle-aged woman looked around the door.
    "Major—she's on the grounds, sir," she said. "In the garden."
    She looked as unhappy as he did, and a strong smell of drink drifted from her. Major Marchbanks beckoned to Sally.
    "Through the door," he said. "Thank you, Mrs. Thorpe. Quickly, now . . ."
    The woman stood clumsily aside and tried to smile as Sally squeezed past her. The Major led her swiftly through the house; she had an impression of empty rooms, bare floors, echoes and dampness and misery. His fear was catching.

    "Please," she said as they reached the front door, "who is this enemy? I don't know anything! You must tell me her name, at least—"
    "She's called Mrs. Holland," he whispered, opening the door a crack. He peered through. "Please—I beg you— leave now. You came on foot? You're young, strong, swift—don't wait. Go directly to town. Oh, I'm so sorry. . . . Forgive me. Forgive me."
    Those words were so intensely spoken, with a sob in his voice . . .
    And she was outside, and the door was shut behind her. Barely ten minutes after she had arrived, she was leaving again. She looked up at the blank, peeling wall of the house and thought: Is this enemy watching?
    She set off along the weed-covered drive, past the grove of dark trees, and back onto the track by the river. The tide was coming in; a sluggish flow stirred the edges of the muddy river. There was no sign of the photographer, unfortunately. The landscape was utterly bare.
    She hurried onward, very conscious of the package in her bag. Halfway along the river bank, she stopped and looked back. What made her look she did not know, but she saw a small figure rounding the trees—a woman dressed in black. An old woman. She was too far away to see plainly, but she was hurrying after Sally. Her little black shape was the only purposeful element in all that gray wilderness.
    Sally hastened on until she reached the main road, and looked back again. It was as if the little black figure was coming in with the tide; she was no farther behind, and even seemed to be gaining. Where could Sally hide?
    The road to the town curved around slightly, away

    from the sea, and she thought that if she were to take a side road while she was out of sight, she might—
    Then she saw something better still. The photographer stood on the seafront, beside his