looked down and saw” a piece of blue letter paper just under the door and picked it up. It was a typewritten note.
“Meet me in the churchyard behind house. Near the biggest tree. Use the door in the pantry next to kitchen. Something important you should know. Need your help. Please do not betray me. HB.”
Orient studied the last two letters. Hannah Bestman, He debated whether he should show the note to Sybelle.
Or Germaine. Not wise, he decided Either he gave it to the police or he went out to meet Hannah. It was stupid to involve anyone else. And it would lessen his chances of slipping out of the house undetected If, that is, he was foolish enough to compound his earlier lie with a charge of accessory after the fact. He remembered Hannah, huddled like a broken doll in Sybelle’s arms, and decided to risk it.
He changed into a thick wool turtleneck and checked his watch. Ten o’clock. Everyone would still be up. The cook, however, would be finished with her work in the kitchen. If the hall was clear, this was probably the best hour to move around the house, before everyone retired His presence wouldn’t be suspicious. There was a good chance that he could slip back in time to bid everyone good night.
He went to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall. He descended the stairs and headed for the kitchen, trying to look as if he’d just decided to have a late-night snack. The uniformed policeman, sitting at the front door reading a magazine, didn’t look up as he passed. He heard the sounds of people talking in the dining room and went past the door quickly. He headed for, the far door behind the dining room and entered the darkened kitchen. A glowing red bulb, under the still-hot coffee urn, gave off enough light to enable Orient to avoid a large table and find the door to the pantry.
It was too dark even to see table shapes inside the small room, but he decided against lighting a match. Instead, he felt around the wall until he located a doorknob. When he opened the door, a cold blast of wet air scraped the warmth off his nose and ears and he realized it was raining outside.
He stood in the protection of the doorway for a few moments until his eyes got used to the darkness. The lights from the dining room gave off a faint glow that was quickly lost in the drizzling blackness. He closed the door behind him and started walking along the side of the house toward the back. The damp, muddy ground quickly soaked through his shoes and chilled his feet.
He stopped at the corner of the house and peered across at the barely visible rise of trees a hundred: yards away. If he crossed the open space in front of him, there was a possibility he’d be seen. He retreated a few paces then crossed the short space between the house and a line of high bushes that extended into the trees. He could hear his heart thumping as he walked across the dimly lit area and entered the shadows.
Once inside the protective concealment of the bushes he moved swiftly around their perimeter until he reached the grove directly behind the house.
As he started up the steep rise, he saw a shape at the base of a tree and hesitated. He took a step closer and recognized the jutting outline of a stone cross leaning at an odd angle to the ground.
He walked slowly through the cemetery, straining to see through the wind-driven rain that sent rivulets of water running down his forehead and into his eyes.
He stopped under a tree and huddled against its trunk. Finding the churchyard had been easy, but locating the biggest tree in the dense, rain-swept darkness would be difficult. From where he stood, he could make out branch-shredded patches of light below him, coming from the house on the other side of the trees. They looked warm and cozy. He jammed his hands in his pockets and peered through the shadows. A single, insistent question jangled through his mind. Why had Hannah asked him, almost a complete stranger, to help her? He squinted through the
“Meet me in the churchyard behind house. Near the biggest tree. Use the door in the pantry next to kitchen. Something important you should know. Need your help. Please do not betray me. HB.”
Orient studied the last two letters. Hannah Bestman, He debated whether he should show the note to Sybelle.
Or Germaine. Not wise, he decided Either he gave it to the police or he went out to meet Hannah. It was stupid to involve anyone else. And it would lessen his chances of slipping out of the house undetected If, that is, he was foolish enough to compound his earlier lie with a charge of accessory after the fact. He remembered Hannah, huddled like a broken doll in Sybelle’s arms, and decided to risk it.
He changed into a thick wool turtleneck and checked his watch. Ten o’clock. Everyone would still be up. The cook, however, would be finished with her work in the kitchen. If the hall was clear, this was probably the best hour to move around the house, before everyone retired His presence wouldn’t be suspicious. There was a good chance that he could slip back in time to bid everyone good night.
He went to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall. He descended the stairs and headed for the kitchen, trying to look as if he’d just decided to have a late-night snack. The uniformed policeman, sitting at the front door reading a magazine, didn’t look up as he passed. He heard the sounds of people talking in the dining room and went past the door quickly. He headed for, the far door behind the dining room and entered the darkened kitchen. A glowing red bulb, under the still-hot coffee urn, gave off enough light to enable Orient to avoid a large table and find the door to the pantry.
It was too dark even to see table shapes inside the small room, but he decided against lighting a match. Instead, he felt around the wall until he located a doorknob. When he opened the door, a cold blast of wet air scraped the warmth off his nose and ears and he realized it was raining outside.
He stood in the protection of the doorway for a few moments until his eyes got used to the darkness. The lights from the dining room gave off a faint glow that was quickly lost in the drizzling blackness. He closed the door behind him and started walking along the side of the house toward the back. The damp, muddy ground quickly soaked through his shoes and chilled his feet.
He stopped at the corner of the house and peered across at the barely visible rise of trees a hundred: yards away. If he crossed the open space in front of him, there was a possibility he’d be seen. He retreated a few paces then crossed the short space between the house and a line of high bushes that extended into the trees. He could hear his heart thumping as he walked across the dimly lit area and entered the shadows.
Once inside the protective concealment of the bushes he moved swiftly around their perimeter until he reached the grove directly behind the house.
As he started up the steep rise, he saw a shape at the base of a tree and hesitated. He took a step closer and recognized the jutting outline of a stone cross leaning at an odd angle to the ground.
He walked slowly through the cemetery, straining to see through the wind-driven rain that sent rivulets of water running down his forehead and into his eyes.
He stopped under a tree and huddled against its trunk. Finding the churchyard had been easy, but locating the biggest tree in the dense, rain-swept darkness would be difficult. From where he stood, he could make out branch-shredded patches of light below him, coming from the house on the other side of the trees. They looked warm and cozy. He jammed his hands in his pockets and peered through the shadows. A single, insistent question jangled through his mind. Why had Hannah asked him, almost a complete stranger, to help her? He squinted through the
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