The Shadow of Larose

The Shadow of Larose by Arthur Gask

I seized the opportunity to examine them. They were addressed to him, and I quickly scanned the contents. The letters contained details about his work and some personal notes, but one stood out: it was a message from a colleague discussing the ongoing investigation into the murder case, mentioning the motorcyclist and urging caution. I felt a surge of panic. The doctor was indeed involved in the investigation, and I had to be careful. I quickly returned the letters to his jacket pocket just as he came back upstairs, looking flustered. "Sorry about that," he said, brushing off his jacket. "You know how it is with these calls. Always something urgent." I nodded, trying to maintain my composure. "No problem at all." After he left, I felt a sense of urgency. I needed to retrieve the banknotes from their hiding place before anyone discovered my connection to the murder. The next day, I planned to make the trip back to the mountains. That night, I barely slept, my mind racing with thoughts of the investigation and the potential consequences of my actions. I knew I had to act quickly. The following morning, I set out early, taking care to avoid any main roads. I rode my new motorbike with a sense of purpose, determined to reach the hiding spot before anyone could catch up with me. As I approached the area, I felt a mix of anxiety and adrenaline. I parked my bike a safe distance away and made my way into the bush, retracing my steps to the spot where I had hidden the notes. When I finally reached the crevice between the rocks, my heart raced. I dug into the crevice, my fingers trembling as I pulled out the bundle of banknotes. Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. I knew I had to get back to Port Augusta without being seen. Just as I was about to leave, I heard voices approaching. Panic surged through me. I quickly tucked the notes back into the crevice and crouched down, hoping to remain unseen. Two men entered the clearing, and I recognized them as detectives. They were discussing the case, and I held my breath, straining to hear their conversation. "They're still looking for that motorcyclist," one said. "If we can find him, we might crack this case wide open." The other nodded. "And the more we dig, the more we find connections to that auctioneer. It's all too convenient." I felt a chill run down my spine. They were getting closer to the truth, and I was right in the middle of it. After a few tense moments, they moved on, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I quickly retrieved the banknotes, stashed them securely in my bag, and made my way back to my bike. The ride back to Port Augusta was fraught with tension, but I managed to keep my cool. I returned to the hotel, my heart racing with the thrill of having outsmarted the detectives. Once back in my room, I locked the door and took out the notes. I examined them, feeling a mix of triumph and dread. I had successfully retrieved them, but the danger was far from over. I knew I had to come up with a plan to dispose of the notes without drawing attention to myself. I considered various options, but each one seemed fraught with risk. As I sat there, contemplating my next move, I heard a knock on the door. My heart raced again. I quickly shoved the notes back into my bag and opened the door cautiously. It was the doctor, looking cheerful and relaxed. "Hey, Edis! Fancy a game of chess? I thought we could have a little fun before dinner." I forced a smile, trying to mask my anxiety. "Sure, why not?" As we played, I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. My mind kept drifting back to the murder case and the notes hidden in my bag. I had to keep my composure, but the pressure was mounting. After the game, the doctor left, and I was left alone with my thoughts. I knew I had to act soon, but I was running out of time. The investigation was closing in, and I had to find a way to extricate myself from this mess before it was too late. The next day, I decided to take a risk. I would go to the bank and deposit the notes, hoping that the transaction would go unnoticed. It was a gamble, but I felt it was my best chance. I arrived at the bank, my heart pounding in my chest. I approached the teller, trying to appear calm and collected. "I'd like to make a deposit," I said, handing over the bundle of notes. The teller looked at me quizzically but took the notes without question. I felt a rush of relief wash over me as I completed the transaction. I had done it. I had successfully deposited the notes. But as I turned to leave, I noticed a familiar face in the lobby. It was Inspector Scrutton, and he was watching me intently. My heart dropped. Had he seen me? Did he know? I quickly exited the bank, my mind racing. I had to get out of Port Augusta before they connected me to the murder. I hopped on my motorbike and sped away, determined to put as much distance between myself and the investigation as possible. As I rode, I felt a mix of exhilaration and fear. I had narrowly escaped detection, but I knew the danger was far from over. I had to stay one step ahead of the police and find a way to clear my name. Days turned into weeks, and I continued to live in a state of anxiety. I kept a low profile, avoiding any unnecessary attention. But the weight of my actions hung heavily on me, and I knew I couldn't run forever. Finally, I decided it was time to confront the situation head-on. I would go to the police and confess everything. It was the only way to find peace and clear my conscience. I made my way to the police station, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath and stepped inside, ready to face the consequences of my actions. It was time to take responsibility and hope for the best.

By Arthur Gask · First published 1926 · Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Adventure · 21 chapters

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