A False Mirror - Charles Todd [9]
Mallory was nothing if not quick. The truth began to dawn on him, and there was something in his eyes that startled the inspector. Relief? Anger, certainly, and then something else. A very real fear.
“He’s dead, you say?”
“I haven’t said,” Bennett responded. “If you’ll just answer my questions—”
“It’s Matthew Hamilton they’ve found, isn’t it?” For an instant Bennett thought Mallory was going to take the lapels of his coat and shake the answer out of him. “Isn’t it!”
“Why should you think that, sir?” Bennett asked, keeping his tone level, unchallenging.
But Stephen Mallory was already out the door, shoving him aside and racing toward the bicycle that Bennett had left against the gatepost.
He caught the handlebars, dragged the bicycle with him, and opening the door, tossed it high and into the rear of his motorcar. He wheeled to reach the crank, but Bennett was there, trying to catch him around the shoulders and wrestle him to the ground. Mallory threw him off with the strength of a madman, Bennett thought, as he found himself hitting a fence post with a crack that made his head swim.
It was all the time Mallory needed. He’d brought the engine to life with the crank and was already stepping into the motorcar when Bennett charged him again, tackling him around the hips. Mallory kicked out with his free leg, bracing himself with the frame of the door and the steering wheel. Bennett’s breath came out in a long whoosh! Then Mallory was free and throwing himself into the driver’s seat, reaching for the gears.
He had just time enough to swing the door shut when Bennett, still game, though breathing hard and struggling to keep on his feet, leaped for the door.
Mallory gunned the motor, shifted into first and then as fast as he dared into second, dragging Inspector Bennett with him as the motorcar jumped forward like a horse under the whip. Fighting for control of the wheel, Mallory drove on, weaving at first and then more smoothly as his tires hit the lane and caught.
Bennett, holding on for dear life, was being dragged, his grunts of pain and anger jerked from his body as he bounced beside the car. But then his grip slipped and Mallory hammered with his fist on the other hand still clinging to the door.
Bennett fell off with a wild yell, and then screamed as the rear tire bumped over his foot.
Mallory didn’t stop. There was only one thought in his head now. Reaching Felicity before she could hear the news from anyone else.
4
Felicity sat by her husband’s bed in the small examining room near the garden door of the surgery, where Dr. Granville treated his more serious cases.
Next to the bed were rolls of bandaging and a pan filled with bloody water, a sponge on the floor beside it and a pair of scissors next to that.
Matthew Hamilton, lying naked on the sheet, seemed to be wrapped in gauze and tape. His face was covered, although she could just see the cut lip and the thickening bruise on his chin. One arm was entirely swathed, and there was more bandaging around his chest and on one thigh.
His color was ghastly, she thought, catching his good hand in hers and holding it tight.
“Matthew,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady against the shock of seeing him like this. “Matthew, it’s me. Can you hear me? Oh, darling, can you hear me!”
But there was only silence from the quiet figure on the bed. Dr. Granville, behind her, said impatiently, “I told you not to come in—”
She whirled on him, her face twisting with fear and anger. “He’s my husband!”
As if it explained anything. Anything at all.
“Come sit in my office.” Granville was trying persuasion now. “Until I’ve had a chance to finish my examination. You mustn’t interfere. There could be internal bleeding, for one thing—” He caught himself before he added brain damage.
“Why can’t he hear me? God in heaven, you’d think he would know my voice, no matter how hurt he is!”
“He’s not conscious, Mrs. Hamilton. I’ve tried to explain—it was a severe beating about the head. One arm is broken. There’s a deep bruise on his thigh. At least