The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

his feet. He pulled out a large gold watch from a hidden pocket.
    “Good gracious, it’s after closing time and I expect you’re more sensible about hours than dear Lucy was.”
    “No. Not at all. It’s quite all right, really,” Fredericka answered, wondering what he could possibly want. Surely he had, at first hand, all the news that the rest of South Sutton was after.
    And then, to her surprise, he said suddenly: “You get along with your last chores, ‘stock’ as you call it, or what-have-you, and I’ll just look through the murders.”
    “All right, then,” Fredericka agreed after a moment’s hesitation. What could the man want? “I expect you know where they are.”
    “I do indeed.” He coughed. “You must have had a tiring day. Wouldn’t you like to come out with me to the inn for supper? I’ve had a hard day, too. I couldn’t even get in to Worcester. And all this business on top of it.”
    Fredericka turned around to look at the heavy handsome face. Is that all? she thought. Does he only want to pump me like all the others? I suppose he wants to know what Peter’s told me and how much I know. It must be valuable if it’s worth a meal to him. Thank Heaven I put that telltale book under the others on the desk. “No,” she said quickly—too quickly, she realized at once when she saw that she had made him angry. He frowned and a sudden flush coloured his neck and the sides of his face. His hands gripped the chair back where they had rested softly a moment before.
    “It’s only,” Fredericka managed to say, in sudden panic “that I really am too tired even to go out. I’ll just get myself something light and go to bed early—if—if you don’t mind.” In her anxiety, she seemed not to be able to stop talking.
    “I quite understand, Fredericka,” he said gently. “I’ll not stop for that book tonight, then. I’m in no hurry really.”
    She dared to look up now and saw, with amazement, that his sudden anger had passed like the storm outside. But I’d hate to cross him in anything that really mattered to him, she thought, as she walked with him to the door.
    “I believe it has cleared at last,” he remarked from the path. “Air’s fresher.”
    “Thank goodness for that,” Fredericka answered him and turned back into the house. “And thank goodness you’ve gone,” she mumbled as she found her way through the empty house to the kitchen.
    After a quiet uninterrupted meal, Fredericka felt better. The soft night air that came in through the window was cool and soothing. When she had washed her dishes and taken off her apron she put her hand in the pocket of her dress and discovered the little silver snuff box. She took it to the light on the office table and studied its delicate pattern of cupids and love knots.
    “Not for snuff at all, really—rather for a lady’s beauty patches. No,” she said aloud, “somehow I don’t think Mr. James Brewster could claim this.” She grinned cheerfully as she dropped the box into the top desk drawer. How like Peter that was. She wondered when he would be back. Perhaps tomorrow to see if anyone had claimed the prize.
    Bed? Somehow Fredericka wasn’t tired any more. Perhaps it would help to tell Miss Hartwell all that had happened since her new manager had taken over the bookshop. And there was that business about the well. She pulled out a large piece of airmail paper and began to write.
    Some time later, rested and comforted by this act of confession, Fredericka sealed the envelope and put it in the centre of the blotter where she would see it in the morning. She was singing as she went out into the kitchen to get a drink before going to bed, but she stopped in sudden alarm and stared out of the window. Yes, there was no mistaking the fact that a light was visible through the tangle of shrubs at the back. It flashed and then glowed steadily for a moment before it went out. Fredericka felt herself trembling. She stood still staring out into the darkness and then, suddenly, another light flashed on and shone steadily through the leaves.
    “Of course,” she said out loud, making for the chair by the kitchen table. “How stupid of me. It’s that child—Margie.” But could it be at this hour? Nearly midnight? She got up and went back to the window. Yes, certainly, the light was coming from the direction of the old greenhouse. Well, she would go and put a stop to this nonsense.
    But when Fredericka reached the back porch, her