The White Cottage Mystery Read Online Free PDF

anyway,’ he said.
    â€˜There goes a clever old woman,’ said W.T.
    Jerry looked at him in astonishment.
    â€˜Do you mean to say you don’t believe her?’
    W.T. shook his head.
    â€˜On the contrary, I do believe her,’ he said. ‘All she
said
– but she has a secret, Jerry – she has a secret – everyone seems to have a secret. The murdered man must have been a most extraordinary customer. I wonder – ’
    His remark was cut short by a sudden nervous rap on the door, which burst open the next instant as a man in an invalid chair shot into the room.
    He darted forward right up to the table at which the detective sat, and put out his hand and grasped the ledge to steady himself. As he did so he showed only head and shoulders high above the board. And as they sat looking at him the same thought flashed simultaneously into the minds of both father and son … the gun on the table, the scorched tablecloth …
    The shot that killed Eric Crowther could only have been fired by a man or woman kneeling … or sitting …

4 The Invalid Chair
    â€˜You sent for me?’
    W.T. looked at the man steadily, and his eyes seemed to become brighter and very piercing.
    â€˜You are Roger William Christensen,’ he began, ‘the owner of the house?’
    â€˜Yes.’ The monosyllable was quietly spoken.
    â€˜Where were you at the time of the murder?’ The cripple’s grave face was unmoved by any tremor of emotion.
    â€˜I was in the drawing-room,’ he said – ‘the room next to this one, that is, in between this and the dining-room.’
    â€˜You can prove that, of course?’ W.T.’s tone was dry and matter of fact. The man looked faintly surprised.
    â€˜Why, no,’ he said, laughing deprecatingly. ‘I don’t suppose I can. I was quite alone, looking through my books in there, waiting for my wife to come in to tea. The books are as I left them when I heard the shots. I don’t know if that would be any sort of proof.’
    W.T. ignored the last remark. He was busy jotting down notes in the unofficial-looking memo book he always carried.
    â€˜When you heard the shot,’ he went on at last, ‘what did you do?’
    â€˜I hurried out into the hall – naturally – the report was terrific.’
    â€˜Quite,’ said the detective, without looking up. ‘You must have been the nearest to the scene. Were you the first to make the discovery?’
    â€˜No, as it happens I was not.’ The man spoke easily, in a quiet conversational tone, his drawn face the only indication of any strain he may have felt. ‘I always have some difficulty in negotiating a door that opens inwards – that is to say towardsme. As you see, I am pretty helpless in this chair’ – he laughed a little awkwardly. ‘I believe I was some seconds longer than usual in getting the drawing-room door open on this occasion,’ he went on. ‘The explosion had made me nervy, I suppose. When I did get into the hall I found Kathreen there, and the next instant my wife dashed out of the dining-room doorway screaming and crying that Crowther was murdered.’
    He paused, and W.T. frowned.
    â€˜If you don’t mind, Mr Christensen,’ he said, ‘I’ll have the girl Kathreen in to verify that now.’
    The cripple bowed.
    â€˜Anything you wish,’ he said.
    The old detective looked at his downcast eyes and resigned expression with the eye of an expert. For a moment he was silent, then he turned to the red-headed policeman.
    â€˜Send Kathreen Goody in, constable,’ he said, and waited in silence until the man returned with the plump, round-faced girl that he and Jerry had carried in from the road.
    She was still terrified, and her brown eyes were almost circular.
    All W.T.’s benign, avuncular manner returned at the sight of her distress, and he beamed upon her.
    â€˜Now,