A cold treachery - Charles Todd [32]
Greeley said, his voice rising with excitement, “There must be news! By God, they must have found the boy!”
CHAPTER TEN
Rutledge pulled on the brake, drawing the motorcar to the side of the rutted verge, out of the path of the horse galloping straight at them.
“No, that's the doctor's carriage,” Greeley declared, squinting at the oncoming vehicle. “Gentle God, you don't suppose there's been another slaughter—!” He leaned out of the window to shout “What's happened?”
The carriage was near enough now to see the man holding the reins. He wore a heavy gray coat, and his face was half hidden by a hat pulled down tightly against the wind. Greeley swore. “That's not Jarvis or one of my men. It's Hugh Robinson! Grace Elcott's first husband—”
The horse thundered to a stop ten feet short of the motorcar, eyes rolling, as a slender man with a strained, haunted face drew rein. “My God—” he began, and his voice choked. He shook his head wordlessly. “It must be true!”
As the lathered horse sidled in such close proximity to the vehicle, Rutledge switched off the motor. He and Greeley opened their doors and stepped out into the lane.
“Mr. Robinson—” Greeley began.
“I came as soon as I heard—” Robinson was saying as the horse steadied. “Why in God's name didn't anyone contact me in London!”
“The blame is mine,” Greeley said, with a tiredness in his voice that spoke of something else besides exhaustion. “We've been out looking for your son. All our energies have gone into searching for him. I'd hoped to have—”
“I should have been here—I should have been out with the searchers—” Robinson's thin face contorted in grief.
“Mr. Robinson—” Greeley began, and then found nothing to say.
Rutledge said, “If you'll come with us back to the hotel—”
“No! I want to go to the house. I need to see—”
“I don't think it's a very good idea,” Rutledge began, but Robinson stared at him with angry eyes.
“It's my family, not yours.” He took up the whip and lashed at the horse, sending it flying down the lane.
Greeley flinched as if he'd been struck instead, and ran after him, leaving Rutledge to turn the crank and then catch them up.
Robinson was already in the kitchen when Greeley reached him, leaning against the open door as if poleaxed.
Rutledge was in time to hear Robinson mumbling over and over again, “Dear God—dear God—dear God . . .”
And then he was outside and bending down by the cellar stairs, vomiting as if all the contents of his stomach were being forced out by the horrors he'd just seen.
Greeley looked across at Rutledge, pleading for understanding. Hamish was saying, “I wouldna' be in his shoes—!”
Rutledge said with some authority, “Mr. Robinson. I'm from Scotland Yard.”
Robinson fumbled for a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. He stopped to stare up at the man from London, his eyes dazed.
“When did they summon you?” Robinson asked.
“I was already in the North,” Rutledge replied. “I'm sorry to hear that Inspector Greeley failed to contact you straightaway. But we were already two days late hunting for Josh, and time was against us.”
Robinson leaned back against the side of the house, looking up at the sun. “I was bringing gifts for the holidays—I was coming to bring gifts.”
Greeley said to Rutledge, “He did come about this time last year. I had forgotten—”
Rutledge said, “How did you get here?”
“By rail, as I always do. And then I borrowed a mount from the smith to ride the rest of the way. Dr. Jarvis overtook me outside Urskdale. He wanted me to come to his house—but I couldn't wait—and he gave me the loan of his carriage. My horse was not as fresh as his.” He straightened. “Where's Josh? Why haven't you found my son?”
“We've done all we can—all that's humanly possible. I'm afraid prospects aren't . . . the best.” Greeley dug the toe of his heavy boot into the trampled snow by the back door. “The searchers haven't given up.”
Robinson began to pace in his agitation. “I want to know who did this. I want to know now. Do you understand me?”
“We're no less eager than