A cold treachery - Charles Todd [101]
“Thank you. I'll do that.”
It was Janet Ashton who made a comment at the dinner table about the candle.
“I can't see that it's important. That candle you found. I mean, Josh had probably played up there a hundred times. He liked walking about on his own.”
“I don't know that it matters,” Rutledge agreed. “But I'll have a look tomorrow. I could have missed something today.”
“It's silly,” she said doubtfully. “But you know your own business best.”
“What troubles me,” Rutledge said, “is that the boy may be alive somewhere. I'm considering sending out search parties again. Who else could have been using a candle in that hut? What was he waiting for? Was he looking for you, Robinson? Or afraid to come to the authorities? And if it wasn't the boy, someone was waiting, possibly watching the farm. You can see the yard quite clearly from there. It's an ideal observation post.”
“For what?” Harry Cummins asked.
“Opportunity,” Rutledge answered him. “He might not have been certain whose farm he'd come across. Or how many people lived there. What the best time for attack might be. In short, reconnaissance.”
“What you're telling us is that it was a cold-blooded attack. Well planned and scouted,” Robinson retorted. “No one living in Urskdale would need to do that. Josh wouldn't have to conceal himself and spy. And I refuse to believe he acted with such chilling premeditation.”
“That's why I'm going back. The candle and match prove nothing. But if the searchers missed this, what else did they overlook?”
Elizabeth Fraser said, “It's a frightful thought. That someone could sit and watch, like a monstrous animal in search of prey. But even animals have a reason for what they do. Why should someone stalk and kill the Elcotts?”
Mrs. Cummins said, “Oh, don't! I don't want to know! That someone could be out there right now, watching us.”
“My dear, it's supposition. You needn't be afraid! Not with this many people about. You're safe!” Harry Cummins assured his wife, and then deliberately turned the subject. “And that reminds me, Mr. Rutledge, if you're intending to send your motorcar back to Keswick, I'd like to ride with the constable—we're in need of supplies.”
There was an apple pudding for dessert. As he finished his, Rutledge said, “I'm sorry—I haven't had a chance to speak to Inspector Greeley. If you'll excuse me, I'll do that now and turn in early.”
He rose from his seat at the table and went to his room to get his coat and hat.
Passing the dining room five minutes later, he could hear the discussion going on.
And Elizabeth Fraser was saying, “I really think it was unwise to tell us what he'd found. Or for us to speculate this way.”
But Janet Ashton was furious. “I don't care how many candles he found, or where he might have found them. It's not proof that will stand up in a court of law, and for all we know it has nothing to do with our killer. It's a waste of time, and I for one think we ought to tell the Chief Constable as much. Inspector Rutledge saved my life, and I'm grateful. But I am tired of sitting here waiting for him to get to the bottom of this wretched business.”
Hugh Robinson's deeper voice cut across something that Harry Cummins was about to say. “What if Josh came back, waiting for me? He might have taken shelter in that hut, thinking I'd be sent for and would come looking for him. It's possible, for God's sake! We're dealing with a ten-year-old!”
“Elizabeth is right,” Cummins intervened. “It's not proper to be talking about this. My dear, shall I bring in the tea tray, or will you?”
Rutledge found Sergeant Miller at the police station, thumbing through a catalog of gardening supplies.
He looked up at Rutledge and said, “Something I can do for you, then, sir?”
“I need your help. Will you drive me now to the Elcott farm, and then bring the motorcar back here, and leave it in the yard of the hotel?”
Miller frowned. “I don't understand, sir. Take you out there and leave you? What's that in aid of?”
“Let's call it an experiment, shall we? As far as anyone knows, I'm at the hotel, asleep.