The Spirit Murder Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

to have been worsted in a business deal. In the parish of Yarham, he was not popular. He was reserved and inclined to be sarcastic, which was construed as equivalent to giving himself airs, but his worst fault, in combination with these, was that he was a stranger. Though he had now been at Church Farm for many years, he was a stranger for the simple reason that he had not been born in the parish of Yarham. Worse still, he was not a Suffolk man.
    His arrival at Old Hall Farm at this critical moment was too much for Eileen Thurlow’s command of her troubled feelings. On his sympathetic remark that she looked as if she were upset about something, she frankly unburdened herself and told him the whole story of her uncle’s inexplicable disappearance. Overwrought by her morning’s excitement and worry, she ended her tale on the verge of tears. Arthur Orton was solidly comforting. He deftly brought bright common sense to bear on the subject, and contrived that a light-hearted breeze should blow away the portentous atmosphere of tragedy from Eileen’s outlook.
    â€œWhen did you go to bed, Miss Thurlow?” he asked.
    â€œI left my uncle in his study about ten o’clock.”
    â€œWell, I and my man, Joe Battrum, saw Mr. Thurlow step into a car at about eleven o’clock, just as you enter Yarham village. We naturally thought it was his own car and paid no more heed to the matter. You say his car was never out of the garage yesterday. Then it must have been a friend’s car, and they’ve had a breakdown at some outlandish spot. In fact, the whole of Suffolk’s outlandish, so that’s easy. You mustn’t start worrying about nothing, Miss Thurlow. Your uncle’ll turn up when he’s downright hungry, or he’ll ring you up and let you know where he is and what’s happened. I wanted to see him about some repairs to my barn, but it’s not urgent and I’ll look in to-morrow. In the meantime, if there’s anything I can do, you’ve just to let me know. ’Phone me and I’ll be on your doorstep in no time. Don’t hesitate.”
    â€œThat’s awfully kind of you, Mr. Orton,” said Eileen sincerely. “I hope I haven’t worried you by telling you all my troubles.”
    â€œMy dear girl, there’s nothing like getting your worries off your chest. I’m very glad you’ve told me. I want you to think of me as a friend you can turn to when in trouble.”
    Arthur Orton’s eyes met Eileen’s and his glance was suddenly charged with significance. He meant the word friend to be taken at an enhanced emotional value, and Eileen was unconsciously eager to accept it. Her lowered eyelids were an admission to him that she understood perfectly. Orton rose to go, but for some moments stood hesitant as if debating a course of action that was hovering uncertainly in his mind.
    â€œYou’ve searched everywhere, Miss Thurlow?” he asked suddenly. From the tone of his voice his thoughts were apparently not in his words.
    â€œWe’ve ransacked the whole place,” replied Eileen emphatically.
    â€œThe attics and lofts?” asked Orton, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
    â€œYes.”
    The cellar as well? You have a wine cellar, I believe?”
    â€œYes, we’ve searched everywhere,” replied Eileen with finality. She was rather disappointed at these matter-of-fact questions. His hesitation had seemed to hint at the possibility of a more intimate expansion on the subject of friendship. That expansion had evidently been checked by caution or nervousness. His rather obvious questions came as a depressing anti-climax to her expectancy.
    â€œNow you’re not to worry, Miss Thurlow,” he adjured finally. “Your uncle will turn up. Take my word for it.”
    â€œBut suppose he doesn’t return by to-morrow morning. Would you advise me to report the matter to the police, Mr. Orton?” asked