"Don't let him know I told you! Cal will be so very upset." Molly Torken
cowered back in her chair. Despite the heat of the late afternoon, she was
shivering uncontrollably. "I don't want him to be upset with me!"
Sam Marston forced a reassuring smile. "Of course I won't tell him. We're just having a nice cup of tea and a chat. That's all. Everything will be fine."
The older woman sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the edge of her napkin. Sam maintained her pleasant expression but she was thinking furiously. Cal Torken was out for the afternoon and wouldn't be back until dinner. While Elliott had to be told about the awful event in his past, it might be better to wait until they were no longer sharing a house with the Torkens. But then how could she help Molly?
"Pssst!" Sam jumped. The noise seemed to come from the hallway. Niall Flanagan poked his head around the door and hissed again. He dangled a piece of paper in the air then hastily pulled it back. She glanced at Molly, who seemed oblivious to anything outside her fear at the moment, and joined her brother in the hall.
"What is it?" She wasn't sure why she whispered; it just seemed appropriate somehow.
"Guess what I got?" Niall was beaming proudly, grinning from ear to ear.
"Dear, I really don't have time for this." She stopped as he thrust the paper at her. It was a letter in handwriting that seemed strangely familiar. "Where did you get this?"
"I found it in that room." He pointed to the small parlor beside the front door. Sam remembered uneasily that Torken used it as his office.
"What were you doing in there?" She unfolded the letter slowly. It was a plain sheet of poor quality and the ink was smudged at the bottom. There was neither salutation nor signature. Then two names leaped off the page at her. "deer Sir, Ches Watters was my frend. He told me a bunch of stuf cowse we wood drink as frends. If you want me to be close muthd abowt what he was sposed to do then you pay me in gold. Else Eleyot Marston wil heer it furst."
It seemed to Sam that the floor heaved under her feet. She read the letter through a second time and refolded it with shaking fingers. "You had no business going in that room, Niall. Elliott will be very displeased." Her voice was credibly even, she thought.
"No, he won't. He went into that man's house in the middle of the night, didn't he?" Niall was unimpressed. "That's the same kind of letter he got from that man who got himself hung, isn't it? Hiram Crabbs. I think he'd want to know why Mr. Torken got it."
"How do you know about that letter?" She stared at him.
He rolled his eyes with the fond disgust of a brother. "Because I heard the clerk telling him about it, silly. And later on," He gave her a sideways look, then dropped his gaze to the carpet. "I found it on the table in your room. I went in to see if he needed any help packing." There was a touch of defiance in the last sentence.
Sam took a deep, calming breath. She hated to admit it but Niall was correct. Cal Torken had a great deal of explaining to do. A sudden conviction that they had to leave this house took possession of her. She wished that Elliott were back so that he could get them out of there. Her brother tugging on her sleeve reminded her of the immediate issue.
"Regardless of all that, young man, you should not go poking into things that don't concern you." Sam put her hands on her hips and assumed a parental attitude. "It's not a good thing to do."
Niall opened his mouth but before he could respond, another voice came out of the gloom at the back of the hallway. "Your sister's right, boy. It ain't a good thing at all." They looked up to see the large burly figure of Cal Torken appear in the kitchen doorway. "In fact, it can be downright unhealthy."
******************************
"The whiskey's in the bottom right drawer, Elliott. Help yourself." Major Rodney Ashley-Pitt gestured feebly at his desk as he croaked the invitation. He lay back on the sofa and dropped his arm, exhausted by the effort. His hair was disarranged, his face still florid and his neck was lacerated with rope burns from his recent experience but he still managed to smile. "Forgive me if I don't join you."
The altercation had been short but deadly. The assailant had already loosened his grip upon hearing the first assault on the door but he didn't have time to make his escape. The major dropped to the floor in a scarlet heap as the stranger pulled a gun from his belt. He was fast but Elliott Marston was faster and the stranger soon joined his victim on the floor.
The three men watched silently as two privates wrapped the dead man in an army blanket and carried him out. Careful scrutiny had failed to disclose his identity. Ashley-Pitt maintained that the man had approached him as he was returning from an appointment, insisting on a private meeting to deliver a confidential message of a personal nature. He'd refused to name the sender until they were alone in Ashley-Pitt's office, at which point he attacked the major from behind with no warning using the cord from his uniform as a weapon.
The sergeant did not reveal by so much as a quiver that he did not believe his superior officer's story. Ashley-Pitt waved away suggestions about summoning a doctor, insisting that he would be fine after a rest. The authority of the police did not extend to the army's barracks and offices but they would obviously have to be informed. The major turned his face away as the sergeant left the room.
Melvin Collins sank onto the bench by the door and downed his drink with one swallow. Marston stood beside the sofa, waiting for the major to open his eyes again.
Finally Ashley-Pitt looked up at him. "I think I know why you're here." His voice was raw and his breathing labored. "You want to know about me and Sam Flanagan."
"That will do for a start." Marston smiled grimly. "Now talk."
Sam Marston forced a reassuring smile. "Of course I won't tell him. We're just having a nice cup of tea and a chat. That's all. Everything will be fine."
The older woman sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the edge of her napkin. Sam maintained her pleasant expression but she was thinking furiously. Cal Torken was out for the afternoon and wouldn't be back until dinner. While Elliott had to be told about the awful event in his past, it might be better to wait until they were no longer sharing a house with the Torkens. But then how could she help Molly?
"Pssst!" Sam jumped. The noise seemed to come from the hallway. Niall Flanagan poked his head around the door and hissed again. He dangled a piece of paper in the air then hastily pulled it back. She glanced at Molly, who seemed oblivious to anything outside her fear at the moment, and joined her brother in the hall.
"What is it?" She wasn't sure why she whispered; it just seemed appropriate somehow.
"Guess what I got?" Niall was beaming proudly, grinning from ear to ear.
"Dear, I really don't have time for this." She stopped as he thrust the paper at her. It was a letter in handwriting that seemed strangely familiar. "Where did you get this?"
"I found it in that room." He pointed to the small parlor beside the front door. Sam remembered uneasily that Torken used it as his office.
"What were you doing in there?" She unfolded the letter slowly. It was a plain sheet of poor quality and the ink was smudged at the bottom. There was neither salutation nor signature. Then two names leaped off the page at her. "deer Sir, Ches Watters was my frend. He told me a bunch of stuf cowse we wood drink as frends. If you want me to be close muthd abowt what he was sposed to do then you pay me in gold. Else Eleyot Marston wil heer it furst."
It seemed to Sam that the floor heaved under her feet. She read the letter through a second time and refolded it with shaking fingers. "You had no business going in that room, Niall. Elliott will be very displeased." Her voice was credibly even, she thought.
"No, he won't. He went into that man's house in the middle of the night, didn't he?" Niall was unimpressed. "That's the same kind of letter he got from that man who got himself hung, isn't it? Hiram Crabbs. I think he'd want to know why Mr. Torken got it."
"How do you know about that letter?" She stared at him.
He rolled his eyes with the fond disgust of a brother. "Because I heard the clerk telling him about it, silly. And later on," He gave her a sideways look, then dropped his gaze to the carpet. "I found it on the table in your room. I went in to see if he needed any help packing." There was a touch of defiance in the last sentence.
Sam took a deep, calming breath. She hated to admit it but Niall was correct. Cal Torken had a great deal of explaining to do. A sudden conviction that they had to leave this house took possession of her. She wished that Elliott were back so that he could get them out of there. Her brother tugging on her sleeve reminded her of the immediate issue.
"Regardless of all that, young man, you should not go poking into things that don't concern you." Sam put her hands on her hips and assumed a parental attitude. "It's not a good thing to do."
Niall opened his mouth but before he could respond, another voice came out of the gloom at the back of the hallway. "Your sister's right, boy. It ain't a good thing at all." They looked up to see the large burly figure of Cal Torken appear in the kitchen doorway. "In fact, it can be downright unhealthy."
******************************
"The whiskey's in the bottom right drawer, Elliott. Help yourself." Major Rodney Ashley-Pitt gestured feebly at his desk as he croaked the invitation. He lay back on the sofa and dropped his arm, exhausted by the effort. His hair was disarranged, his face still florid and his neck was lacerated with rope burns from his recent experience but he still managed to smile. "Forgive me if I don't join you."
The altercation had been short but deadly. The assailant had already loosened his grip upon hearing the first assault on the door but he didn't have time to make his escape. The major dropped to the floor in a scarlet heap as the stranger pulled a gun from his belt. He was fast but Elliott Marston was faster and the stranger soon joined his victim on the floor.
The three men watched silently as two privates wrapped the dead man in an army blanket and carried him out. Careful scrutiny had failed to disclose his identity. Ashley-Pitt maintained that the man had approached him as he was returning from an appointment, insisting on a private meeting to deliver a confidential message of a personal nature. He'd refused to name the sender until they were alone in Ashley-Pitt's office, at which point he attacked the major from behind with no warning using the cord from his uniform as a weapon.
The sergeant did not reveal by so much as a quiver that he did not believe his superior officer's story. Ashley-Pitt waved away suggestions about summoning a doctor, insisting that he would be fine after a rest. The authority of the police did not extend to the army's barracks and offices but they would obviously have to be informed. The major turned his face away as the sergeant left the room.
Melvin Collins sank onto the bench by the door and downed his drink with one swallow. Marston stood beside the sofa, waiting for the major to open his eyes again.
Finally Ashley-Pitt looked up at him. "I think I know why you're here." His voice was raw and his breathing labored. "You want to know about me and Sam Flanagan."
"That will do for a start." Marston smiled grimly. "Now talk."