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

that’s as far as I can go at the moment.”

Burke nodded approvingly. “Then you want the grounds guarded?”

“Yes, in any way you think best. I would not bother about the front door; it would take too long to get out that way. The French window is the place.”

“The trap will be set at a quarter to six,” said Burke, glancing at the clock.

Derrick grinned contentedly. “It would be a bit of a feather in your cap, sergeant, if you could pull this thing off after two years.”

VIII The Power of the Unknown

Derrick walked quickly back, slackening speed as he approached the Lodge, and reentering the grounds from the direction in which he had started. There was a light in the cottage kitchen, but neither man came to the window as he passed. In the study he found Edith beside the tea-tray. She handed him his cup, and with it sent an inquiring glance.

“How’s your friend the peddler behaving himself, and what did Jean say?”

He flushed a little. “She didn’t say very much, but”⁠—he smiled reminiscently⁠—“she took the bangle.”

“I’m glad of that, my dear,” she said softly. “Had she ever heard anything of the peddler?”

“Not a word, nor has Sergeant Burke.”

“You’ve been there, too?”

He nodded. “I thought it best to have a chat with him. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Why, has anything happened?”

“No, but something may, and I want to be ready, in case.”

“I don’t understand, Jack. What do you anticipate?”

“Well, our friend has an odd idea that he may be able to suggest something that would help in the Millicent matter in the way of a clue if he could see the place where it happened. So I’m having him in here shortly with Martin, who doesn’t seem to fancy the visit at all. The sergeant won’t be in evidence, and they know nothing about him.”

“Oh!” she said slowly, “can I do anything except keep out of the way? I’ve an idea that’s what you want me to do.”

Derrick laughed. “It is, exactly. There’s one other thing. I’d like to see Perkins for a minute before the others come.”

Edith got up. “Then finish your tea, and I’ll send her in for the tray. She’s been even more queer than usual today, so I fancy she knows that man is here. Good luck to you, brother, and I’m so glad I know what you’re working for.” She bent over, kissed him impulsively, and went out.

He sat motionless for a moment, vibrant with the knowledge that he was playing for great stakes. Martin⁠—the peddler⁠—Perkins⁠—the jade god⁠—all intervened between him and the goal of his desire. At that his nerves seemed slowly to be turned to steel.

The door opened. Perkins came in and busied herself with the tray, and for the first time he noted that her fingers were trembling. Something of the transitory pity he had felt for Martin came over him, and he made a gesture toward a chair.

“Please sit down a minute, Perkins. I want to ask you something.”

She seated herself silently and sent him a blank glance.

“What I want to inquire is something more about Martin. Can you tell me nothing of his history before he came to Mr. Millicent?”

“Why should you ask me, sir?”

“Who else is there to inquire from? You occupy just the same trusted position that you have for years past. You’ve let me into your feelings enough to know that you perceive things that are not usually seen, and you’re aware that I’m doing what I can to clear up the mystery of your master’s death. Shall I say to you that I’m convinced you are trying to shield someone in this affair?”

“Don’t say that, sir,” she whispered shakily.

“What other conclusion can I come to?”

She stared at him as though he was an intruder on some strictly private domain and had come to rifle her very soul.

“Do you think there’s any connection between the murder and the arrival of this peddler?”

Perkins shook her head. She made no attempt to disguise her knowledge of the stranger’s advent and now seemed touched with the same helplessness that had so lately swept over Martin. Her hands were slack in her lap, and he noted their smoothness and strength.

“I’m afraid I cannot help,” she muttered.

He looked straight into the passionless eyes. “And yet you must know so much more than I do. Here, in this room, the voice of a dead man is sounding now, asking for vengeance. There are other voices, we have both heard them, but this is the clearest. Here your master died, and the evil thing triumphed, and you told me that fear came before he died, the fear that is worse than death. Can’t you hear that voice?”

The blank-faced woman shivered as he spoke, and Derrick knew that the truth had crept a little, a very little nearer than ever before. There was mystery in the study, but the greatest mystery of all was locked within this unresponsive breast. There was some chord which, if he could only touch it, would vibrate in unison with her guarded secret and unloose its bonds. Perkins trembled again and waited.

“He was good to you, as everyone has told me,” went on the steady voice, “and it seems that you were devoted to him. For six years you had his confidence and lived under this roof. I do not know what may have taken place before that, if anything, but is six years forgotten so soon?”

“Don’t!” she said brokenly. “Don’t!”

“Two men are coming here in a few moments,” he persisted. “Of one of them I know little, and nothing of the other. But I am assured that in the peddler’s heart are things at which I have not guessed. He, too, has his secret, or he would not be here. He poses as a stranger, but something tells me that he is no stranger to Martin, and perhaps not to you.”

“Why do you say that?” she flashed.

“It matters not why, but