Heads You Lose
“Beside him, the constable stared with labouring breath, biting his finger-nail. The Inspector said at last: “Well, there it is. She’s dead.”
Troot wiped damp fingers on the seat of his trousers. “Yes, sir.”
“We must get the doctor at once and remove that scarf; but we know what we shall find. You’d better stay here, Troot, till I send someone else along. I must go back to the house.”
The summer-house was boarded in on two sides, but the rest was formed of lightly crossed branches, open to the s...unshine and air. Against the boarding the snow had piled in a drift, eighteen inches deep. There were one or two half-dried puddles on the floor of the hut that might have been made by wet or snow-covered shoes, but otherwise no footprint and no sign. Around them lay the wide expanse of the lawns, sloping towards them from the house and down to the stream; and out of his childhood some memory was clamouring in the Inspector’s head for recognition. He could see the dim, sexless face of his school-teacher and smell for a moment the chalky smell of the blackboard; and he was a small boy again, reciting in a gabbling monotone: “At Linden when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow…”MoreLess
Troot wiped damp fingers on the seat of his trousers. “Yes, sir.”
“We must get the doctor at once and remove that scarf; but we know what we shall find. You’d better stay here, Troot, till I send someone else along. I must go back to the house.”
The summer-house was boarded in on two sides, but the rest was formed of lightly crossed branches, open to the s...unshine and air. Against the boarding the snow had piled in a drift, eighteen inches deep. There were one or two half-dried puddles on the floor of the hut that might have been made by wet or snow-covered shoes, but otherwise no footprint and no sign. Around them lay the wide expanse of the lawns, sloping towards them from the house and down to the stream; and out of his childhood some memory was clamouring in the Inspector’s head for recognition. He could see the dim, sexless face of his school-teacher and smell for a moment the chalky smell of the blackboard; and he was a small boy again, reciting in a gabbling monotone: “At Linden when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow…”MoreLess
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