The Saltmarsh Murders Read Online Free PDF Page A

the little man to finish his sentence, and William, with a coy:
    â€œWell, good night,” was about to step into the night and return home when Mrs. Bradley stepped quickly up to him, and, to his amazement, put a ten-shilling note into his hand and thanked him for his assistance.
    At this point I confess that I can’t follow William’s line of thought. But, of course, boys of fourteen just don’t think along the same lines as any other humanbeings, and that’s all there is to it. It seemed to him, he said, that the least he could do in return for the ten bob was to go up to the Bungalow where Mr. Burt lived, and tax him with the fearful crime of incarcerating poor old Gatty in the church crypt. So, in spite of the fact that it was very dark, that a wretched drizzle was falling, that the Bungalow was nearly a mile and a half from his home and that it was situated above the Salt-marsh stone quarries, a lonely and a dangerous, and, according to the villagers, a haunted locality, he set out at Scouts’ pace for the Burt residence, as American stories say. As I said, I can’t follow the argument, but William seemed clear that he was doing the right thing.
    Foster Washington Yorke, the big negro, admitted and announced William. Yorke was Burt’s servant, the only one they kept. Burt was seated in a large easy chair and Cora was on his knees, and neither attempted to move when William was announced. They merely smiled at him, and Burt said:
    â€œHullo, what can we do for you?”
    And Cora, whom William admired immediately, said:
    â€œTake a pew, ducky, and make yourself at home. Like a bit of cake? Bring some cake, Dirty!”
    Foster Washington Yorke appeared with the cake, and William sat down on the nearest chair, and, as he confessed to me later, he never felt so much at a loss in his life. He had come to accuse Burt of a murderous attempt on Gatty, and yet, when he looked at this great, blond, healthy, jolly fellow, and reflected that he held records for sport, and saw that he held in his arms, as carelessly as an emperor, the most glorious creature onearth, it seemed madness as well as the most frightful side to accuse him of murdering, or wanting to murder, a poor little worm like Gatty. He said at last:
    â€œI expect you wonder why I’ve come?”
    â€œNot at all,” said Burt. “You’re the vicar’s son, aren’t you?”
    â€œNephew,” said William, and there was a silence until Cora jumped up, and, opening the door, shouted to Foster Washington Yorke to bring in the supper.
    â€œOh, I’ll—I’ll go,” said William, hastily finishing his cake. The goddess laughed and pushed him back on to his chair, and kissed his cheek.
    â€œYou’ll do nothing of the sort,” she said. “A nice boy like you can surely eat a bit of grub if it’s put in front of you, can’t you?”
    William says it was the most frightful moment of his existence, but he managed to blurt out:
    â€œI—we got Mr. Gatty out of the crypt, so you mustn’t think we don’t know you did it!”
    â€œAgain,” said Burt, leaning forward.
    â€œYou betted him, you know,” said William desperately, “that he wouldn’t let you lock him in the crypt. Well, I mean, it seemed awful to leave him down there like that. I mean, it might have been murder, or something, mightn’t it?”
    Burt laughed, and said he had not thought of it in that light.
    Here Foster Washington Yorke entered and began to lay the table. A cold fowl and choice salads appeared, and a great bowl of stewed fruit and another great bowl of cream, and various cakes, biscuits, cheeses, cold tongue and meat paste.
    So the evening became a merry one, until, at the end of supper, Burt swore, and said he would have to go into the village for a heavy parcel of books which would be waiting at the station. Cora suggested that he should take the coloured man to