Read Murders in, Volume 2 for Free Online Page A

voice with a subtle urgency which had its effect. The flush on Miss Dawson’s cheek grew deeper. She said nothing, and she did not look at him. Nobody spoke again until the car turned west from Astor Place.
    â€œI’ll let you out at the corner,” said Miss Dawson, then; “Those cobbles wreck my tires.” She added: “I suppose I can’t go in with you, Aunt Robbie? I’m dying to see Miss Smith.”
    â€œNo, dear, you cannot.”
    Miss Dawson drew up at the curb, and Gamadge got out. He helped Miss Vauregard to descend, and then, at Clara’s request, transferred the chow to the front seat. Clara said, “I shouldn’t be surprised if she turned out to be a refugee, after all.”
    â€œVery charitable of you,” replied her aunt dryly. “But Miss Smith might have communicated with the family when she discovered that your great-uncle’s wits were going, and that he took her for a historical character.”
    â€œIf she had, she’d have lost her meal ticket. I don’t believe you realize how a refugee must feel, Aunt Robbie.”
    â€œPerhaps I don’t, dear.”
    â€œShall I wait here for you?”
    â€œCertainly not. Go home and get out of those hot things.”
    â€œI promised to pick Cameron up and take him for a turn before dinner.”
    â€œGo along then.”
    Clara turned the car, and Gamadge walked beside Miss Vauregard down the narrow, tree-shaded street. Grass and bushes showed at the end of it, through the iron railings of the little park. Late afternoon sunlight turned the old bricks under their feet to a deep rose color, and cast a friendly glow on the brownstone walk-ups on the left, and the high windowless walls on the right. But for a distant view of towers rising into the sky, it might have been a street in any little European town.
    Gamadge paused in front of a wide gateway in a brick wall, surmounted by an arch and an old lantern.
    â€œGates hospitably wide,” he said. “This must be a quiet, law-abiding backwater.”
    â€œIt is. Uncle has never had any trouble with intruders.”
    â€œUntil now.” He stood surveying the brick-paved driveway, the side of the old three-storied house, the glimpse of garden beyond. A hint of white ironwork showed through vines in the distance. “The famous arbor; candid little place. I see that the windows on either side of the kitchen door are high.”
    â€œYes; you can’t see out of them without standing on something.”
    â€œAnd these nearer windows are well curtained.”
    â€œThat’s the dining room.”
    He followed Miss Vauregard past the high brick wall, and along the house front to the pillared portico. Miss Vauregard pulled a shining brass handle, and produced a soft, faraway jingle. A pale old man in a striped waistcoat opened the door and smiled at her.
    â€œWell, John; how is Uncle?”
    â€œQuite well, thank you, Madam. He is waiting for you in the library.”
    â€œDon’t come up.” She stepped past him into a white-paneled hall, Gamadge following.
    â€œThank you, Madam.” He closed the front door, and stood with his hand on the knob of it, regarding her in a melancholy, questioning way.
    â€œHow is Miss Smith?” she asked brightly.
    â€œMuch better, Madam. If you have time, Eliza would like to speak to you before you go.”
    â€œI’m always delighted to see Eliza.”
    â€œWe are a little worried about Mr. Vauregard, Madam.”
    â€œOh dear. Why?”
    â€œHe seems a little restless and nervous; I don’t think he is sleeping very well.”
    â€œHe isn’t used to guests in the house, you know, John.”
    â€œNo, Madam.” His look said, “Neither are we.”
    Gamadge followed Miss Vauregard up the shallow stairs with their delicate white rail, along a wide hallway, and into a large room which ran across the back of the house. High windows with summer