Charles Todd - A Cold Treachery

“I'm sorry to disturb you but there's been an emergency. I'm looking for your husband-”

“He's downstairs, helping Elizabeth with the cooker. There's something wrong with it, she says.”

He swore silently. “Then may I ask you to stay here, in safety, until we've finished-”

“You've come to arrest Harry! Is that it?” She stared at him. “Is it because he's a Jew? You can't seriously believe-”

“Mrs. Cummins, I am merely asking for your husband's help in a search for someone stalking the streets,” he improvised swiftly. “If you stay here and lock your door, you'll be safe enough.”

He backed out of the room and she hastened to take the key from him, on the point of locking herself in.

But from below there were loud voices, and the sound of footsteps running down the passage.

Rutledge passed her the key and was gone, down the stairs.

Greeley was just coming out of the passage, disheveled, a bruise rising on his jaw. “Miss Ashton was already in the kitchen, so I woke Inspector Mickelson-Robinson heard me and knocked me down. Mickelson is after him!”

Rutledge didn't wait; he was racing down the passage with Hamish at his heels, the presence so real it sounded as if the Scot was just behind him.

There was a loud and angry exchange from the kitchen, Mickelson's voice and then Robinson's. Mrs. Cummins was half-way down the stairs, crying her husband's name. Rutledge ordered Greeley to stop her but she ducked under his arm and ran on.

As Rutledge opened the kitchen door, Vera Cummins darted in ahead of him, running to cling to her husband. Cummins was standing beside Elizabeth Fraser, staring in bewilderment as Mickelson tried take Robinson into custody. Janet Ashton was just reaching across the table to take up the sharp knife lying there. She was quick-witted, already caught up in what was happening. Her eyes were on Robinson's face and Rutledge heard her say, “Hugh? Is this man telling the truth? Was it you or Paul I saw that night in the snow? Hugh? ”

Rutledge halted on the threshold, unwilling to press Robinson harder while the women were within his reach. But Greeley plowed into him, pushing him into the room. Robinson turned at bay. His face was furious. And all the while, Mickelson's piercing tenor challenged him to stop where he was and give him-self up.

Rutledge, seeing the knife flash in Miss Ashton's hand said, “ Janet -”

Mickelson wheeled on Greeley and demanded, “What's Rutledge doing here!” Robinson, as the inspector's back turned to him, flung out his hand and lifted the flatiron from the shelf along the wall. He swung it hard.

Mickelson went down, blood bubbling out of the cut on his cheekbone where the edge of the iron had caught him.

Greeley shouted, “Here-!” and barely had time to duck as Robinson hurled the iron at him. It struck the dresser, sending chips of wood flying in every direction. Vera Cummins had begun to scream in terror, but Janet Ashton was already advancing on Robinson with the knife, her face twisted in murderous fury.

Sergeant Miller came through the door and stopped short.

Rutledge called to Janet Ashton to stop where she was, and Miller, seeing the knife, lunged forward to pin her arms to her side.

Robinson, seeing the sergeant between himself and escape, reached under his coat and drew a revolver. He swung the barrel from Rutledge to Miller, and all movement stopped abruptly.

“If you want to die, I'll oblige!” he told the room at large, and then the barrel steadied, pointing directly at Elizabeth Fraser. Then, his eyes on her, he demanded, “Where's your motorcar, Rutledge? Speak up! I don't have much to lose by shooting her!”

Rutledge said, with far more self-possession than he felt, “It's by the church. Take it and go. I won't stop you, and I'll see to it that no one else does. You'll have reached the road to London before we can get word out. There's petrol in the tank, and money in my luggage in the boot. You can go anywhere you please and disappear.” He watched the barrel of the revolver.

Greeley said, “You can't let him go! It's your duty-”

“I've given my word. Step out of his way, Greeley. If Sergeant Miller will open the door and let the ladies leave? Robinson, I'll even offer myself as hostage for the good behavior of the rest of them. I won't give you any trouble.”

Robinson said, “Where's the boy? I'm not leaving without the boy.”

“He's dead,” Rutledge lied. “There's nothing more you can do to him.”

“You couldn't have known I was there, unless you'd talked to him!”

“We don't need his evidence. Elcott survived, you see. He told us what you'd done. There's only one reason you'd try to hang him-”

“That's impossible-he couldn't have lived!”

“Oh, but he did. You left him teetering on a chair back. A note on the bed. After half smothering him with a pillow. I walked in just in time.”

Robinson swore. “All right, then. The motorcar. Greeley, get out of my way. Faster, man, I'm impatient!”

Greeley backed against the wall, keeping his hands in plain sight.

Robinson glanced around the room one more time. Then he made to step over Mickelson, who was groaning as he began to regain his senses. For a split second Robinson took his eyes off Rutledge to glance at the man on the floor, making certain he wouldn't be tripped up. But the revolver was still pointing steadily at Elizabeth Fraser.

And then she spoke for the first time.

“Hugh?” She called to him, standing up from her chair and taking a step in his direction. “I hope you never close your eyes in peace again!”

Robinson had never seen her on her feet before. His attention was riveted on her. She had given Rutledge his only chance to act, but before he could move, Mickelson rolled on the floor in a desperate attempt to catch at Robinson's leg. Robinson was too swift for him. He sidestepped the clutching hands and fired.

The shot was deafening in the room, and Elizabeth Fraser gasped and spun as the bullet caught her.

With a roar of rage, Rutledge launched himself at Robinson, pulling him down with the strength of two men, and Miller was leaping over the table, crashing into both of them.

Greeley stooped to retrieve the flatiron, his eyes on the struggling men. But before he could use the iron, the revolver went off a second time, and then Rutledge had wrenched it out of Robinson's grip and flung it across the room where it skidded to a stop almost at Vera Cummins's feet.

Rutledge had his adversary pinned to the floor, and he was battering Robinson's face with his fists. Mickelson was pinning his legs.

“Miller, in the name of God, fetch Jarvis!” Rutledge shouted.

Janet Ashton had run to Elizabeth, and was cradling her head as Cummins began stuffing serviettes into the bleeding wound, frantically calling her name. Vera Cummins stood like a ghost against the wall, frozen there, her eyes on the blood.

And then Robinson wasn't moving. Dazed, Rutledge got to his feet, and lunged to Elizabeth Fraser's side, clasping her hands, telling her that she'd been damned foolish, begging her to hold on.

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “Couldn't-lose him,” she said. “Boy's dead? Truly?”

“No. Quite safe. My dear girl, shut up and stay still.”

She coughed, and a delicate pink froth spread over her lip.

Janet was smoothing her hair as she shut her eyes and sighed a little.

M ickelson and Greeley hauled a bloody and defiant Hugh Robinson to the police station, with Sergeant Miller behind them with Theo Elcott's revolver in one large, steady hand.

Jarvis, bending over Elizabeth Fraser and working steadily as he gave orders to Janet Ashton, said over his shoulder to Rutledge, “Get the rest of them out of here.”