The Bungalow Mystery Read Online Free

“Diamonds too. This ’ere ought to be a clue, sir.”
    Roger glanced at it; it looked like some family heirloom, he thought, with its quaint, old-fashioned setting.
    â€œCertainly it ought,” he acquiesced.
    The amazement grew in Mrs. McNaughton’s face, a bewilderment mixed with a kind of curious shrinking horror.
    â€œI can’t say—I don’t know nothing about it.”
    Lavington stepped forward.
    â€œWell, if that is all I can tell you, Frost, I will just step indoors. I am afraid my aunt—”
    â€œBegging your pardon, sir, I should be glad if you would stay till the inspector comes. I expect him every minute now.”
    Lavington felt nettled.
    â€œBut my good man—”
    â€œI should be blamed, sir, if I let you go afore he come,” the constable went on. “There’ll be explanations as’ll have to be made. There”—he held up his hand—“I hear wheels. Here he is now, sir.”

Chapter Two
    Lavington crossed the passage to the consulting-room and opened the door; then he stood still in amazement. His own easy chair was drawn up before the fire, and in it the girl was curled up, fast asleep apparently, one cheek resting on her upturned palm, her golden hair gleaming against the dark cushion. As he watched her, she drew her breath in a little sobbing cry, her delicate features contracted; then suddenly she opened her eyes and stared at him bewilderedly.
    â€œWhere am I? Oh!”—her lips trembling, a swift rush of colour flooding even her temples—“now, I—I remember. You sent—you sent me here. You will help me to get away?”
    â€œIf I can,” said Lavington uncertainly. He came into the room and shut the door. “I could not get away before, until the inspector came; and now they are searching the neighbourhood for a girl, a girl whose glove they have found—a glove with a diamond ring in the finger.”
    â€œAh!” The girl drew a deep breath.
    Roger’s eyes rested on a tiny crumpled ball of suede that lay on his writing-table, then his glance wandered to the fire-place and he uttered a quick exclamation.
    â€œWhy, some one has been burning paper,” he said in surprise, as he picked up the largest piece.
    With a sharp sound of dismay the girl sprang forward and snatched it out of his hand, not, however before he had had time to read two words in the small neat handwriting. It was the outside of an envelope; part of the address was torn away; only “von Rheinhart” was readable.
    â€œHow dare you!” the girl flashed as his fingers relaxed. “You knew that you were not meant to read it.”
    The very suddenness of the attack momentarily disconcerted Lavington, the softness and the smallness of the hands gripping his, the wrath in the great brown eyes alike took him aback. But, as he saw her tear the offending scrap of paper into the minutest fragments and throw it on the top of the smoking heap in the fire-place, he awoke to the full consciousness of the situation.
    â€œI did not wish to read anything written there,” he said gravely. “I had no thought at the moment that it was yours; but I could not help seeing the name ‘von Rheinhart’ and I know that Maximilian von Rheinhart is lying dead next door and that papers and valuables have been taken from his body.”
    In spite of her anger, as the last word left his lips, the girl visibly flinched.
    â€œNot valuables—papers. And”—raising her head defiantly—“I took them—stole them, if you will. But he ought to have given them up long ago. He had no right to keep them. Now, they can do no more harm.” And with the point of her buckled shoe she pushed the ashes farther down.
    Lavington’s grey eyes were stem.
    â€œI believe that it is my duty to summon the police at once and to tell them everything.”
    The girl turned sharply; the anger on her