The Shadow of the Lynx Read Online Free PDF

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    murdered. Killed in cold blood. It was fantastic. I pictured the dray lumbering along the road, the masked figure hiding unaer me trees and men ‘trtanu and deliver.
    Forfeit your gold or your life. ” In my imagination I could see him clearly, the gold in bags about his waist perhaps. And he would say to himself: ” No, this is my gold . mine and Nora’s. ” Perhaps he was planning to bring me out to him so that I could share in the fortune, if fortune it was. So when the gun was pointing at him he refused to give up his gold, and so he gave up his life.
    “I hate gold,” I said aloud.
    “I wish it had never been discovered.” I thought in fury of the glittering eyes behind the mask, of a trigger that was coolly pulled, and a report that had put an end to all my happiness. Oh, how I hated my father’s murderer!
    He had not died immediately. They were able to take him to Lynx and he wrote his last letter to me. But he was dying then. And it need never have happened.
    Stirling was right. I needed to be alone. This was almost as great a shock as the news of my father’s death had been. It had not been an accident. It was deliberate murder.
    I went to the window and looked out. Below me was the street with its ancient houses. I could see the spire of the church and the towers of the house they called Whiteladies. It had once been a convent, I remembered; the nuns had worn white habits; and this inn would have been there at the time. The pilgrims on their way to Canterbury would have stopped here—the last halt before they reached their goal.
    Looking down on the street I could so easily picture them, weary and footsore, yet relieved because the host of the Falcon Inn was waiting to welcome them and offer them food and shelter before they went on to Canterbury.
    As I stood at the window I saw Stirling come out of the inn. I watched him walk purposefully down the street taking long strides, and looking as though he knew exactly where he was going.
    So stunned had I been by first finding that he had come instead of Miss Herrick to take me to Australia and then by his revelations about my father’s death that I had not had time to consider him. So . he was the son of that man Lynx who was fast becoming a symbol in my mind. The all-powerful Lynx of whom people spoke with awe and the utmost respect. Why had Lynx not sent his daughter? Perhaps he did not care that she should travel alone. I had imagined her to be a middleaged lady. But why had they
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    said Miss nerricK would cume ana inc ii oui a yuung man? It was all very strange.
    Stirling had turned off the main street. I wondered where he had gone.
    His appearing like that had disturbed my train of thought. The sunlit street looked inviting. I could think better out of doors, I assured myself; so I put on my cape and went out. There were few people about.
    A lady with a parasol strolled by on the other side; a dog lay sleeping in a doorway. I walked down the street, glancing as I passed at the shop window where behind bottle glass wools, ribbons, hats and dresses were displayed. There was nothing there to interest me, so I went on and came to the turning which Stirling had taken. It led up a hill and there was a signpost which said: To Whiteladies’.
    As I mounted the hill the grey walls came into sight;
    and when I reached the top I could look down and see the house in all its splendour. I knew that I could never forget it. I told myself afterwards that I knew even then what an important part it was to play in my life. I was spellbound, bewitched, and in that moment forgot everything else but the magic of those towers, the ambience of monastic seclusion, the mullioned windows, the curved arches, the turrets and the tower, the sun shining on flinty grey walls. One almost expected to hear the sound of bells calling the nuns to prayer and to see white-clad figures emerging from the cloister.
    I had an overwhelming desire to see more. 1 started to run