Sinister Island, Charles Wadsworth Camp [notion reading list txt] 📗

flashed across the fellow’s face. His voice was little more than a whisper.

“It’s easy to ask,” he said.

“Therefore I ask.”

The red deepened.

“I had come from the end of the island already, and the path through the woods—it was too dark. It was better to stay there.”

He pointed towards the house.

“Although that was empty, and I ain’t anxious to try it again.”

The flush faded. He spoke with more confidence now. Evidently he felt his plainly confessed terror was justified.

“When you ask like that all I can say is you haven’t tried it yourself.”

“But,” Miller said, “I spent the night in that piece of forest you were afraid to cross. Nothing happened to me. What are you talking about?”

The man shook.

“I don’t see how you did it,” he whispered. “I don’t see how you did it.”

Miller laughed shortly.

“Come! That’s enough. Tony’s growing nervous. You’ve forgotten the sun’s shining now. I must have a little commonsense from both of you. No word of the coroner yet?”

Tony pointed at the house.

“He came five minutes ago,” Morgan’s man answered. “Inside with Mrs. Anderson.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Miller snapped, annoyed at the delay.

He hurried to the house and entered the damp, unhealthy hall. As the door closed behind him his ugly thoughts of last night rushed back. Without any other provocation than the air one breathed here he could imagine Molly and Anderson hating this house.

A voice came to him from the diningroom. Immediately it aroused a disagreeable sensation. It reached Miller raspingly. Its nasal tone was almost belligerent. A sob from Molly brought it to a pause. Then it continued on the same note.

Miller stepped forward. Molly had evidently heard his entrance, for she met him in the diningroom doorway. Her face was red from weeping. Miller could not be sure her tears had any source beyond the tragedy. He had not caught what the other had said, but he felt if the coroner was responsible in the slightest degree for this breakdown he would like to force that rasping, nasal voice to the humiliating softness of apology.

The coroner followed Molly into the hall. Miller glanced at him.

He was a lanky native, uncouth and with a sharp-jawed, assertive face. His stringy moustache was stained and repulsive. He wore a frock coat which appeared, not unreasonably, as old as himself. In his hand he carried a black felt slouch hat.

As soon as he saw him Miller was glad Morgan and he had decided not to violate any of the formal procedure in such cases.

“Has anything unexpected happened?” he asked Molly.

She shook her head.

“I’ve just been talking to the coroner, Jim. This is Mr. Miller,” she went on, motioning the man forward. “Mr. Miller is a very dear friend of ours—a very old friend. I think he will look after everything as much as possible. As—as I told you I’d rather not be troubled any more than is necessary.”

Her voice trailed away.

“That’s all right, ma’am,” the coroner rasped out. “I’ve heard your story. Don’t see much to be gained by asking you any more now.”

“Jim,” she said pitifully, “I didn’t realise some of the things he’s told me.”

“Don’t think of them, Molly. He’s said he’s through with you. Trust me for the rest.”

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Who—who’s with Jake?”

“Morgan. He came along early. He was on his way to you. Of course he didn’t know we’d been there all night.”

The coroner started.

“You were alone all night back in that patch of woods?” he asked.

Miller nodded.

“If you’ll go on out to the clearing,” he said, “I’ll join you in a moment.”

The coroner glanced from one to the other suspiciously. At last he swung on his heel.

“Tell the truth, I’m not against a little sunshine. Say, this house can’t be healthy—damp as a graveyard in the springtime.”

Molly drew back. She passed her hand across her eyes.

“Go on,” Miller said irritably.

The coroner opened the screen door and stepped outside.

“Did he—did he annoy you?” Miller asked. “Was he at all nasty?”

Molly sighed.

“I suppose not. I suppose all he asked and said was necessary. You’d better go with him now, Jim.”

“And you?”

“I’m all right alone.”

“I wish I could be sure.”

“At any rate,” she said, “there’s nothing else for it at present. Don’t keep him waiting, Jim. We don’t want him to make it any harder.”

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll leave Tony. He’ll be in the clearing within easy call.”

She thanked him, motioning him to hurry. So he followed the coroner to the clearing.

Immediately Miller was sorry he had sent the officer ahead, for, his unpleasant voice subdued to an undertone, he was speaking to Tony and Morgan’s man, and they listened with increased uncertainty, glancing again over their shoulders. It did not appear to Miller that the coroner questioned them.

“Hello!” he called from the steps. “Shall we be off?”

The coroner turned. He studied Miller, while, with a leisurely air, he took a plug of black tobacco from his pocket, bit off the end, and commenced to chew.

Miller came forward.

“I say, is there any point in delay?”

The coroner continued to stare.

Miller fought down the sense of antagonism the man had aroused. He knew it wouldn’t do. Molly had been wise. There was nothing to be gained by encouraging him to mate a difficult task more painful.

He was fair enough to ask himself if this antagonism was justified. After all was it not bom of his own disturbed and restless state of mind? On the other hand, what possible excuse did the coroner have for fanning the unintelligent emotions of these two frightened servants?

Miller fought back his exasperation. He put his hand on the other’s arm. He softened his voice. He tried to fill it with appeal.

“I mean this is a pretty bad business for us. The man, Jake, had been with the Andersons for years. I’d known him as long as they’d had him. These formalities—I realise they’re necessary and all that—but they’re dreadfully unhappy for us, so the sooner they’re over—I’m sure you understand.”

The coroner shifted his weight.

“I’m not holding back. I ain’t looking to hang around here any longer than I have to. Say, do you think I’m holding back on my job? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“No, no,” Miller hastened to assure him.

“Then let’s go,” the coroner said, and, side by side with Miller, started across the clearing.

“Those two,” he commented, “don’t seem to be having a mighty pleasant time on this island.”

“Yes, they’re inclined to be nervous,” Miller answered drily.

“Act as though they’d seen something,” the coroner said.

He glanced up.

“Understand, I ain’t blaming them.”

“I suppose you questioned them,” Miller said.

“What’s the use? Didn’t need to ask much. They don’t know. Just scared.”

After a moment he repeated :

“Don’t blame them.”

They walked out on the shore. The coroner hesitated before the entrance to the evil path.

“Up there, eh!” he muttered. “Up there!”

He impressed Miller as reluctant to enter the path.

“Mrs. Anderson,” the coroner said, “told me you found the body.”

“Mr. Morgan and I. We were on our way through the path to the plantation house.”

“That lady,” the coroner mused, “was quite some upset. Don’t seem altogether natural, except—”

He broke off. Miller noticed that a little of the colour had left his uncouth face.

“And where’ll we find Mr. Morgan?”

“Up the path with Jake,” Miller answered shortly.

The delay here was annoying—it seemed so pointless.

At last the coroner overcame his evident reluctance and stepped into the path. Miller followed him. They walked slowly. The coroner glanced apprehensively to either side as they penetrated deeper into the forest.

“There’s one thing,” Miller said.

His voice had fallen to the whisper almost commanded by this place.

The coroner failed to encourage him.

“It’s been on my mind a good deal,” Miller went on. “I was alone with Jake for some time and it was nearly dark, but I noticed something odd about the wrists.”

He waited for the coroner to speak, to question. But the other walked on slowly. He glanced with increasing frequency into the impenetrable thicket.

“Something odd about the wrists,” Miller repeated. “There were marks—abrasions.”

Still the man said nothing.

“I thought it a curious phase,” Miller insisted. “What do you think?”

The rasping quality had left the coroner’s voice. It reached Miller, low and a trifle choked.

“I don’t think until I see.”

His back beneath the rusty frock coat shook a little.

“Can’t understand why anybody wants to hang out in this hole anyway.”

“If you had come last night as we wanted you to—” Miller began.

The other glanced over his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you?” Miller asked bluntly.

“When I have to come to a place like this after sundown,” the coroner answered, “my job’ll be open to somebody else. How much farther is it?”

“Just ahead,” Miller answered. “You can see Mr. Morgan now.”

Morgan, at the sound of their voices, walked down the path. Miller saw at once that the officer made an unfavourable impression on him, too.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Morgan said coldly. “If you had come last night you would have spared Mrs. Anderson and Mr. Miller a very serious inconvenience.”

Miller motioned Morgan warningly, but the coroner faced him with a touch of anger. The presence of a third person appeared, in a measure, to have restored his self-assertion.

“I’ve just been telling him,” he said roughly, “that no law can haul me to this island after sundown.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s the matter with this island?” he asked quietly.

“You live on it. Beckon you ought to know better’n me. Go ahead. Who’s delaying the procession now?”

Miller shrugged his shoulders. Morgan clearly understood his opinion. Without answering the coroner’s impertinence, which had really seemed studied, he turned and led the way up the path to Jake.

The coroner looked about him uneasily. Then he hurried through the formalities, authorising the removal. He arose. His sharp expulsion of breath approximated a sigh. Unconsciously he inserted a comedy touch in the desolate scene by whisking the dust from his frayed and stained trousers.

“That’s all we want here,” he said.

Miller could not comprehend. He had watched the man. He examined his face carefully now. It disclosed only a pallid uncertainty, perhaps not surprising in the circumstances. Yet he had rushed through the formalities with a haste almost indecorous. Not once had he referred to Miller’s definite statement about Jake’s wrists.

His eyes wavered before Miller’s glance.

“Come on. I want to get out of here,” he said.

Miller stepped closer.

“One minute. You’ve forgotten something.”

The man turned disagreeable.

“Not that I know of,” he snarled.

“Yes,” Miller insisted. “I spoke to you about the marks on Jake’s wrists.”

“Well? I heard you.”

Miller was at a loss.

“I say I heard you,” the coroner repeated. “Now let’s move out of here.”

Miller’s impatience momentarily overcame the caution he had impressed upon himself.

“But you haven’t said anything,” he cried. “A matter as important as that! It might lead to something.”

The colour rushed back to the coroner’s cheeks. His voice stormed.

“Who do you think you are?”

Miller faced him squarely.

“It is my duty to insist on an examination of the wrists.”

“Who says they haven’t been examined?” the coroner rasped. “Do I have to account to you for everything I do?”

Morgan laid a restraining hand on Miller’s arm.

“That’s what I wanted to know,” Miller answered; “simply whether you had examined the wrists and were satisfied.”

The coroner looked at him curiously.

“See here, young man, are you trying to