Read Put on the Armour of Light for Free Online Page B

enveloping boughs of Mrs. Gough’s prized Mock Orange bush. As he was struggling to right himself, he heard the sound of hastily retreating footfalls but, when he got back to the street and looked down the sidewalk, he saw no one. He thought better of his first response, which was to run after the individual. Instead, he dashed up the steps of the house and through the unlatched door. He almost tripped over a package on the hall rug, grabbed it quickly, and went in search of Mrs. Gough, who was found folding laundry in the dining room.
    â€œAre you all right Mrs. Gough? Has anything happened?”
    â€œWhy, bless you, Mr. Lauchlan, what do you mean?” Mrs. Gough seemed startled by the intensity of his expression.
    â€œWell, someone just bowled me over trying to get through the gate. I thought he might be a burglar or worse. I’ve had such a night.”
    â€œI did hear someone on the verandah. It sounded as if he pushed something through the mail slot. I was just going to check after I finished the laundry.”
    Charles remembered the package in his hand. He looked at the large envelope, somewhat scuffed by being folded and crammed through the slot. “Oh, it’s addressed to me.” Something about the whole business made Charles cautious about opening the envelope in front of Mrs. Gough. “Well, whoever it was may just have been in a great hurry.”
    â€œIsn’t that the way of it these days, Mr. Lauchlan. People are just going and going and where it will end I don’t know.” Casting a glance at the package, she said, “Sit down now and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
    â€œOh — thank you — but I’ve already eaten, Mrs. Gough. I ate at the Skenes’ earlier. I think I’ll just collect the rest of my mail and go upstairs.”
    Picking up the small stack of mail on the hall table, he sorted through it half-heartedly on his way up the stairs, knowing that he would open the mysterious envelope first. He had one armchair, a little threadbare, but comfortable for reading, which he sank into after lighting the coal oil lamp on the nearby table. When he opened the envelope, he discovered that it enclosed yet another envelope — but there was a loose sheet of paper on which he found a note.
I trust you to keep this for me. For the sake of your own safety don’t open it and don’t show it to anyone else. And don’t tell anyone that you have it. Just keep it for me until I ask for it back. You are the only one that I can trust and I need your trust in return.
    The note was unsigned. Charles stared intently at the unfamiliar handwriting, but the hastily scrawled sentences refused to reveal anything more. He rolled the sealed envelope between his fingers. Papers, that was all he could feel, no other objects. Who could the owner of this package possibly be, and why had he entrusted it to Charles?
    The package rested like a dead weight in his hands. Should he take it to the police — in spite of what the note said? The sender might be some unfortunate madman suffering from delusions. If he opened the package would he find blank sheets or scribbled nonsense? Or, was it all a joke? Would Sanders or Whitman reveal themselves as the perpetrators sometime next week, after he had suitably made a fool of himself? He had only the vaguest recollection of the figure running past him on the sidewalk. Just the impression of a long coat, inappropriate for the warmth of the night, and a hat pulled down low. Whoever he was, he plainly did not want to be recognized. And then there was the note. The person who wrote it seemed painfully in earnest. You are the only one that I can trust.
    Members of his congregation sometimes confided things to him that they told no other living soul and, consequently, keeping that trust was a sacred duty. Mind you, he couldn’t be sure that the man who had knocked him into the orange bush was someone from the