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Back The Black Abbot Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Cover
  2. Copyright & Information
  3. About the Author
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. Series Information

Ordinarily he would have heard a sound, the sound of the floor-boards creaking outside his door, and would have been awake instantly. Twice the planks creaked under a heavy weight, but he did not stir. And then the handle of his door turned slowly and the door itself moved the fraction of an inch. The thing outside listened, showing its white teeth in a grin. The sound of Dick Alford’s regular breathing came out to him and he pushed the door open a little farther, and, crouching, moved stealthily towards the bed, feeling for the brass rail at the foot.

Not a sound came from the intruder, and yet he was shaking with laughter. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a long-bladed clasp knife and opened it carefully, testing the edge with his thumb. Then, slowly, his long fingers went out to locate the position of the body. The Angel of Death hovered in that second above the sleeping man.

From the hall below came a woman’s voice – distraught – beside herself with fear.

“Dick – Dick, for God’s sake!”

Dick turned uneasily in his sleep and half opened his eyes.

22

“Dick!”

It was a girl’s voice, sharp with fear, that came from the hall below.

“Dick!”

The thing with the knife dropped the weapon and, cringing back towards the door, hesitated a second, and slipped out.

“Dick!”

Again the voice, and Dick woke. Was he dreaming? Slipping out of bed, he threw open the door and walked on to the landing.

“Who’s calling?” he asked, husky with sleep.

“It is I – Leslie! Dick, I want you.”

He went back to his bedroom, pulled a dressing-gown from a hook and raced down the stairs, dressing as he went. She was standing in the gloom of the hall, a slim figure. She had no hat; her bare feet were thrust into slippers, and she wore an overcoat over what was evidently a hastily assumed skirt.

“What is the matter, dear?”

He pushed open the door of his study and led her in. She was trembling from head to foot.

“I don’t know. Something dreadful has happened,” she gasped. “I thought my car would wake you – didn’t you hear it?”

“Something dreadful has happened? What?” he asked quickly.

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ve got everything out of proportion – I saw Arthur fighting with a man on the lawn. It was dreadful. I thought I must have been mistaken and went to his room, but the bed was empty and had not been slept in. By the time I could get downstairs on to the lawn, they had disappeared. Oh, Dick, what can have happened?”

“Fighting?” He was incredulous. “I saw Arthur – I don’t know how long ago; it may have been an hour or two. I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping.”