The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

on my book. In this way I succeeded in wearing myself out and finally went to bed.”
    “I saw your manuscript. Is it to be a novel?”
    “No—about some Victorian women novelists, though.”
    He looked at her with more interest. “I try to write myself but, strange as it may seem in this quiet town, I don’t have much spare time. At the moment I’m struggling with crime in its wider aspects, but some day I’m going to take a busman’s holiday and write a really good detective story.”
    Fredericka laughed a little shamefacedly. “Yes,” she said quickly. “I gathered as much from what you said at the bazaar yesterday. Perhaps—after this—we can collaborate.”
    Fredericka saw at once that she had blundered. A mask suddenly hid the pleasant face opposite her and the chief of police said: “Perhaps. Well, I must get on with my work.” He stood up and walked toward the door, then he turned to say casually: “You didn’t miss anything from the house when you got back last night, did you?”
    “I hardly had time to. But I haven’t noticed anything wrong this morning. I’ll look around if you like.”
    “Good. I’ll be pottering about myself inside and outside, but please don’t take any notice of me or of my men. We’ll try to disturb you as little as possible, and we should finish and be off within the hour.”
    Fredericka nodded and then, when he had turned to go, a sudden thought occurred to her. “Oh, heavens—there’s that old well at the back of the house. Its cover has rotted away and one of your men may stumble into it. I—I never thought. Chris told me about it and I’ve been meaning to write to Miss Hartwell but I haven’t had time to do anything.”
    “Thanks for telling me. As a matter of fact, one of my men discovered it without falling in, I’m happy to say, and I think he’s put something over it, but it does want looking after.”
    “Thanks. I’m terribly sorry and I’ll get Chris to see what he can do.”
    Again the chief of police’s face became Thane Carey’s, the two smiled at each other, and Fredericka got up to wash the dishes with a somewhat lighter heart. By the time she had finished, Thane had completed his round of the downstairs rooms and she could hear him walking about overhead. She decided to go back to her writing and escape all her police visitors until she was free of them.
    Some time later, Thane appeared in the doorway, and when she looked up, he said quietly: “We find nothing out of the way in the house and only a few oddments in the grounds and outhouses that can probably be explained away in ten minutes. We haven’t touched anything except to take a few fingerprints and I don’t intend to bother you with any more questions until I get the doctor’s report on the autopsy. Until then, please consider yourself a free woman and”—he looked at her directly—“and, again, my apologies and thanks.”
    When he had gone, Fredericka tried to get back to her writing but the interruption had broken the spell, and though she struggled with one sentence for some moments she was forced in the end to give up and throw down her pencil. It was then that she realized how hot the day had become. Even as she sat quietly at her desk she felt sticky and breathless. She lit a cigarette and felt better. Then she got up to go into the kitchen and see if her watch could possibly be right. To her surprise she found that the loudly ticking alarm clock agreed that it was almost one. She made herself a salad and iced coffee and took her lunch on a tray out to a shady corner of the back porch. Then she went back to get a book. Trollope’s autobiography ought to give her comfort of a very solid kind.
    But in spite of having all the ingredients to spell peace and contentment, Fredericka could not sit still for long. The house and the grounds were too quiet in the heavy summer heat.
    Why hadn’t Peter come to see how she was? Why did everyone keep away? Surely she had had enough evidence of small town curiosity to know that this lack of it was strange. Perhaps the police had put a cordon outside to protect her. At this thought she laughed outright. A “cordon”—a good word for South Sutton, boasting a chief and two overgrown country boys who were his “force.”
    She thought over the questions Thane had asked her and the last remarks he had made before leaving. It was all very well for him to accuse her of thinking up things when it was quite evident that he