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

standby she had been, he reflected. In a flash his thoughts sped to Jean. He had not seen Perkins, but the woman was at the study window, her hands at her thin breast, a sort of ecstatic joy in her sallow face. So on to the cottage, where the peddler’s body had been deposited on the kitchen floor. Derrick regarded it silently, and again that recurrent sense of unreality came over him.

“What next?” He turned to the sergeant.

“Nothing at the moment, sir, till we get hold of Dr. Henry. It will be queer to have him here once more in the same matter. Had this man any possessions, Martin?”

The gardener gave an odd smile and picked out of the corner a tightly knotted pack.

“This was all I saw. It’s trinkets and suchlike, but he didn’t show them to me.”

“Has this not been opened since Blunt gave Mr. Derrick that sight of his wares?”

“Not so far as I know. He slept in his clothes.”

Burke fingered the bundle but did not slacken its knots. He sent Derrick a thoughtful glance.

“It’s not likely there’s anything else of importance, and from what we’ve seen today we’re pretty near the end of the Millicent case. Would you step outside a minute, sir?”

Derrick followed him, wondering a little. Burke halted out of earshot.

“I don’t want to say anything unnecessary in front of Martin,” he explained, “but all we’ll need now is what I’m convinced they are ready to tell us about Blunt’s last visit. We’re in a position to use pressure to bring out that evidence, and with it will come the reason, which so far beats me, for their ever trying to conceal the fact that he was the murderer. One thing I can imagine is that he had them hypnotized in some way, and as a matter of fact I began to feel hypnotized myself when I was listening to that chant of his outside the French window. Did you get any of it? If it had not been for that I would have nabbed the chap when he came out. As it was I felt half asleep.”

Derrick nodded reminiscently. “Yes, I did get it. Anything else with regard to either Martin or Perkins?”

“Nothing tonight, except that I would not say another word. Let this thing soak in, and it will do the work for us. In a day or so they will both be anxious to tell all they know. Now, just as a matter of precaution, I’m going to search the cottage, with your permission.”

“All right. It’s practically empty. Martin only brought a bundle, and I sent him a few odds and ends from the house to make the place livable. Shall I tell him?”

“Yes, sir, if you please.”

They went in together. Peters had lit his pipe and was smoking placidly with no concern for the thing on the floor, but Martin stood, still staring down. There was a kind of wonder in his face, and with it a strange thankfulness. He was like a man who straightens his shoulders after they have been crushed by some killing load.

“Martin,” said Derrick crisply, “Sergeant Burke is going to make a search of the cottage.”

“That’s all right so far as I’m concerned, sir, but there isn’t anything here except what anyone can see.”

There was that in his apparent readiness which gave his master a feeling of solid relief. The latter found himself glad to admit that for months he had been on the wrong trail. There were matters still to be explained, deliberate lies to be accounted for, that secret search of the study to be acknowledged and justified; but all this, thought Derrick, was mysteriously involved with the potent thing that now dragged at his pocket, and when the light did come no corner would be left obscure. He remembered, too, that at times Martin had looked like an honest man. And did villains ever love roses like this gardener of his?

“Martin,” he said, “you’d better leave the sergeant alone while he’s making this search; he won’t need you.”

The man nodded with the air of one who has nothing to fear, cast another contented glance at the peddler’s body, and went out. They watched him cross the drive, hesitate a moment as though deliberating which way to turn, then stand, his hands deep in his pockets, staring down the road. Again Derrick felt reassured.

“Sergeant, I’m greatly relieved about that chap, even though I did bark up the wrong tree.”

Burke rubbed his big palms together. “Well, sir, it was a fortunate kind of bark just the same.”

“So it’s turned out. Now while you’re making this search could the constable go up and stay in front of the house? Also, he might just assure Miss Derrick that everything is quite all right. She’ll be more convinced if it doesn’t come from me.”

Peters got his orders, and the two were alone. Burke gave a broad grin. The idea of promotion had flashed into his mind. Then he, too, indulged in a long stare at what had been Blunt.

“Well, sir, I expect we’ve both got the same conclusion in our heads now. Curious, too, how it’s come about.”

“What’s that, sergeant?”

“That we needn’t dig any deeper to find the man who killed Mr. Millicent. That theory of a criminal returning to the scene of his crime certainly worked in this case.”

“Yes,” said Derrick thoughtfully, “but what brought Martin back?”

“I’ve an idea we’ll get that out of him in a day or two. Have you studied this chap’s face, sir?”

Derrick scrutinized the rigid features. They were gray now, the lips still set in a strange cynical smile. It was not the face of a peddler but had unmistakable signs of birth and breeding. The head was well shaped, the ears small and set close to a finely molded skull, the forehead high and rather broad, the eyes far apart. Nothing of the murderer was suggested here, but much of the dreamer, the visionary, the adventurer of sudden purpose. Over him was the