The Jade God by Alan Sullivan (snow like ashes series txt) 📕

East is a big bit of country, and there’s room for all kinds there.”

“You know some foreign lingos?”

“Yes, sir, a trader needs them if he’s going to do any business.”

“Have you tried your friend in that respect?”

“I tackled him just now with Hindustani, but that beat him.”

“It would beat me, too. Does he know any Malay?” Derrick smiled a little. “Not that I know any myself.”

“Only a word or two, sir.”

“Curious that two traders like you, both of whom have lived in the Orient, should have to fall back on English to converse.”

Martin’s eyes were unfathomable, and Derrick searched his mind for the next move. The man had twice been proved a liar, but the object of his lies was as remote as ever. Then suddenly came the thought of Perkins, babbling what was probably Malay in her dream-haunted sleep.

“I wonder if Perkins happens to know any of those Eastern lingos?”

The man’s face underwent a swift change. There was fear in it now. He ground his heel nervously into the soil, while the big fingers clenched tight. There was in his manner that which suggested a new anxiety, and for the moment he seemed oddly helpless.

“I couldn’t say, Mr. Derrick, but if I may make so bold, I wouldn’t try. She’s a queer woman, and”⁠—here he touched his forehead meaningly⁠—“she’s best left alone. Mr. Millicent never bothered her, and he knew her well.”

Derrick nodded. “You may be right. Where are you putting your visitor tonight?”

“On the floor in the kitchen, sir; he says that’s good enough for him. He’s about used up and asked if he might rest for another day or two. Showed me his feet. They’re in bad shape. I told him it was for you to say.”

Derrick felt a quickening of his pulse. Once again everything fitted in. The peddler would stay, but not on account of sore feet. He pressed his fingers against the image in his pocket, but his mind sped to the dark recess where the real god stared malevolently into the darkness and waited till his servants should gather at his baffling summons. Then he glanced at Martin, experiencing a throb of pity for one who was so secretly tortured. He began to see how the man must already have suffered, anticipating the inevitable, paying in advance, with the pangs of two years, part of the price of a blow that took place in a second. But there was no room now for compassion.

“Did you happen to see the inside of the peddler’s pack?” he asked carelessly.

Martin shook his head. “No, sir, he won’t trouble to show that to the likes of me.”

“I don’t know! I’d ask him if I were you, and have a look at them. They’ll probably remind you of a good many places you ought to know. Also I think I’d keep an eye on him tonight.”

“He’s all right so far as that’s concerned,” put in the gardener hastily.

“He may be, but one can never tell. I fancy he wouldn’t mind picking up anything portable, especially if it happened to be in his own line. One can never be sure about men like that. I’ve known them to wander about the country picking up odds and ends that were of no value to most people, but of particular interest to others. I’ve half a mind to send him along to the village as it is.”

“That will be all right, sir,” put in Martin hurriedly; “he’s a harmless old soul with not as much strength as a cat. I’ll stand good for him.”

He spoke with great earnestness and unconsciously raised his voice. Derrick at this moment felt his gaze drawn toward the cottage and, glancing over Martin’s shoulder, noted that at one of the tiny windows of the kitchen the blind had been drawn slightly aside. The window was open. Pitching his own tones a little higher, he looked straight into Martin’s troubled eyes.

“You remember that talk we had about Mr. Millicent’s death the first night you came to see me?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the gardener with reluctance.

“Well, I’ve said nothing about it since then, but I’ve thought a good deal. What about you?”

“I don’t forget it, either, Mr. Derrick, but what else is there to be said? I told you what I know.”

“Then I take it that nothing has occurred to you since?”

“What could occur, sir? It’s more than two years ago now. The poor gentleman’s cold in his grave, and the world has moved on. I’m trying to forget it as hard as I can.”

“Yes, I know, but sometimes, Martin, when a man comes back to a well-known place which is associated with an event like that, the mind takes a curious turn and pitches on something it did not see before. It’s almost as though the place had kept something up its sleeve to reveal later on. Perhaps it’s your friend’s arrival that has started me thinking.”

Martin sent him an indescribable glance. “I don’t quite follow, sir.”

“I was wondering,” went on Derrick in the same clear tones, “whether it was possible that anyone answering to the description of this stranger had been hanging about the night Mr. Millicent was killed. Things like that have been known to happen.”

“For God’s sake don’t talk that way, sir.” Martin’s face was now desperate, and he glanced apprehensively over his shoulder.

Derrick smiled reassuringly. “I can’t see that there’s any harm done by mentioning it, and it might be as well to let your friend know that we’re not asleep.”

The man winced as though struck. “Mr. Derrick, sir, if there’s anything you want to say about Mr. Millicent now, couldn’t we go a few steps up the drive? It isn’t wise, is it, that this fellow should know anything about it?”

“What’s the matter with you, Martin?”

“Nothing, sir, but I can’t help being upset when I talk about the thing.”

Derrick hesitated, then thrust the probe still deeper. “I can’t see what difference would be made if he did learn of it. However, let that go, and perhaps you’re right. You remember