Four British Mysteries
Page 88
At least, not alive.
“Anyway, what I’m getting round to saying is, she’d left her own small estate and the big bequest to Helen as she’d felt sorry for her. Tidy too, she’d said. No mention of what would have happened if my girl had died, mind…” Here, Eluned Jenkins’ voice broke down, syllable by syllable, ending in a loud blowing of her nose. “So it’s all yours if you want it,” she said finally.
He noticed both Yale keys now oddly bright despite their distance from his Anglepoise lamp. “I don’t quite understand.”
“Heron House, of course. Helen won’t go near it. And we all know why.”
Why I’ve come back here. Or have you forgotten?
His body felt numb all over except for his gut in freefall. He got up unsteadily for a closer look at the window, but not until his freezing nose was almost touching the whitened glass, did his heart fully flip. For he realised that in the rook’s open beak lay a small, green-stained bone bearing brown mossy tufts at each end. Identical to the specimen Gwilym had pocketed. Had this really brought his old friend such bad luck? That shocking end? If so, he, Jason, surely was to blame.
He gripped the inner windowsill, holding his breath, repulsed yet hypnotised as that malevolence, with an even more steely expression in its eyes, began to tap her baby bone against the glass.
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