A cold treachery - Charles Todd [136]
“One look at your face, if he sees you in the passage, and Robinson will know what's afoot. We'll send Sergeant Miller around to the back. I'll try to find Cummins and have him make sure his wife and Miss Fraser are safely locked in their rooms. You must go as quietly as you can to Miss Ashton's room and tell her there's been a message for her from Carlisle, and she's to see Constable Ward at the station straightaway. She's in the same passage with Mickelson and Robinson. It's essential to get her out of there.”
“And Miss Fraser? Who's to see to her,” Miller asked, “if she's already in the kitchen?”
“That's your duty, Sergeant. Step into the kitchen and tell her there's been an accident at the neighboring house. Ask her if you can wheel her next door while you go for Dr. Jarvis.”
“But what about Mickelson?” Greeley asked again, anxious for the official stamp to his actions.
“First we must see to it that everyone is safely out of harm's way,” Rutledge repeated impatiently. “We can't trust Robinson! He's killed five people in cold blood and left a child to die of exposure. He's tried to hang Elcott. We don't know if he's armed—we don't know if he'll try to take hostages. Mickelson would give you the same order: Avoid any more bloodshed.”
“Makes sense, sir,” Sergeant Miller put in. “We ought to do as he says.”
They had reached the hotel. Miller strode purposefully to the back. Rutledge and Greeley entered quietly, and Rutledge made his way up the stairs to find Cummins and his wife.
He tapped lightly, and then turned the latch. Mrs. Cummins was just putting the cap back on a bottle of gin, and she stared at him angrily as he came through the door. “What are you doing in my bedroom?” she demanded. “Leave at once or I'll scream the house down!”
“I'm sorry to disturb you but there's been an emergency. I'm looking for your husband—”
“He's downstairs, helping Elizabeth with the cooker. There's something wrong with it, she says.”
He swore silently. “Then may I ask you to stay here, in safety, until we've finished—”
“You've come to arrest Harry! Is that it?” She stared at him. “Is it because he's a Jew? You can't seriously believe—”
“Mrs. Cummins, I am merely asking for your husband's help in a search for someone stalking the streets,” he improvised swiftly. “If you stay here and lock your door, you'll be safe enough.”
He backed out of the room and she hastened to take the key from him, on the point of locking herself in.
But from below there were loud voices, and the sound of footsteps running down the passage.
Rutledge passed her the key and was gone, down the stairs.
Greeley was just coming out of the passage, disheveled, a bruise rising on his jaw. “Miss Ashton was already in the kitchen, so I woke Inspector Mickelson—Robinson heard me and knocked me down. Mickelson is after him!”
Rutledge didn't wait; he was racing down the passage with Hamish at his heels, the presence so real it sounded as if the Scot was just behind him.
There was a loud and angry exchange from the kitchen, Mickelson's voice and then Robinson's. Mrs. Cummins was half-way down the stairs, crying her husband's name. Rutledge ordered Greeley to stop her but she ducked under his arm and ran on.
As Rutledge opened the kitchen door, Vera Cummins darted in ahead of him, running to cling to her husband. Cummins was standing beside Elizabeth Fraser, staring in bewilderment as Mickelson tried take Robinson into custody. Janet Ashton was just reaching across the table to take up the sharp knife lying there. She was quick-witted, already caught up in what was happening. Her eyes were on Robinson's face and Rutledge heard her say, “Hugh? Is this man telling the truth? Was it you or Paul I saw that night in the snow? Hugh?”
Rutledge halted on the threshold, unwilling to press Robinson harder while the women were within his reach. But Greeley plowed into him, pushing him into the room. Robinson turned at bay. His face was furious. And all the while, Mickelson's piercing tenor challenged him to stop where he was and give him-self up.
Rutledge, seeing