TheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStories
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
1TheWitnessfortheProsecution
2TheRedSignal
3TheFourthMan
4S.O.S.
5Wireless
6TheMysteryoftheBlueJar
7SingaSongofSixpence
8Mr.Eastwood’sAdventure
9PhilomelCottage
10Accident
11TheSecondGong
AbouttheAuthor
TheAgathaChristieCollection
RelatedProducts
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
OneTHEWITNESSFORTHEPROSECUTION
“TheWitnessfortheProsecution”wasfirstpublishedintheUSAas“TraitorHands”inFlynn’sWeekly,31January1925.
Mr.Mayherneadjustedhispince-nezandclearedhisthroatwithalittledry-as-dustcoughthatwaswhollytypicalofhim.Thenhelookedagainatthemanoppositehim,themanchargedwithwilfulmurder.
Mr.Mayhernewasasmallmanpreciseinmanner,neatly,nottosayfoppishlydressed,withapairofveryshrewdandpiercinggreyeyes.Bynomeansafool.Indeed,asasolicitor,Mr.Mayherne’sreputationstoodveryhigh.Hisvoice,whenhespoketohisclient,wasdrybutnotunsympathetic.
“Imustimpressuponyouagainthatyouareinverygravedanger,andthattheutmostfranknessisnecessary.”
LeonardVole,whohadbeenstaringinadazedfashionattheblankwallinfrontofhim,transferredhisglancetothesolicitor.
“Iknow,”hesaidhopelessly.“Youkeeptellingmeso.ButIcan’tseemtorealizeyetthatI’mchargedwithmurder—murder.Andsuchadastardlycrimetoo.”
Mr.Mayhernewaspractical,notemotional.Hecoughedagain,tookoffhispince-nez,polishedthemcarefully,andreplacedthemonhisnose.Thenhesaid:
“Yes,yes,yes.Now,mydearMr.Vole,we’regoingtomakeadeterminedefforttogetyouoff—andweshallsucceed—weshallsucceed.ButImusthaveallthefacts.Imustknowjusthowdamagingthecaseagainstyouislikelytobe.Thenwecanfixuponthebestlineofdefence.”
Stilltheyoungmanlookedathiminthesamedazed,hopelessfashion.ToMr.Mayhernethecasehadseemedblackenough,andtheguiltoftheprisonerassured.Now,forthefirsttime,hefeltadoubt.
“YouthinkI’mguilty,”saidLeonardVole,inalowvoice.“But,byGod,IswearI’mnot!Itlooksprettyblackagainstme,Iknowthat.I’mlikeamancaughtinanet—themeshesofitallroundme,entanglingmewhicheverwayIturn.ButIdidn’tdoit,Mr.Mayherne,Ididn’tdoit!”
Insuchapositionamanwasboundtoprotesthisinnocence.Mr.Mayherneknewthat.Yet,inspiteofhimself,hewasimpressed.Itmightbe,afterall,thatLeonardVolewasinnocent.
“Youareright,Mr.Vole,”hesaidgravely.“Thecasedoeslookveryblackagainstyou.Nevertheless,Iacceptyourassurance.Now,letusgettofacts.IwantyoutotellmeinyourownwordsexactlyhowyoucametomaketheacquaintanceofMissEmilyFrench.”
“ItwasonedayinOxfordStreet.Isawanelderlyladycrossingtheroad.Shewascarryingalotofparcels.Inthemiddleofthestreetshedroppedthem,triedtorecoverthem,foundabuswasalmostontopofherandjustmanagedtoreachthekerbsafely,dazedandbewilderedbypeoplehavingshoutedather.Irecoveredtheparcels,wipedthemudoffthemasbestIcould,retiedthestringofone,andreturnedthemtoher.”
“Therewasnoquestionofyourhavingsavedherlife?”
“Oh!dearme,no.AllIdidwastoperformacommonactofcourtesy.Shewasextremelygrateful,thankedmewarmly,andsaidsomethingaboutmymannersnotbeingthoseofmostoftheyoungergeneration—Ican’tremembertheexactwords.ThenIliftedmyhatandwenton.Ineverexpectedtoseeheragain.Butlifeisfullofcoincidences.ThatveryeveningIcameacrossheratapartyatafriend’shouse.SherecognizedmeatonceandaskedthatIshouldbeintroducedtoher.IthenfoundoutthatshewasaMissEmilyFrenchandthatshelivedatCricklewood.Italkedtoherforsometime.Shewas,Iimagine,anoldladywhotooksuddenviolentfanciestopeople.Shetookonetomeonthestrengthofaperfectlysimpleactionwhichanyonemighthaveperformed.Onleaving,sheshookmewarmlybythehand,andaskedmetocomeandseeher.Ireplied,ofcourse,thatIshouldbeverypleasedtodoso,andshethenurgedmetonameaday.Ididnotwantparticularlytogo,butitwouldhaveseemedchurlishtorefuse,soIfixedonthefollowingSaturday.Aftershehadgone,Ilearnedsomethingaboutherfrommyfriends.Thatshewasrich,eccentric,livedalonewithonemaidandownednolessthaneightcats.”
“Isee,”saidMr.Mayherne.“Thequestionofherbeingwelloffcameupasearlyasthat?”
“IfyoumeanthatIinquired—”beganLeonardVolehotly,butMr.Mayhernestilledhimwithagesture.
“Ihavetolookatthecaseasitwillbepresentedbytheotherside.AnordinaryobserverwouldnothavesupposedMissFrenchtobealadyofmeans.Shelivedpoorly,almosthumbly.Unlessyouhadbeentoldthecontrary,youwouldinallprobabilityhaveconsideredhertobeinpoorcircumstances—atanyratetobeginwith.Whowasitexactlywho
“Myfriend,GeorgeHarvey,atwhosehousethepartytookplace.”
“Ishelikelytorememberhavingdoneso?”
“Ireallydon’tknow.Ofcourseitissometimeagonow.”
“Quiteso,Mr.Vole.Yousee,thefirstaimoftheprosecutionwillbetoestablishthatyouwereinlowwaterfinancially—thatistrue,isitnot?”
LeonardVoleflushed.
“Yes,”hesaid,inalowvoice.“I’dbeenhavingarunofinfernalbadluckjustthen.”
“Quiteso,”saidMr.Mayherneagain.“Thatbeing,asIsay,inlowwaterfinancially,youmetthisricholdladyandcultivatedheracquaintanceassiduously.Nowifweareinapositiontosaythatyouhadnoideashewaswelloff,andthatyouvisitedheroutofpurekindnessofheart—”
“Whichisthecase.”
“Idaresay.Iamnotdisputingthepoint.Iamlookingatitfromtheoutsidepointofview.AgreatdealdependsonthememoryofMr.Harvey.Ishelikelytorememberthatconversationorishenot?Couldhebeconfusedbycounselintobelievingthatittookplacelater?”
LeonardVolereflectedforsomeminutes.Thenhesaidsteadilyenough,butwitharatherpalerface:
“Idonotthinkthatthatlinewouldbesuccessful,Mr.Mayherne.Severalofthosepresentheardhisremark,andoneortwoofthemchaffedmeaboutmyconquestofaricholdlady.”
Thesolicitorendeavouredtohidehisdisappointmentwithawaveofthehand.
“Unfortunately,”hesaid.“ButIcongratulateyouuponyourplainspeaking,Mr.Vole.ItistoyouIlooktoguideme.Yourjudgementisquiteright.TopersistinthelineIspokeofwouldhavebeendisastrous.Wemustleavethatpoint.YoumadetheacquaintanceofMissFrench,youcalleduponher,theacquaintanceshipprogressed.Wewantaclearreasonforallthis.Whydidyou,ayoungmanofthirty-three,good-looking,fondofsport,popularwithyourfriends,devotesomuchtimetoanelderlywomanwithwhomyoucouldhardlyhaveanythingincommon?”
LeonardVoleflungouthishandsinanervousgesture.
“Ican’ttellyou—Ireallycan’ttellyou.Afterthefirstvisit,shepressedmetocomeagain,spokeofbeinglonelyandunhappy.Shemadeitdifficultformetorefuse.SheshowedsoplainlyherfondnessandaffectionformethatIwasplacedinanawkwardposition.Yousee,Mr.Mayherne,I’vegotaweaknature—Idrift—I’moneofthosepeoplewhocan’tsay“No.”Andbelievemeornot,asyoulike,afterthethirdorfourthvisitIpaidherIfoundmyselfgettinggenuinelyfondoftheoldthing.MymotherdiedwhenIwasyoung,anauntbroughtmeup,andshetoodiedbeforeIwasfifteen.IfItoldyouthatIgenuinelyenjoyedbeingmotheredandpampered,Idaresayyou’donlylaugh.”
Mr.Mayhernedidnotlaugh.Insteadhetookoffhispince-nezagainandpolishedthem,alwaysasignwithhimthathewasthinkingdeeply.
“Iacceptyourexplanation,Mr.Vole,”hesaidatlast.“Ibelieveittobepsychologicallyprobable.Whetherajurywouldtakethatviewofitisanothermatter.Pleasecontinueyournarrative.WhenwasitthatMissFrenchfirstaskedyoutolookintoherbusinessaffairs?”
“Aftermythirdorfourthvisittoher.Sheunderstoodverylittleofmoneymatters,andwasworriedaboutsomeinvestments.”
Mr.Mayhernelookedupsharply.
“Becareful,Mr.Vole.Themaid,JanetMackenzie,declaresthathermistresswasagoodwomanofbusinessandtransactedallherownaffairs,andthisisborneoutbythetestimonyofherbankers.”
“Ican’thelpthat,”saidVoleearnestly.“That’swhatshesaidtome.”
Mr.Mayhernelookedathimforamomentortwoinsilence.Thoughhehadnointentionofsayingso,hisbeliefinLeonardVole’sinnocencewasatthatmomentstrengthened.Heknewsomethingofthementalityofelderlyladies.HesawMissFrench,infatuatedwiththegood-lookingyoungman,huntingaboutforpretextsthatshouldbringhimtothehouse.Whatmorelikelythanthatsheshouldpleadignoranceofbusiness,andbeghimtohelpherwithhermoneyaffairs?Shewasenoughofawomanoftheworldtorealizethatanymanisslightlyflatteredbysuchanadmissionofhissuperiority.LeonardVolehadbeenflattered.Perhaps,too,shehadnotbeenaversetolettingthisyoungmanknowthatshewaswealthy.EmilyFrenchhadbeenastrong-willedoldwoman,willingtopayherpriceforwhatshewanted.AllthispassedrapidlythroughMr.Mayherne’smind,buthegavenoindicationofit,andaskedinsteadafurtherquestion.
“Andyoudidhandleheraffairsforheratherrequest?”
“Idid.”
“Mr.Vole,”saidthesolicitor,“Iamgoingtoaskyouaveryseriousquestion,andonetowhichitisvitalIshouldhaveatruthfulanswer.Youwereinlowwaterfinancially.Youhadthehandlingofanoldlady’saffairs—anoldladywho,accordingtoherownstatement,knewlittleornothingofbusiness.Didyouatanytime,orinanymanner,converttoyourownusethesecuritieswhichyouhandled?Didyouengageinanytransactionforyourownpecuniaryadvantagewhichwillnotbearthelightofday?”Hequelledtheother’sresponse.“Waitaminutebeforeyouanswer.Therearetwocoursesopentous.Eitherwecanmakeafeatureofyourprobityandhonestyinconductingheraffairswhilstpointingouthowunlikelyitisthatyouwouldcommitmurdertoobtainmoneywhichyoumighthaveobtainedbysuchinfinitelyeasiermeans.If,ontheotherhand,thereisanythinginyourdealingswhichtheprosecutionwillgetholdof—if,toputitbaldly,itcanbeprovedthatyouswindledtheoldladyinanyway,wemusttakethelinethatyouhadnomotiveforthemurder,sinceshewasalreadyaprofitablesourceofincometoyou.Youperceivethedistinction.Now,Ibegofyou,takeyourtimebeforeyoureply.”
ButLeonardVoletooknotimeatall.
“MydealingswithMissFrench’saffairsareallperfectlyfairandaboveboard.Iactedforherintereststotheverybestofmyability,asanyonewillfindwholooksintothematter.”
“Thankyou,”saidMr.Mayherne.“Yourelievemymindverymuch.Ipayyouthecomplimentofbelievingthatyouarefartooclevertolietomeoversuchanimportantmatter.”
“Surely,”saidVoleeagerly,“thestrongestpointinmyfavouristhelackofmotive.GrantedthatIcultivatedtheacquaintanceshipofaricholdladyinthehopeofgettingmoneyoutofher—that,Igather,isthesubstanceofwhatyouhavebeensaying—surelyherdeathfrustratesallmyhopes?”
Thesolicitorlookedathimsteadily.Then,verydeliberately,herepeatedhisunconscioustrickwithhispince-nez.Itwasnotuntiltheywerefirmlyreplacedonhisnosethathespoke.
“Areyounotaware,Mr.Vole,MissFrenchleftawillunderwhichyouaretheprincipalbeneficiary?”
“What?”Theprisonersprangtohisfeet.Hisdismaywasobviousandunforced.“MyGod!Whatareyousaying?Shelefthermoneytome?”
Mr.Mayhernenoddedslowly.Volesankdownagain,hisheadinhishands.
“Youpretendyouknownothingofthiswill?”
“Pretend?There’snopretenceaboutit.Iknewnothingaboutit.”
“WhatwouldyousayifItoldyouthatthemaid,JanetMackenzie,swearsthatyoudidknow?Thathermistresstoldherdistinctlythatshehadconsultedyouinthematter,andtoldyouofherintentions?”
“Say?Thatshe’slying!No,Igotoofast.Janetisanelderlywoman.Shewasafaithfulwatchdogtohermistress,andshedidn’tlikeme.Shewasjealousandsuspicious.IshouldsaythatMissFrenchconfidedherintentionstoJanet,andthatJaneteithermistooksomethingshesaid,orelsewasconvincedinherownmindthatIhadpersuadedtheoldladyintodoingit.IdaresaythatshebelievesherselfnowthatMissFrenchactuallytoldherso.”
“Youdon’tthinkshedislikesyouenoughtoliedeliberatelyaboutthematter?”
LeonardVolelookedshockedandstartled.
“No,indeed!Whyshouldshe?”
“Idon’tknow,”saidMr.Mayhernethoughtfully.“Butshe’sverybitteragainstyou.”
Thewretchedyoungmangroanedagain.
“I’mbeginningtosee,”hemuttered.“It’sfrightful.Imadeuptoher,that’swhatthey’llsay,Igothertomakeawillleavinghermoneytome,andthenIgotherethatnight,andthere’snobodyinthehouse—theyfindherthenextday—oh!myGod,it’sawful!”
“Youarewrongabouttherebeingnobodyinthehouse,”saidMr.Mayherne.“Janet,asyouremember,wastogooutfortheevening.Shewent,butabouthalfpastnineshereturnedtofetchthepatternofablousesleevewhichshehadpromisedtoafriend.Sheletherselfinbythebackdoor,wentupstairsandfetchedit,andwentoutagain.Sheheardvoicesinthesittingroom,thoughshecouldnotdistinguishwhattheysaid,butshewillswearthatoneofthemwasMissFrench’sandonewasaman’s.”
“Athalfpastnine,”saidLeonardVole.“Athalfpastnine…”Hesprangtohisfeet.“ButthenI’msaved—saved—”
“Whatdoyoumean,saved?”criedMr.Mayherne,astonished.
“ByhalfpastnineIwasathomeagain!Mywifecanprovethat.IleftMissFrenchaboutfiveminutestonine.Iarrivedhomeabouttwentypastnine.Mywifewastherewaitingforme.Oh!thankGod—thankGod!AndblessJanetMackenzie’ssleevepattern.”
Inhisexuberance,hehardlynoticedthatthegraveexpressionofthesolicitor’sfacehadnotaltered.Butthelatter’swordsbroughthimdowntoearthwithabump.
“Who,then,inyouropinion,murderedMissFrench?”
“Why,aburglar,ofcourse,aswasthoughtatfirst.Thewindowwasforced,youremember.Shewaskilledwithaheavyblowfromacrowbar,andthecrowbarwasfoundlyingonthefloorbesidethebody.Andseveralarticlesweremissing.ButforJanet’sabsurdsuspicionsanddislikeofme,thepolicewouldneverhaveswervedfromtherighttrack.”
“Thatwillhardlydo,Mr.Vole,”saidthesolicitor.“Thethingsthatweremissingweremeretriflesofnovalue,takenasablind.Andthemarksonthewindowwerenotallconclusive.Besides,thinkforyourself.Yousayyouwerenolongerinthehousebyhalfpastnine.Who,then,wasthemanJanetheardtalkingtoMissFrenchinthesittingroom?Shewouldhardlybehavinganamicableconversationwithaburglar?”
“No,”saidVole.“No—”Helookedpuzzledanddiscouraged.“Butanyway,”headdedwithrevivingspirit,“itletsmeout.I’vegotanalibi.YoumustseeRomaine—mywife—atonce.”
“Certainly,”acquiescedthelawyer.“IshouldalreadyhaveseenMrs.Volebutforherbeingabsentwhenyouwerearrested.IwiredtoScotlandatonce,andIunderstandthatshearrivesbacktonight.IamgoingtocalluponherimmediatelyIleavehere.”
Volenodded,agreatexpressionofsatisfactionsettlingdownoverhisface.
“Yes,Romainewilltellyou.MyGod!It’saluckychancethat.”
“Excuseme,Mr.Vole,butyouareveryfondofyourwife?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Andsheofyou?”
“Romaineisdevotedtome.She’ddoanythingintheworldforme.”
Hespokeenthusiastically,butthesolicitor’sheartsankalittlelower.Thetestimonyofadevotedwife—woulditgaincredence?
“Wasthereanyoneelsewhosawyoureturnatninetwenty?Amaid,forinstance?”
“Wehavenomaid.”
“Didyoumeetanyoneinthestreetonthewayback?”
“NobodyIknew.Irodepartofthewayinabus.Theconductormightremember.”
Mr.Mayherneshookhisheaddoubtfully.
“Thereisnoone,then,whocanconfirmyourwife’stestimony?”
“No.Butitisn’tnecessary,surely?”
“Idaresaynot.Idaresaynot,”saidMr.Mayhernehastily.“Nowthere’sjustonethingmore.DidMissFrenchknowthatyouwereamarriedman?”
“Oh,yes.”
“Yetyounevertookyourwifetoseeher.Whywasthat?”
Forthefirsttime,LeonardVole’sanswercamehaltinganduncertain.
“Well—Idon’tknow.”
“AreyouawarethatJanetMackenziesayshermistressbelievedyoutobesingle,andcontemplatedmarryingyouinthefuture?”
Volelaughed.
“Absurd!Therewasfortyyearsdifferenceinagebetweenus.”
“Ithasbeendone,”saidthesolicitordrily.“Thefactremains.YourwifenevermetMissFrench?”
“No—”Againtheconstraint.
“Youwillpermitmetosay,”saidthelawyer,“thatIhardlyunderstandyourattitudeinthematter.”
Voleflushed,hesitated,andthenspoke
“I’llmakeacleanbreastofit.Iwashardup,asyouknow.IhopedthatMissFrenchmightlendmesomemoney.Shewasfondofme,butshewasn’tatallinterestedinthestrugglesofayoungcouple.Earlyon,IfoundthatshehadtakenitforgrantedthatmywifeandIdidn’tgeton—werelivingapart.Mr.Mayherne—Iwantedthemoney—forRomaine’ssake.Isaidnothing,andallowedtheoldladytothinkwhatshechose.Shespokeofmybeinganadoptedsonforher.Therewasneveranyquestionofmarriage—thatmustbejustJanet’simagination.”
“Andthatisall?”
“Yes—thatisall.”
Wastherejustashadeofhesitationinthewords?Thelawyerfanciedso.Heroseandheldouthishand.
“Goodbye,Mr.Vole.”Helookedintothehaggardyoungfaceandspokewithanunusualimpulse.“Ibelieveinyourinnocenceinspiteofthemultitudeoffactsarrayedagainstyou.Ihopetoproveitandvindicateyoucompletely.”
Volesmiledbackathim.
“You’llfindthealibiisallright,”hesaidcheerfully.
Againhehardlynoticedthattheotherdidnotrespond.
“ThewholethinghingesagooddealonthetestimonyofJanetMackenzie,”saidMr.Mayherne.“Shehatesyou.Thatmuchisclear.”
“Shecanhardlyhateme,”protestedtheyoungman.
Thesolicitorshookhisheadashewentout.
“NowforMrs.Vole,”hesaidtohimself.
Hewasseriouslydisturbedbythewaythethingwasshaping.
TheVoleslivedinasmallshabbyhousenearPaddingtonGreen.ItwastothishousethatMr.Mayhernewent.
Inanswertohisring,abigslatternlywoman,obviouslyacharwoman,answeredthedoor.
“Mrs.Vole?Hasshereturnedyet?”
“Gotbackanhourago.ButIdunnoifyoucanseeher.”
“Ifyouwilltakemycardtoher,”saidMr.Mayhernequietly,“Iamquitesurethatshewilldoso.”
Thewomanlookedathimdoubtfully,wipedherhandonherapronandtookthecard.Thensheclosedthedoorinhisfaceandlefthimonthestepoutside.
Inafewminutes,however,shereturnedwithaslightlyalteredmanner.
“Comeinside,please.”
Sheusheredhimintoatinydrawingroom.Mr.Mayherne,examiningadrawingonthewall,staredupsuddenlytofaceatallpalewomanwhohadenteredsoquietlythathehadnotheardher.
“Mr.Mayherne?Youaremyhusband’ssolicitor,areyounot?Youhavecomefromhim?Willyoupleasesitdown?”
UntilshespokehehadnotrealizedthatshewasnotEnglish.Now,observinghermoreclosely,henoticedthehighcheekbones,thedenseblue-blackofthehair,andanoccasionalveryslightmovementofthehandsthatwasdistinctlyforeign.Astrangewoman,veryquiet.Soquietastomakeoneuneasy.FromtheveryfirstMr.Mayhernewasconsciousthathewasupagainstsomethingthathedidnotunderstand.
“Now,mydearMrs.Vole,”hebegan,“youmustnotgiveway—”
Hestopped.ItwassoveryobviousthatRomaineVolehadnottheslightestintentionofgivingway.Shewasperfectlycalmandcomposed.
“Willyoupleasetellmeallaboutit?”shesaid.“Imustknoweverything.Donotthinktospareme.Iwanttoknowtheworst.”Shehesitated,thenrepeatedinalowertone,withacuriousemphasiswhichthelawyerdidnotunderstand:“Iwanttoknowtheworst.”
Mr.MayhernewentoverhisinterviewwithLeonardVole.Shelistenedattentively,noddingherheadnowandthen.
“Isee,”shesaid,whenhehadfinished.“Hewantsmetosaythathecameinattwentyminutespastninethatnight?”
“Hedidcomeinatthattime?”saidMr.Mayhernesharply.
“Thatisnotthepoint,”shesaidcoldly.“Willmysayingsoacquithim?Willtheybelieveme?”
Mr.Mayhernewastakenaback.Shehadgonesoquicklytothecoreofthematter.
“ThatiswhatIwanttoknow,”shesaid.“Willitbeenough?Isthereanyoneelsewhocansupportmyevidence?”
Therewasasuppressedeagernessinhermannerthatmadehimvaguelyuneasy.
“Sofarthereisnooneelse,”hesaidreluctantly.
“Isee,”saidRomaineVole.
Shesatforaminuteortwoperfectlystill.Alittlesmileplayedoverherlips.
Thelawyer’sfeelingofalarmgrewstrongerandstronger.
“Mrs.Vole—”hebegan.“Iknowwhatyoumustfeel—”
“Doyou?”shesaid.“Iwonder.”
“Inthecircumstances—”
“Inthecircumstances—Iintendtoplayalonehand.”
Helookedatherindismay.
“But,mydearMrs.Vole—youareoverwrought.Beingsodevotedtoyourhusband—”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
Thesharpnessofhervoicemadehimstart.Herepeatedinahesitatingmanner:
“Beingsodevotedtoyourhusband—”
RomaineVolenoddedslowly,thesamestrangesmileonherlips.
“DidhetellyouthatIwasdevotedtohim?”sheaskedsoftly.“Ah!yes,Icanseehedid.Howstupidmenare!Stupid—stupid—stupid—”
Sherosesuddenlytoherfeet.Alltheintenseemotionthatthelawyerhadbeenconsciousofintheatmospherewasnowconcentratedinhertone.
“Ihatehim,Itellyou!Ihatehim.Ihatehim,Ihatehim!Iwouldliketoseehimhangedbythenecktillheisdead.”
Thelawyerrecoiledbeforeherandthesmoulderingpassioninhereyes.
Sheadvancedastepnearer,andcontinuedvehemently:
“PerhapsIshallseeit.SupposingItellyouthathedidnotcomeinthatnightattwentypastnine,butattwentypastten?Yousaythathetellsyouheknewnothingaboutthemoneycomingtohim.SupposingItellyouheknewallaboutit,andcountedonit,andcommittedmurdertogetit?SupposingItellyouthatheadmittedtomethatnightwhenhecameinwhathehaddone?Thattherewasbloodonhiscoat?Whatthen?SupposingthatIstandupincourtandsayallthesethings?”
Hereyesseemedtochallengehim.Withaneffort,heconcealedhisgrowingdismay,andendeavouredtospeakinarationaltone.
“Youcannotbeaskedtogiveevidenceagainstyourownhusband—”
“Heisnotmyhusband!”
Thewordscameoutsoquicklythathefanciedhehadmisunderstoodher.
“Ibegyourpardon?I—”
“Heisnotmyhusband.”
Thesilencewassointensethatyoucouldhaveheardapindrop.
“IwasanactressinVienna.Myhusbandisalivebutinamadhouse.Sowecouldnotmarry.Iamgladnow.”
Shenoddeddefiantly.
“Ishouldlikeyoutotellmeonething,”saidMr.Mayherne.Hecontrivedtoappearascoolandunemotionalasever.“WhyareyousobitteragainstLeonardVole?”
Sheshookherhead,smilingalittle.
“Yes,youwouldliketoknow.ButIshallnottellyou.Iwillkeepmysecret….”
Mr.Mayhernegavehisdrylittlecoughandrose.
“Thereseemsnopointinprolongingthisinterview,”heremarked.“YouwillhearfrommeagainafterIhavecommunicatedwithmyclient.”
Shecameclosertohim,lookingintohiseyeswithherownwonderfuldarkones
“Tellme,”shesaid,“didyoubelieve—honestly—thathewasinnocentwhenyoucameheretoday?”
“Idid,”saidMr.Mayherne.
“Youpoorlittleman,”shelaughed.
“AndIbelievesostill,”finishedthelawyer.“Goodevening,madam.”
Hewentoutoftheroom,takingwithhimthememoryofherstartledface.
“Thisisgoingtobethedevilofabusiness,”saidMr.Mayhernetohimselfashestrodealongthestreet.
Extraordinary,thewholething.Anextraordinarywoman.Averydangerouswoman.Womenwerethedevilwhentheygottheirknifeintoyou.
Whatwastobedone?Thatwretchedyoungmanhadn’talegtostandupon.Ofcourse,possiblyhedidcommitthecrime
“No,”saidMr.Mayhernetohimself.“No—there’salmosttoomuchevidenceagainsthim.Idon’tbelievethiswoman.Shewastrumpingupthewholestory.Butshe’llneverbringitintocourt.”
Hewishedhefeltmoreconvictiononthepoint.
Thepolicecourtproceedingswerebriefanddramatic.TheprincipalwitnessesfortheprosecutionwereJanetMackenzie,maidtothedeadwoman,andRomaineHeilger,Austriansubject,themistressoftheprisoner.
Mr.Mayhernesatinthecourtandlistenedtothedamningstorythatthelattertold.Itwasonthelinesshehadindicatedtohimintheirinterview.
Theprisonerreservedhisdefenceandwascommittedfortrial.
Mr.Mayhernewasathiswits’end.ThecaseagainstLeonardVolewasblackbeyondwords.EventhefamousKCwhowasengagedforthedefenceheldoutlittlehope.
“IfwecanshakethatAustrianwoman’stestimony,wemightdosomething,”hesaiddubiously.“Butit’sabadbusiness.”
Mr.Mayhernehadconcentratedhisenergiesononesinglepoint.AssumingLeonardVoletobespeakingthetruth,andtohaveleftthemurderedwoman’shouseatnineo’clock,whowasthemanwhomJanetheardtalkingtoMissFrenchathalfpastnine?
Theonlyrayoflightwasintheshapeofascapegracenephewwhohadinbygonedayscajoledandthreatenedhisauntoutofvarioussumsofmoney.JanetMackenzie,thesolicitorlearned,hadalwaysbeenattachedtothisyoungman,andhadneverceasedurginghisclaimsuponhermistress.ItcertainlyseemedpossiblethatitwasthisnephewwhohadbeenwithMissFrenchafterLeonardVoleleft,especiallyashewasnottobefoundinanyofhisoldhaunts.
Inallotherdirections,thelawyer’sresearcheshadbeennegativeintheirresult.NoonehadseenLeonardVoleenteringhisownhouseorleavingthatofMissFrench.NoonehadseenanyothermanenterorleavethehouseinCricklewood.Allinquiriesdrewablank.
ItwastheeveofthetrialwhenMr.Mayhernereceivedtheletterwhichwastoleadhisthoughtsinanentirelynewdirection.
Itcamebythesixo’clockpost.Anilliteratescrawl,writtenoncommonpaperandenclosedinadirtyenvelopewiththestampstuckoncrookedly.
Mr.Mayhernereaditthroughonceortwicebeforehegraspeditsmeaning.
DearMisterYourethelawyerchapwotacksfortheyoungfeller.ifyouwantthatpaintedforeignhussyshowdupforwotsheisanherpackofliesyoucometo16Shaw’sRentsStepneytonight.Itulcawstyou2hundredquidArskforMissisMogson.
Thesolicitorreadandrereadthisstrangeepistle.Itmight,ofcourse,beahoax,butwhenhethoughtitover,hebecameincreasinglyconvincedthatitwasgenuine,andalsoconvincedthatitwastheonehopefortheprisoner.TheevidenceofRomaineHeilgerdamnedhimcompletely,andthelinethedefencemeanttopursue,thelinethattheevidenceofawomanwhohadadmittedlylivedanimmorallifewasnottobetrusted,wasatbestaweakone.
Mr.Mayherne’smindwasmadeup.Itwashisdutytosavehisclientatallcosts.HemustgotoShaw’sRents.
Hehadsomedifficultyinfindingtheplace,aramshacklebuildinginanevil-smellingslum,butatlasthedidso,andoninquiryforMrs.Mogsonwassentuptoaroomonthethirdfloor.Onthisdoorheknockedand,gettingnoanswer,knockedagain.
Atthissecondknock,heheardashufflingsoundinside,andpresentlythedoorwasopenedcautiouslyhalfaninchandabentfigurepeeredout.
Suddenlythewoman,foritwasawoman,gaveachuckleandopenedthedoorwider.
“Soit’syou,dearie,”shesaid,inawheezyvoice.“Nobodywithyou,isthere?Noplayingtricks?That’sright.Youcancomein—youcancomein.”
Withsomereluctancethelawyersteppedacrossthethresholdintothesmalldirtyroom,withitsflickeringgasjet.Therewasanuntidyunmadebedinacorner,aplaindealtableandtworicketychairs.ForthefirsttimeMr.Mayhernehadafullviewofthetenantofthisunsavouryapartment.Shewasawomanofmiddleage,bentinfigure,withamassofuntidygreyhairandascarfwoundtightlyroundherface.Shesawhimlookingatthisandlaughedagain,thesamecurioustonelesschuckle.
“WonderingwhyIhidemybeauty,dear?He,he,he.Afraiditmaytemptyou,eh?Butyoushallsee—youshallsee.”
Shedrewasidethescarfandthelawyerrecoiledinvoluntarilybeforethealmostformlessblurofscarlet.Shereplacedthescarfagain.
“Soyou’renotwantingtokissme,dearie?He,he,Idon’twonder.AndyetIwasaprettygirlonce—notsolongagoasyou’dthink,either.Vitriol,dearie,vitriol—that’swhatdidthat.Ah!butI’llbeevenwith’em—”
SheburstintoahideoustorrentofprofanitywhichMr.Mayhernetriedvainlytoquell.Shefellsilentatlast,herhandsclenchingandunclenchingthemselvesnervously.
“Enoughofthat,”saidthelawyersternly.“I’vecomeherebecauseIhavereasontobelieveyoucangivemeinformationwhichwillclearmyclient,LeonardVole.Isthatthecase?”
Hereyeleeredathimcunningly.
“Whataboutthemoney,dearie?”shewheezed.“Twohundredquid,youremember.”
“Itisyourdutytogiveevidence,andyoucanbecalledupontodoso.”
“Thatwon’tdo,dearie.I’manoldwoman,andIknownothing.Butyougivemetwohundredquid,andperhapsIcangiveyouahintortwo.See?”
“Whatkindofhint?”
“Whatshouldyousaytoaletter?Aletterfromher.NevermindnowhowIgotholdofit.That’smybusiness.It’lldothetrick.ButIwantmytwohundredquid.”
Mr.Mayhernelookedathercoldly,andmadeuphismind.
“I’llgiveyoutenpounds,nothingmore.Andonlythatifthisletteriswhatyousayitis.”
“Tenpounds?”Shescreamedandravedathim.
“Twenty,”saidMr.Mayherne,“andthat’smylastword.”
Heroseasiftogo.Then,watchingherclosely,hedrewoutapocketbook,andcountedouttwentyone-poundnotes.
“Yousee,”hesaid.“ThatisallIhavewithme.Youcantakeitorleaveit.”
Butalreadyheknewthatthesightofthemoneywastoomuchforher.Shecursedandravedimpotently,butatlastshegavein.Goingovertothebed,shedrewsomethingoutfrombeneaththetatteredmattress.
“Hereyouare,damnyou!”shesnarled.“It’sthetoponeyouwant.”
Itwasabundleoflettersthatshethrewtohim,andMr.Mayherneuntiedthemandscannedtheminhisusualcool,methodicalmanner.Thewoman,watchinghimeagerly,couldgainnocluefromhisimpassiveface.
Hereadeachletterthrough,thenreturnedagaintothetoponeandreaditasecondtime.Thenhetiedthewholebundleupagaincarefully.
Theywereloveletters,writtenbyRomaineHeilger,andthemantheywerewrittentowasnotLeonardVole.Thetopletterwasdatedthedayofthelatter’sarrest.
“Ispoketrue,dearie,didn’tI?”whinedthewoman.“It’lldoforher,thatletter?”
Mr.Mayherneputthelettersinhispocket,thenheaskedaquestion.
“Howdidyougetholdofthiscorrespondence?”
“That’stelling,”shesaidwithaleer.“ButIknowsomethingmore.Iheardincourtwhatthathussysaid.Findoutwhereshewasattwentypastten,thetimeshesaysshewasathome.AskattheLionRoadCinema.They’llremember—afineupstandinggirllikethat—curseher!”
“Whoistheman?”askedMr.Mayherne.“There’sonlyaChristiannamehere.”
Theother’svoicegrewthickandhoarse,herhandsclenchedandunclenched.Finallysheliftedonetoherface.
“He’sthemanthatdidthistome.Manyyearsagonow.Shetookhimawayfromme—achitofagirlshewasthen.AndwhenIwentafterhim—andwentforhimtoo—hethrewthecursedstuffatme!Andshelaughed—damnher!I’vehaditinforherforyears.Followedher,Ihave,spieduponher.AndnowI’vegother!She’llsufferforthis,won’tshe,Mr.Lawyer?She’llsuffer?”
“Shewillprobablybesentencedtoatermofimprisonmentforperjury,”saidMr.Mayhernequietly.
“Shutaway—that’swhatIwant.You’regoing,areyou?Where’smymoney?Where’sthatgoodmoney?”
Withoutaword,Mr.Mayherneputdownthenotesonthetable.Then,drawingadeepbreath,heturnedandleftthesqualidroom.Lookingback,hesawtheoldwomancrooningoverthemoney.
Hewastednotime.HefoundthecinemainLionRoadeasilyenough,and,shownaphotographofRomaineHeilger,thecommissionairerecognizedheratonce.Shehadarrivedatthecinemawithamansometimeafterteno’clockontheeveninginquestion.Hehadnotnoticedherescortparticularly,butherememberedtheladywhohadspokentohimaboutthepicturethatwasshowing.Theystayeduntiltheend,aboutanhourlater.
Mr.Mayhernewassatisfied.RomaineHeilger’sevidencewasatissueofliesfrombeginningtoend.Shehadevolveditoutofherpassionatehatred.Thelawyerwonderedwhetherhewouldeverknowwhatlaybehindthathatred.WhathadLeonardVoledonetoher?Hehadseemeddumbfoundedwhenthesolicitorhadreportedherattitudetohim.Hehaddeclaredearnestlythatsuchathingwasincredible—yetithadseemedtoMr.Mayhernethatafterthefirstastonishmenthisprotestshadlackedsincerity.
Hedidknow.Mr.Mayhernewasconvincedofit.Heknew,buthadnointentionofrevealingthefact.Thesecretbetweenthosetworemainedasecret.Mr.Mayhernewonderedifsomedayheshouldcometolearnwhatitwas.
Thesolicitorglancedathiswatch.Itwaslate,buttimewaseverything.Hehailedataxiandgaveanaddress.
“SirCharlesmustknowofthisatonce,”hemurmuredtohimselfashegotin.ThetrialofLeonardVoleforthemurderofEmilyFrencharousedwidespreadinterest.Inthefirstplacetheprisonerwasyoungandgood-looking,thenhewasaccusedofaparticularlydastardlycrime,andtherewasthefurtherinterestofRomaineHeilger,theprincipalwitnessfortheprosecution.Therehadbeenpicturesofherinmanypapers,andseveralfictitiousstoriesastoheroriginandhistory.
Theproceedingsopenedquietlyenough.Varioustechnicalevidencecamefirst.ThenJanetMackenziewascalled.Shetoldsubstantiallythesamestoryasbefore.Incross-examinationcounselforthedefencesucceededingettinghertocontradictherselfonceortwiceoverheraccountofVole’sassociationwithMissFrench,heemphasizedthefactthatthoughshehadheardaman’svoiceinthesittingroomthatnight,therewasnothingtoshowthatitwasVolewhowasthere,andhemanagedtodrivehomeafeelingthatjealousyanddislikeoftheprisonerwereatthebottomofagooddealofherevidence.
Thenthenextwitnesswascalled.
“YournameisRomaineHeilger?”
“Yes.”
“YouareanAustriansubject?”
“Yes.”
“Forthelastthreeyearsyouhavelivedwiththeprisonerandpassedyourselfoffashiswife?”
JustforamomentRomaineHeilger’seyemetthoseofthemaninthedock.Herexpressionheldsomethingcuriousandunfathomable.
“Yes.”
Thequestionswenton.Wordbywordthedamningfactscameout.Onthenightinquestiontheprisonerhadtakenoutacrowbarwithhim.Hehadreturnedattwentyminutespastten,andhadconfessedtohavingkilledtheoldlady.Hiscuffshadbeenstainedwithblood,andhehadburnedtheminthekitchenstove.Hehadterrorizedherintosilencebymeansofthreats.
Asthestoryproceeded,thefeelingofthecourtwhichhad,tobeginwith,beenslightlyfavourabletotheprisoner,nowsetdeadagainsthim.Hehimselfsatwithdowncastheadandmoodyair,asthoughheknewheweredoomed.
YetitmighthavebeennotedthatherowncounselsoughttorestrainRomaine’sanimosity.Hewouldhavepreferredhertobeamoreunbiasedwitness.
Formidableandponderous,counselforthedefencearose.
Heputittoherthatherstorywasamaliciousfabricationfromstarttofinish,thatshehadnotevenbeeninherownhouseatthetimeinquestion,thatshewasinlovewithanothermanandwasdeliberatelyseekingtosendVoletohisdeathforacrimehedidnotcommit
Romainedeniedtheseallegationswithsuperbinsolence.
Thencamethesurprisingdenouement,theproductionoftheletter.Itwasreadaloudincourtinthemidstofabreathlessstillness.
Max,beloved,theFateshavedeliveredhimintoourhands!Hehasbeenarrestedformurder—but,yes,themurderofanoldlady!Leonardwhowouldnothurtafly!AtlastIshallhavemyrevenge.Thepoorchicken!Ishallsaythathecameinthatnightwithblooduponhim—thatheconfessedtome.Ishallhanghim,Max—andwhenhehangshewillknowandrealizethatitwasRomainewhosenthimtohisdeath.Andthen—happiness,Beloved!Happinessatlast!
TherewereexpertspresentreadytoswearthatthehandwritingwasthatofRomaineHeilger,buttheywerenotneeded.Confrontedwiththeletter,Romainebrokedownutterlyandconfessedeverything.LeonardVolehadreturnedtothehouseatthetimehesaid,twentypastnine.Shehadinventedthewholestorytoruinhim.
WiththecollapseofRomaineHeilger,thecasefortheCrowncollapsedalso.SirCharlescalledhisfewwitnesses,theprisonerhimselfwentintotheboxandtoldhisstoryinamanlystraightforwardmanner,unshakenbycross-examination.
Theprosecutionendeavouredtorally,butwithoutgreatsuccess.Thejudge’ssummingupwasnotwhollyfavourabletotheprisoner,butareactionhadsetinandthejuryneededlittletimetoconsidertheirverdict.
“Wefindtheprisonernotguilty.”
LeonardVolewasfree!
LittleMr.Mayhernehurriedfromhisseat.Hemustcongratulatehisclient.
Hefoundhimselfpolishinghispince-nezvigorously,andcheckedhimself.Hiswifehadtoldhimonlythenightbeforethathewasgettingahabitofit.Curiousthingshabits.Peoplethemselvesneverknewtheyhadthem.
Aninterestingcase—averyinterestingcase.Thatwoman,now,RomaineHeilger
ThecasewasdominatedforhimstillbytheexoticfigureofRomaineHeilger.ShehadseemedapalequietwomaninthehouseatPaddington,butincourtshehadflamedoutagainstthesoberbackground.Shehadflauntedherselflikeatropicalflower.
Ifheclosedhiseyeshecouldseehernow,tallandvehement,herexquisitebodybentforwardalittle,herrighthandclenchingandunclenchingitselfunconsciouslyallthetime.Curiousthings,habits.Thatgestureofherswiththehandwasherhabit,hesupposed.Yethehadseensomeoneelsedoitquitelately.Whowasitnow?Quitelately—
Hedrewinhisbreathwithagaspasitcamebacktohim.ThewomaninShaw’sRents
Hestoodstill,hisheadwhirling.Itwasimpossible—impossible—Yet,RomaineHeilgerwasanactress.
TheKCcameupbehindhimandclappedhimontheshoulder.
“Congratulatedourmanyet?He’shadanarrowshave,youknow.Comealongandseehim.”
Butthelittlelawyershookofftheother’shand.
Hewantedonethingonly—toseeRomaineHeilgerfacetoface.
Hedidnotseeheruntilsometimelater,andtheplaceoftheirmeetingisnotrelevant.
“Soyouguessed,”shesaid,whenhehadtoldherallthatwasinhismind.“Theface?Oh!thatwaseasyenough,andthelightofthatgasjetwastoobadforyoutoseethemakeup.”
“Butwhy—why—”
“WhydidIplayalonehand?”Shesmiledalittle,rememberingthelasttimeshehadusedthewords.
“Suchanelaboratecomedy!”
“Myfriend—Ihadtosavehim.Theevidenceofawomandevotedtohimwouldnothavebeenenough—youhintedasmuchyourself.ButIknowsomethingofthepsychologyofcrowds.Letmyevidencebewrungfromme,asanadmission,damningmeintheeyesofthelaw,andareactioninfavouroftheprisonerwouldimmediatelysetin.”
“Andthebundleofletters?”
“Onealone,thevitalone,mighthaveseemedlikea—whatdoyoucallit?—put-upjob.”
“ThenthemancalledMax?”
“Neverexisted,myfriend.”
“Istillthink,”saidlittleMr.Mayherne,inanaggrievedmanner,“thatwecouldhavegothimoffbythe—er—normalprocedure.”
“Idarednotriskit.Yousee,youthoughthewasinnocent—”
“Andyouknewit?Isee,”saidlittleMr.Mayherne.
“MydearMr.Mayherne,”saidRomaine,“youdonotseeatall.Iknew—hewasguilty!”
TwoTHEREDSIGNAL
“TheRedSignal”wasfirstpublishedinGrandMagazine,June1924.
No,buthowtoothrilling,”saidprettyMrs.Eversleigh,openingherlovely,butslightlyvacanteyesverywide.“Theyalwayssaywomenhaveasixthsense;doyouthinkit’strue,SirAlington?”
Thefamousalienistsmiledsardonically.Hehadanunboundedcontemptforthefoolishprettytype,suchashisfellowguest.AlingtonWestwasthesupremeauthorityonmentaldisease,andhewasfullyalivetohisownpositionandimportance.Aslightlypompousmanoffullfigure.
“Agreatdealofnonsenseistalked,Iknowthat,Mrs.Eversleigh.Whatdoesthetermmean—asixthsense?”
“Youscientificmenarealwayssosevere.Anditreallyisextraordinarythewayoneseemstopositivelyknowthingssometimes—justknowthem,feelthem,Imean—quiteuncanny—itreallyis.ClaireknowswhatImean,don’tyou,Claire?”
Sheappealedtoherhostesswithaslightpout,andatiltedshoulder.
ClaireTrentdidnotreplyatonce.Itwasasmalldinnerparty,sheandherhusband,VioletEversleigh,SirAlingtonWest,andhisnephew,DermotWest,whowasanoldfriendofJackTrent’s.JackTrenthimself,asomewhatheavyfloridman,withagood-humouredsmile,andapleasantlazylaugh,tookupthethread.
“Bunkum,Violet!Yourbestfriendiskilledinarailwayaccident.StraightawayyourememberthatyoudreamtofablackcatlastTuesday—marvelous,youfeltallalongthatsomethingwasgoingtohappen!”
“Oh,no,Jack,you’remixinguppremonitionswithintuitionnow.Come,now,SirAlington,youmustadmitthatpremonitionsarereal?”
“Toacertainextent,perhaps,”admittedthephysiciancautiously.“Butcoincidenceaccountsforagooddeal,andthenthereistheinvariabletendencytomakethemostofastoryafterwards—you’vealwaysgottotakethatintoaccount.”
“Idon’tthinkthereisanysuchthingaspremonition,”saidClaireTrent,ratherabruptly.“Orintuition,orasixthsense,oranyofthethingswetalkaboutsoglibly.Wegothroughlifelikeatrainrushingthroughthedarknesstoanunknowndestination.”
“That’shardlyagoodsimile,Mrs.Trent,”saidDermotWest,liftinghisheadforthefirsttimeandtakingpartinthediscussion.Therewasacuriousglitterinthecleargreyeyesthatshoneoutratheroddlyfromthedeeplytannedface.“You’veforgottenthesignals,yousee.”
“Thesignals?”
“Yes,greenifitsallright,andred—fordanger!”
“Red—fordanger—howthrilling!”breathedVioletEversleigh.
Dermotturnedfromherratherimpatiently.
“That’sjustawayofdescribingit,ofcourse.Dangerahead!Theredsignal!Lookout!”
Trentstaredathimcuriously.
“Youspeakasthoughitwereanactualexperience,Dermot,oldboy.”
“Soitis—hasbeen,Imean.”
“Giveustheyarn.”
“Icangiveyouoneinstance.OutinMesopotamia—justaftertheArmistice,Icameintomytentoneeveningwiththefeelingstronguponme.Danger!Lookout!Hadn’ttheghostofanotionwhatitwasallabout.Imadearoundofthecamp,fussedunnecessarily,tookallprecautionsagainstanattackbyhostileArabs.ThenIwentbacktomytent.AssoonasIgotinside,thefeelingpoppedupagainstrongerthanever.Danger!Intheend,Itookablanketoutside,rolledmyselfupinitandsleptthere.”
“Well?”
“Thenextmorning,whenIwentinsidethetent,firstthingIsawwasagreatknifearrangement—abouthalfayardlong—struckdownthroughmybunk,justwhereIwouldhavelain.Isoonfoundoutaboutit—oneoftheArabservants.Hissonhadbeenshotasaspy.Whathaveyougottosaytothat,UncleAlington,asanexampleofwhatIcalltheredsignal?”
Thespecialistsmilednoncommittally.
“Averyinterestingstory,mydearDermot.”
“Butnotonethatyouwouldacceptunreservedly?”
“Yes,yes,Ihavenodoubtthatyouhadthepremonitionofdanger,justasyoustate.ButitistheoriginofthepremonitionIdispute.Accordingtoyou,itcamefromwithout,impressedbysomeoutsidesourceuponyourmentality.Butnowadayswefindthatnearlyeverythingcomesfromwithin—fromoursubconsciousself.”
“Goodoldsubconscious,”criedJackTrent.“It’sthejack-of-all-tradesnowadays.”
SirAlingtoncontinuedwithoutheedingtheinterruption.
“IsuggestthatbysomeglanceorlookthisArabhadbetrayedhimself.Yourconsciousselfdidnotnoticeorremember,butwithyoursubconsciousselfitwasotherwise.Thesubconsciousneverforgets.Webelieve,too,thatitcanreasonanddeducequiteindependentlyofthehigherorconsciouswill.Yoursubconsciousself,then,believedthatanattemptmightbemadetoassassinateyou,andsucceededinforcingitsfearuponyourconsciousrealization.”
“Thatsoundsveryconvincing,Iadmit,”saidDermontsmiling.
“Butnotnearlysoexciting,”poutedMrs.Eversleigh.
“Itisalsopossiblethatyoumayhavebeensubconsciouslyawareofthehatefeltbythemantowardsyou.Whatintheolddaysusedtobecalledtelepathycertainlyexists,thoughtheconditionsgoverningitareverylittleunderstood.”
“Havetherebeenanyotherinstances?”askedClaireofDermot.
“Oh!yes,butnothingverypictorial—andIsupposetheycouldallbeexplainedundertheheadingofcoincidence.Irefusedaninvitationtoacountryhouseonce,fornootherreasonthanthehoistingofthe‘redsignal.’Theplacewasburntoutduringtheweek.Bytheway,UncleAlington,wheredoesthesubconsciouscomeinthere?”
“I’mafraiditdoesn’t,”saidAlington,smiling.
“Butyou’vegotanequallygoodexplanation.Come,now.Noneedtobetactfulwithnearrelatives.”
“Well,then,nephew,Iventuretosuggestthatyourefusedtheinvitationfortheordinaryreasonthatyoudidn’tmuchwanttogo,andthatafterthefire,yousuggestedtoyourselfthatyouhadhadawarningofdanger,whichexplanationyounowbelieveimplicitly.”
“It’shopeless,”laughedDermot.“It’sheadsyouwin,tailsIlose.”
“Nevermind,Mr.West,”criedVioletEversleigh.“IbelieveinyourRedSignalimplicitly.IsthetimeinMesopotamiathelasttimeyouhadit?”
“Yes—until—”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Nothing.”
Dermotsatsilent.Thewordswhichhadnearlylefthislipswere:“Yes,untiltonight.”Theyhadcomequiteunbiddentohislips,voicingathoughtwhichhadasyetnotbeenconsciouslyrealized,buthewasawareatoncethattheyweretrue.TheRedSignalwasloomingupoutofthedarkness.Danger!Dangerathand!
Butwhy?Whatconceivabledangercouldtherebehere?Hereinthehouseofhisfriends?Atleast—well,yes,therewasthatkindofdanger.HelookedatClaireTrent—herwhiteness,herslenderness,theexquisitedroopofhergoldenhead.Butthatdangerhadbeenthereforsometime—itwasneverlikelytogetacute.ForJackTrentwashisbestfriend,andmorethanhisbestfriend,themanwhohadsavedhislifeinFlandersandhadbeenrecommendedfortheVCfordoingso.Agoodfellow,Jack,oneofthebest.DamnedbadluckthatheshouldhavefalleninlovewithJack’swife.He’dgetoveritsomeday,hesupposed.Athingcouldn’tgoonhurtinglikethisforever.Onecouldstarveitout—thatwasit,starveitout.Itwasnotasthoughshewouldeverguess—andifshedidguess,therewasnodangerofhercaring.Astatue,abeautifulstatue,athingofgoldandivoryandpalepinkcoral…atoyforaking,notarealwoman….
Claire…theverythoughtofhername,utteredsilently,hurthim…Hemustgetoverit.He’dcaredforwomenbefore…“Butnotlikethis!”saidsomething.“Notlikethis.”Well,thereitwas.Nodangerthere—heartache,yes,butnotdanger.NotthedangeroftheRedSignal.Thatwasforsomethingelse.
Helookedroundthetableanditstruckhimforthefirsttimethatitwasratheranunusuallittlegathering.Hisuncle,forinstance,seldomdinedoutinthissmall,informalway.ItwasnotasthoughtheTrentswereoldfriends;untilthiseveningDermothadnotbeenawarethatheknewthematall.
Tobesure,therewasanexcuse.Arathernotoriousmediumwascomingafterdinnertogiveaseance.SirAlingtonprofessedtobemildlyinterestedinspiritualism.Yes,thatwasanexcuse,certainly.
Thewordforceditselfonhisnotice.Anexcuse.Wastheseancejustanexcusetomakethespecialist’spresenceatdinnernatural?Ifso,whatwastherealobjectofhisbeinghere?AhostofdetailscamerushingintoDermot’smind,triflesunnoticedatthetime,or,ashisunclewouldhavesaid,unnoticedbytheconsciousmind.
Thegreatphysicianhadlookedoddly,veryoddly,atClairemorethanonce.Heseemedtobewatchingher.Shewasuneasyunderhisscrutiny.Shemadelittletwitchingmotionswithherhands.Shewasnervous,horriblynervous,andwasit,coulditbe,frightened?Whywasshefrightened?
Withajerk,hecamebacktotheconversationroundthetable.Mrs.Eversleighhadgotthegreatmantalkinguponhisownsubject.
“Mydearlady,”hewassaying,“whatismadness?Icanassureyouthatthemorewestudythesubject,themoredifficultwefindittopronounce.Weallpractiseacertainamountofself-deception,andwhenwecarryitsofarastobelievewearetheCzarofRussia,weareshutuporrestrained.Butthereisalongroadbeforewereachthatpoint.Atwhatparticularspotonitshallweerectapostandsay,‘Onthissidesanity,ontheothermadness?’Itcan’tbedone,youknow.AndIwilltellyouthis,ifthemansufferingfromadelusionhappenedtoholdhistongueaboutit,inallprobabilityweshouldneverbeabletodistinguishhimfromanormalindividual.Theextraordinarysanityoftheinsaneisamostinterestingsubject.”
SirAlingtonsippedhiswinewithappreciation,andbeameduponthecompany.
“I’vealwaysheardtheyareverycunning,”remarkedMrs.Eversleigh.“Loonies,Imean.”
“Remarkablyso.Andsuppressionofone’sparticulardelusionhasadisastrouseffectveryoften.Allsuppressionsaredangerous,aspsychoanalysishastaughtus.Themanwhohasaharmlesseccentricity,andcanindulgeitassuch,seldomgoesovertheborderline.Buttheman”—hepaused—“orwomanwhoistoallappearanceperfectlynormalmaybeinrealityapoignantsourceofdangertothecommunity.”
HisgazetravelledgentlydownthetabletoClaire,andthenbackagain.Hesippedhiswineoncemore.
AhorriblefearshookDermot.Wasthatwhathemeant?Wasthatwhathewasdrivingat?Impossible,but—
“Andallfromsuppressingoneself,”sighedMrs.Eversleigh.“Iquiteseethatoneshouldbeverycarefulalwaysto—toexpressone’spersonality.Thedangersoftheotherarefrightful.”
“MydearMrs.Eversleigh,”expostulatedthephysician.“Youhavequitemisunderstoodme.Thecauseofthemischiefisinthephysicalmatterofthebrain—sometimesarisingfromsomeoutwardagencysuchasablow;sometimes,alas,congenital.”
“Heredityissosad,”sighedtheladyvaguely.“Consumptionandallthat.”
“Tuberculosisisnothereditary,”saidSirAlingtondrily.
“Isn’tit?Ialwaysthoughtitwas.Butmadnessis!Howdreadful.Whatelse?”
“Gout,”saidSirAlington,smiling.“Andcolourblindness—thelatterisratherinteresting.Itistransmitteddirecttomales,butislatentinfemales.So,whiletherearemanycolour-blindmen,forawomantobecolour-blind,itmusthavebeenlatentinhermotheraswellaspresentinherfather—ratheranunusualstateofthingstooccur.Thatiswhatiscalledsex-limitedheredity.”
“Howinteresting.Butmadnessisnotlikethat,isit?”
“Madnesscanbehandeddowntomenorwomenequally,”saidthephysiciangravely.
Clairerosesuddenly,pushingbackherchairsoabruptlythatitoverturnedandfelltotheground.Shewasverypaleandthenervousmotionsofherfingerswereveryapparent.
“You—youwillnotbelong,willyou?”shebegged.“Mrs.Thompsonwillbehereinafewminutesnow.”
“Oneglassofport,andIwillbewithyou,forone,”declaredSirAlington.“ToseethiswonderfulMrs.Thompson’sperformanceiswhatIhavecomefor,isitnot?Ha,ha!NotthatIneededanyinducement.”Hebowed.
Clairegaveafaintsmileofacknowledgmentandpassedoutoftheroom,herhandonMrs.Eversleigh’sshoulder.
“AfraidI’vebeentalkingshop,”remarkedthephysicianasheresumedhisseat.“Forgiveme,mydearfellow.”
“Notatall,”saidTrentperfunctorily.
Helookedstrainedandworried.ForthefirsttimeDermotfeltanoutsiderinthecompanyofhisfriend.Betweenthesetwowasasecretthatevenanoldfriendmightnotshare.Andyetthewholethingwasfantasticandincredible.Whathadhetogoupon?Nothingbutacoupleofglancesandawoman’snervousness.
Theylingeredovertheirwinebutaveryshorttime,andarrivedupinthedrawingroomjustasMrs.Thompsonwasannounced.
Themediumwasaplumpmiddle-agedwoman,atrociouslydressedinmagentavelvet,withaloudrathercommonvoice.
“HopeI’mnotlate,Mrs.Trent,”shesaidcheerily.“Youdidsaynineo’clock,didn’tyou?”
“Youarequitepunctual,Mrs.Thompson,”saidClaireinhersweet,slighthuskyvoice.“Thisisourlittlecircle.”
Nofurtherintroductionsweremade,aswasevidentlythecustom.Themediumsweptthemallwithashrewd,penetratingeye.
“Ihopeweshallgetsomegoodresults,”sheremarkedbriskly.“Ican’ttellyouhowIhateitwhenIgooutandIcan’tgivesatisfaction,sotospeak.Itjustmakesmemad.ButIthinkShiromako(myJapanesecontrol,youknow)willbeabletogetthroughallrighttonight.I’mfeelingeversofit,andIrefusedthewelshrabbit,fondoftoastedcheesethoughIam.”
Dermotlistened,halfamused,halfdisgusted.Howprosaicthewholethingwas!Andyet,washenotjudgingfoolishly?Everything,afterall,wasnatural—thepowersclaimedbymediumswerenaturalpowers,asyetimperfectlyunderstood.Agreatsurgeonmightbewaryofindigestionontheeveofadelicateoperation.WhynotMrs.Thompson?
Chairswerearrangedinacircle,lightssothattheycouldconvenientlyberaisedorlowered.Dermotnoticedthattherewasnoquestionoftests,orofSirAlingtonsatisfyinghimselfastotheconditionsoftheseance.No,thisbusinessofMrs.Thompsonwasonlyablind.SirAlingtonwashereforquiteanotherpurpose.Claire’smother,Dermotremembered,haddiedabroad.Therehadbeensomemysteryabouther…Hereditary….
Withajerkheforcedhismindbacktothesurroundingsofthemoment.
Everyonetooktheirplaces,andthelightswereturnedout,allbutasmallred-shadedoneonafartable.
Forawhilenothingwasheardbutthelowevenbreathingofthemedium.Graduallyitgrewmoreandmorestertorous.Then,withasuddennessthatmadeDermotjump,aloudrapcamefromthefarendoftheroom.Itwasrepeatedfromtheotherside.Thenaperfectcrescendoofrapswasheard.Theydiedaway,andasuddenhighpealofmockinglaughterrangthroughtheroom.Thensilence,brokenbyavoiceutterlyunlikethatofMrs.Thompson,ahigh-pitchedquaintlyinflectedvoice.
“Iamhere,gentlemen,”itsaid.“Yess,Iamhere.Youwishtoaskmethings?”
“Whoareyou?Shiromako?”
“Yess.IShiromako.Ipassoverlongtimeago.Iwork.Iveryhappy.”
FurtherdetailsofShiromako’slifefollowed.Itwasallveryflatanduninteresting,andDermothadhearditoftenbefore.Everyonewashappy,veryhappy.Messagesweregivenfromvaguelydescribedrelatives,thedescriptionbeingsolooselywordedastofitalmostanycontingency.Anelderlylady,themotherofsomeonepresent,heldthefloorforsometime,impartingcopybookmaximswithanairofrefreshingnoveltyhardlyborneoutbyhersubjectmatter.
“Someoneelsewanttogetthroughnow,”announcedShiromako.“Gotaveryimportantmessageforoneofthegentlemen.”
Therewasapause,andthenanewvoicespoke,prefacingitsremarkwithanevildemoniacalchuckle.
“Ha,ha!Ha,ha,ha!Betternotgohome.Betternotgohome.Takemyadvice.”
“Whoareyouspeakingto?”askedTrent.
“Oneofyouthree.Ishouldn’tgohomeifIwerehim.Danger!Blood!Notverymuchblood—quiteenough.No,don’tgohome.”Thevoicegrewfainter.“Don’tgohome!”
Itdiedawaycompletely.Dermotfelthisbloodtingling.Hewasconvincedthatthewarningwasmeantforhim.Somehoworother,therewasdangerabroadtonight.
Therewasasighfromthemedium,andthenagroan.Shewascominground.Thelightswereturnedon,andpresentlyshesatupright,hereyesblinkingalittle.
“Gooffwell,mydear?Ihopeso.”
“Verygoodindeed,thankyou,Mrs.Thompson.”
“Shiromako,Isuppose?”
“Yes,andothers.”
Mrs.Thompsonyawned.
“I’mdeadbeat.Absolutelydownandout.Doesfairlytakeitoutofyou.Well,I’mgladitwasasuccess.Iwasabitafraiditmightn’tbe—afraidsomethingdisagreeablemighthappen.There’saqueerfeelaboutthisroomtonight.”
Sheglancedovereachampleshoulderinturn,andthenshruggedthemuncomfortably.
“Idon’tlikeit,”shesaid.“Anysuddendeathsamonganyofyoupeoplelately?”
“Whatdoyoumean—amongus?”
“Nearrelatives—dearfriends?No?Well,ifIwantedtobemelodramatic,I’dsaytherewasdeathintheairtonight.There,it’sonlymynonsense.Good-bye,Mrs.Trent.I’mgladyou’vebeensatisfied.”
Mrs.Thompsoninhermagentavelvetgownwentout.
“Ihopeyou’vebeeninterested,SirAlington,”murmuredClaire.
“Amostinterestingevening,mydearlady.Manythanksfortheopportunity.Letmewishyougoodnight.Youareallgoingtoadance,areyounot?”
“Won’tyoucomewithus?”
“No,no.Imakeitaruletobeinbedbyhalfpasteleven.Goodnight.Goodnight,Mrs.Eversleigh.Ah!Dermot,Iratherwanttohaveawordwithyou.Canyoucomewithmenow?YoucanrejointheothersattheGraftonGalleries.”
“Certainly,uncle.I’llmeetyoutherethen,Trent.”
VeryfewwordswereexchangedbetweenuncleandnephewduringtheshortdrivetoHarleyStreet.SirAlingtonmadeasemi-apologyfordraggingDermotaway,andassuredhimthathewouldonlydetainhimafewminutes.
“ShallIkeepthecarforyou,myboy?”heasked,astheyalighted.
“Oh,don’tbother,uncle.I’llpickupataxi.”
“Verygood.Idon’tliketokeepCharlsonuplaterthanIcanhelp.Goodnight,Charlson.NowwherethedevildidIputmykey?”
ThecarglidedawayasSirAlingtonstoodonthestepsvainlysearchinghispockets.
“Musthaveleftitinmyothercoat,”hesaidatlength.“Ringthebell,willyou?Johnsonisstillup,Idaresay.”
TheimperturbableJohnsondidindeedopenthedoorwithinsixtyseconds.
“Mislaidmykey,Johnson,”explainedSirAlington.“Bringacoupleofwhiskiesandsodasintothelibrary,willyou?”
“Verygood,SirAlington.”
Thephysicianstrodeonintothelibraryandturnedonthelights.HemotionedtoDermottoclosethedoorbehindhimafterentering.
“Iwon’tkeepyoulong,Dermot,butthere’sjustsomethingIwanttosaytoyou.Isitmyfancy,orhaveyouacertain—tendresse,shallwesay,forMrs.JackTrent?”
ThebloodrushedtoDermot’sface.
“JackTrentismybestfriend.”
“Pardonme,butthatishardlyansweringmyquestion.Idaresaythatyouconsidermyviewsondivorceandsuchmattershighlypuritanical,butImustremindyouthatyouaremyonlynearrelativeandthatyouaremyheir.”
“Thereisnoquestionofadivorce,”saidDermotangrily.
“Therecertainlyisnot,forareasonwhichIunderstandperhapsbetterthanyoudo.ThatparticularreasonIcannotgiveyounow,butIdowishtowarnyou.ClaireTrentisnotforyou.”
Theyoungmanfacedhisuncle’sgazesteadily.
“Idounderstand—andpermitmetosay,perhapsbetterthanyouthink.Iknowthereasonforyourpresenceatdinnertonight.”
“Eh?”Thephysicianwasclearlystartled.“Howdidyouknowthat?”
“Callitaguess,sir.Iamright,amInot,whenIsaythatyouwerethereinyour—professionalcapacity.”
SirAlingtonstrodeupanddown.
“Youarequiteright,Dermot.Icouldnot,ofcourse,havetoldyousomyself,thoughIamafraiditwillsoonbecommonproperty.”
Dermot’sheartcontracted.
“Youmeanthatyouhave—madeupyourmind?”
“Yes,thereisinsanityinthefamily—onthemother’sside.Asadcase—averysadcase.”
“Ican’tbelieveit,sir.”
“Idaresaynot.Tothelaymantherearefewifanysignsapparent.”
“Andtotheexpert?”
“Theevidenceisconclusive.Insuchacase,thepatientmustbeplacedunderrestraintassoonaspossible.”
“MyGod!”breathedDermot.“Butyoucan’tshutanyoneupfornothingatall.”
“MydearDermot!Casesareonlyplacedunderrestraintwhentheirbeingatlargewouldresultindangertothecommunity.
“Verygravedanger.Inallprobabilityapeculiarformofhomicidalmania.Itwassointhemother’scase.”
Dermotturnedawaywithagroan,buryinghisfaceinhishands.Claire—whiteandgoldenClaire!
“Inthecircumstances,”continuedthephysiciancomfortably,“Ifeltitincumbentonmetowarnyou.”
“Claire,”murmuredDermot.“MypoorClaire.”
“Yes,indeed,wemustallpityher.”
SuddenlyDermotraisedhishead.
“Idon’tbelieveit.”
“What?”
“IsayIdon’tbelieveit.Doctorsmakemistakes.Everyoneknowsthat.Andthey’realwayskeenontheirownspeciality.”
“MydearDermot,”criedSirAlingtonangrily.
“ItellyouIdon’tbelieveit—andanyway,evenifitisso,Idon’tcare.IloveClaire.Ifshewillcomewithme,Ishalltakeheraway—faraway—outofthereachofmeddlingphysicians.Ishallguardher,careforher,shelterherwithmylove.”
“Youwilldonothingofthesort.Areyoumad?”
Dermotlaughedscornfully.
“Youwouldsayso,Idaresay.”
“Understandme,Dermot.”SirAlington’sfacewasredwithsuppressedpassion.“Ifyoudothisthing—thisshamefulthing—itistheend.IshallwithdrawtheallowanceIamnowmakingyou,andIshallmakeanewwillleavingallIpossesstovarioushospitals.”
“Doasyoupleasewithyourdamnedmoney,”saidDermotinalowvoice.“IshallhavethewomanIlove.”
“Awomanwho—”
“Sayawordagainsther,and,byGod!I’llkillyou!”criedDermot.
Aslightclinkofglassesmadethembothswinground.Unheardbythemintheheatoftheirargument,Johnsonhadenteredwithatrayofglasses.Hisfacewastheimperturbableoneofthegoodservant,butDermotwonderedhowmuchhehadoverheard.
“That’lldo,Johnson,”saidSirAlingtoncurtly.“Youcangotobed.”
“Thankyou,sir.Goodnight,sir.”
Johnsonwithdrew.
Thetwomenlookedateachother.Themomentaryinterruptionhadcalmedthestorm.
“Uncle,”saidDermot.“Ishouldn’thavespokentoyouasIdid.Icanquiteseethatfromyourpointofviewyouareperfectlyright.ButIhavelovedClaireTrentforalongtime.ThefactthatJackTrentismybestfriendhashithertostoodinthewayofmyeverspeakingoflovetoClaireherself.Butinthesecircumstancesthatfactnolongercounts.Theideathatanymonetaryconditionscandetermeisabsurd.Ithinkwe’vebothsaidallthereistobesaid.Goodnight.”
“Dermot—”
“Itisreallynogoodarguingfurther.Goodnight,UncleAlington.I’msorry,butthereitis.”
Hewentoutquickly,shuttingthedoorbehindhim.Thehallwasindarkness.Hepassedthroughit,openedthefrontdoorandemergedintothestreet,bangingthedoorbehindhim.
AtaxihadjustdepositedafareatahousefartheralongthestreetandDermothailedit,anddrovetotheGraftonGalleries.
Inthedooroftheballroomhestoodforaminutebewildered,hisheadspinning.Theraucousjazzmusic,thesmilingwomen—itwasasthoughhehadsteppedintoanotherworld.
Hadhedreamtitall?Impossiblethatthatgrimconversationwithhisuncleshouldhavereallytakenplace.TherewasClairefloatingpast,likealilyinherwhiteandsilvergownthatfittedsheathliketoherslenderness.Shesmiledathim,herfacecalmandserene.Surelyitwasalladream.
Thedancehadstopped.Presentlyshewasnearhim,smilingupintohisface.Asinadreamheaskedhertodance.Shewasinhisarmsnow,theraucousmelodieshadbegunagain.
Hefeltherflagalittle.
“Tired?Doyouwanttostop?”
“Ifyoudon’tmind.Canwegosomewherewherewecantalk?ThereissomethingIwanttosaytoyou.”
Notadream.Hecamebacktoearthwithabump.Couldheeverhavethoughtherfacecalmandserene?Itwashauntedwithanxiety,withdread.Howmuchdidsheknow?
Hefoundaquietcorner,andtheysatdownsidebyside.
“Well,”hesaid,assumingalightnesshedidnotfeel.“Yousaidyouhadsomethingyouwantedtosaytome?”
“Yes.”Hereyeswerecastdown.Shewasplayingnervouslywiththetasselofhergown.“It’sdifficult—rather.”
“Tellme,Claire.”
“It’sjustthis.Iwantyouto—togoawayforatime.”
Hewasastonished.Whateverhehadexpected,itwasnotthis.
“Youwantmetogoaway?Why?”
“It’sbesttobehonest,isn’tit?I—Iknowthatyouarea—agentlemanandmyfriend.IwantyoutogoawaybecauseI—Ihaveletmyselfgetfondofyou.”
“Claire.”
Herwordslefthimdumb—tongue-tied.
“PleasedonotthinkthatIamconceitedenoughtofancythatyou—thatyouwouldeverbelikelytofallinlovewithme.Itisonlythat—Iamnotveryhappy—and—oh!Iwouldratheryouwentaway.”
“Claire,don’tyouknowthatIhavecared—careddamnably—eversinceImetyou?”
Sheliftedstartledeyestohisface.
“Youcared?Youhavecaredalongtime?”
“Sincethebeginning.”
“Oh!”shecried.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?Then?WhenIcouldhavecometoyou!Whytellmenowwhenit’stoolate.No,I’mmad—Idon’tknowwhatI’msaying.Icouldneverhavecometoyou.”
“Claire,whatdidyoumeanwhenyousaid‘nowthatit’stoolate’?Isit—isitbecauseofmyuncle?Whatheknows?Whathethinks?”
Shenoddeddumbly,thetearsrunningdownherface.
“Listen,Claire,you’renottobelieveallthat.You’renottothinkaboutit.Insteadyouwillcomeawaywithme.We’llgototheSouthSeas,toislandslikegreenjewels.Youwillbehappythere,andIwilllookafteryou—keepyousafeforalways.”
Hisarmswentroundher.Hedrewhertohim,felthertrembleathistouch.Thensuddenlyshewrenchedherselffree.
“Oh,no,please.Can’tyousee?Icouldn’tnow.Itwouldbeugly—ugly—ugly.AllalongI’vewantedtobegood—andnow—itwouldbeuglyaswell.”
Hehesitated,baffledbyherwords.Shelookedathimappealingly.
“Please,”shesaid.“Iwanttobegood….”
Withoutaword,Dermotgotupandlefther.Forthemomenthewastouchedandrackedbyherwordsbeyondargument.Hewentforhishatandcoat,runningintoTrentashedidso.
“Hallo,Dermot,you’reoffearly.”
“Yes,I’mnotinthemoodfordancingtonight.”
“It’sarottennight,”saidTrentgloomily.“Butyouhaven’tgotmyworries.”
DermothadasuddenpanicthatTrentmightbegoingtoconfideinhim.Notthat—anythingbutthat!
“Well,solong,”hesaidhurriedly.“I’moffhome.”
“Home,eh?Whataboutthewarningofthespirits?”
“I’llriskthat.Goodnight,Jack.”
Dermot’sflatwasnotfaraway.Hewalkedthere,feelingtheneedofthecoolnightairtocalmhisfeveredbrain.
Helethimselfinwithhiskeyandswitchedonthelightinthebedroom.
Andallatonce,forthesecondtimethatnight,thefeelingthathehaddesignatedbythetitleoftheRedSignalsurgedoverhim.SooverpoweringwasitthatforthemomentitsweptevenClairefromhismind.
Danger!Hewasindanger.Atthisverymoment,inthisveryroom,hewasindanger.
Hetriedinvaintoridiculehimselffreeofthefear.Perhapshiseffortsweresecretlyhalfhearted.Sofar,theRedSignalhadgivenhimtimelywarningwhichhadenabledhimtoavoiddisaster.Smilingalittleathisownsuperstition,hemadeacarefultouroftheflat.Itwaspossiblethatsomemalefactorhadgotinandwaslyingconcealedthere.Buthissearchrevealednothing.HismanMilson,wasaway,andtheflatwasabsolutelyempty.
Hereturnedtohisbedroomandundressedslowly,frowningtohimself.Thesenseofdangerwasacuteasever.Hewenttoadrawertogetoutahandkerchief,andsuddenlystoodstock-still.Therewasanunfamiliarlumpinthemiddleofthedrawer—somethinghard.
Hisquicknervousfingerstoreasidethehandkerchiefsandtookouttheobjectconcealedbeneaththem.Itwasarevolver.
WiththeutmostastonishmentDermotexamineditkeenly.Itwasofasomewhatunfamiliarpattern,andoneshothadbeenfiredfromitlately.Beyondthat,hecouldmakenothingofit.Someonehadplaceditinthatdrawerthatveryevening.Ithadnotbeentherewhenhedressedfordinner—hewassureofthat.
Hewasabouttoreplaceitinthedrawer,whenhewasstartledbyabellringing.Itrangagainandagain,soundingunusuallyloudinthequietnessoftheemptyflat.
Whocoulditbecomingtothefrontdooratthishour?Andonlyoneanswercametothequestion—ananswerinstinctiveandpersistent.
“Danger—danger—danger….”
Ledbysomeinstinctforwhichhedidnotaccount,Dermotswitchedoffhislight,slippedonanovercoatthatlayacrossachair,andopenedthehalldoor.
Twomenstoodoutside.BeyondthemDermotcaughtsightofablueuniform.Apoliceman!
“Mr.West?”askedtheforemostofthetwomen.
ItseemedtoDermotthatageselapsedbeforeheanswered.Inrealityitwasonlyafewsecondsbeforeherepliedinaveryfairimitationofhisman’sexpressionlessvoice:
“Mr.Westhasn’tcomeinyet.Whatdoyouwantwithhimatthistimeofnight?”
“Hasn’tcomeinyet,eh?Verywell,then,Ithinkwe’dbettercomeinandwaitforhim.”
“No,youdon’t.”
“Seehere,myman,mynameisInspectorVerallofScotlandYard,andI’vegotawarrantforthearrestofyourmaster.Youcanseeitifyoulike.”
Dermotperusedtheprofferedpaper,orpretendedtodoso,askinginadazedvoice:
“Whatfor?What’shedone?”
“Murder.SirAlingtonWestofHarleyStreet.”
Hisbraininawhirl,Dermotfellbackbeforehisredoubtablevisitors.Hewentintothesittingroomandswitchedonthelight.Theinspectorfollowedhim.
“Haveasearchround,”hedirectedtheotherman.ThenheturnedtoDermot.
“Youstayhere,myman.Noslippingofftowarnyourmaster.What’syourname,bytheway?”
“Milson,sir.”
“Whattimedoyouexpectyourmasterin,Milson?”
“Idon’tknow,sir,hewasgoingtoadance,Ibelieve.AttheGraftonGalleries.”
“Helefttherejustunderanhourago.Surehe’snotbeenbackhere?”
“Idon’tthinkso,sir.IfancyIshouldhaveheardhimcomein.”
Atthismomentthesecondmancameinfromtheadjoiningroom.Inhishandhecarriedtherevolver.Hetookitacrosstotheinspectorinsomeexcitement.Anexpressionofsatisfactionflittedacrossthelatter’sface.
“Thatsettlesit,”heremarked.“Musthaveslippedinandoutwithoutyourhearinghim.He’shookeditbynow.I’dbetterbeoff.Cawley,youstayhere,incaseheshouldcomebackagain,andyoukeepaneyeonthisfellow.Hemayknowmoreabouthismasterthanhepretends.”
Theinspectorbustledoff.DermotendeavouredtogetatthedetailsoftheaffairfromCawley,whowasquitereadytobetalkative.
“Prettyclearcase,”hevouchsafed.“Themurderwasdiscoveredalmostimmediately.Johnson,themanservant,hadonlyjustgoneuptobedwhenhefanciedheheardashot,andcamedownagain.FoundSirAlingtondead,shotthroughtheheart.Herangusupatonceandwecamealongandheardhisstory.”
“Whichmadeitaprettyclearcase?”venturedDermot.
“Absolutely.ThisyoungWestcameinwithhisuncleandtheywerequarrellingwhenJohnsonbroughtinthedrinks.Theoldboywasthreateningtomakeanewwill,andyourmasterwastalkingaboutshootinghim.Notfiveminuteslatertheshotwasheard.Oh!yes,clearenough.Sillyyoungfool.”
Clearenoughindeed.Dermot’sheartsankasherealizedtheoverwhelmingnatureoftheevidenceagainsthim.Dangerindeed—horribledanger!Andnowayoutsavethatofflight.Hesethiswitstowork.Presentlyhesuggestedmakingacupoftea.Cawleyassentedreadilyenough.Hehadalreadysearchedtheflatandknewtherewasnobackentrance.
Dermotwaspermittedtodeparttothekitchen.Oncethereheputthekettleon,andchinkedcupsandsaucersindustriously.Thenhestoleswiftlytothewindowandliftedthesash.Theflatwasonthesecondfloor,andoutsidethewindowwasasmallwireliftusedbytradesmenwhichranupanddownonitssteelcable.
LikeaflashDermotwasoutsidethewindowandswinginghimselfdownthewirerope.Itcutintohishands,makingthembleed,buthewentondesperately.
Afewminuteslaterhewasemergingcautiouslyfromthebackoftheblock.Turningthecorner,hecannonedintoafigurestandingbythesidewalk.TohisutteramazementherecognizedJackTrent.Trentwasfullyalivetotheperilsofthesituation.
“MyGod!Dermot!Quick,don’thangabouthere.”
Takinghimbythearm,heledhimdownabystreetthendownanother.Alonelytaxiwassightedandhailedandtheyjumpedin,Trentgivingthemanhisownaddress.
“Safestplaceforthemoment.Therewecandecidewhattodonexttoputthosefoolsoffthetrack.Icameroundherehopingtobeabletowarnyoubeforethepolicegothere,butIwastoolate.”
“Ididn’tevenknowthatyouhadheardofit.Jack,youdon’tbelieve—”
“Ofcoursenot,oldfellow,notforoneminute.Iknowyoufartoowell.Allthesame,it’sanastybusinessforyou.Theycameroundaskingquestions—whattimeyougottotheGraftonGalleries,whenyouleft,etc.Dermot,whocouldhavedonetheoldboyin?”
“Ican’timagine.Whoeverdiditputtherevolverinmydrawer,Isuppose.Musthavebeenwatchingusprettyclosely.”
“Thatséancebusinesswasdamnedfunny.‘Don’tgohome.’MeantforpooroldWest.Hedidgohome,andgotshot.”
“Itappliestometo,”saidDermot.“Iwenthomeandfoundaplantedrevolverandapoliceinspector.”
“Well,Ihopeitdoesn’tgetmetoo,”saidTrent.“Hereweare.”
Hepaidthetaxi,openedthedoorwithhislatchkey,andguidedDermotupthedarkstairstohisden,whichwasasmallroomonthefirstfloor.
HethrewopenthedoorandDermotwalkedin,whilstTrentswitchedonthelight,andthencametojoinhim.
“Prettysafehereforthetimebeing,”heremarked.“Nowwecangetourheadstogetheranddecidewhatisbesttobedone.”
“I’vemadeafoolofmyself,”saidDermotsuddenly.“Ioughttohavefaceditout.Iseemoreclearlynow.Thewholething’saplot.Whatthedevilareyoulaughingat?”
ForTrentwasleaningbackinhischair,shakingwithunrestrainedmirth.Therewassomethinghorribleinthesound—somethinghorrible,too,aboutthemanaltogether.Therewasacuriouslightinhiseyes.
“Adamnedcleverplot,”hegaspedout.“Dermot,myboy,you’redonefor.”
Hedrewthetelephonetowardshim.
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”askedDermot.
“RingupScotlandYard.Tell’emtheirbird’shere—safeunderlockandkey.Yes,IlockedthedoorwhenIcameinandthekey’sinmypocket.Nogoodlookingatthatotherdoorbehindme.ThatleadsintoClaire’sroom,andshealwayslocksitonherside.She’safraidofme,youknow.Beenafraidofmealongtime.ShealwaysknowswhenI’mthinkingaboutthatknife—alongsharpknife.No,youdon’t—”
Dermothadbeenabouttomakearushathim,buttheotherhadsuddenlyproducedanugly-lookingrevolver.
“That’sthesecondofthem,”chuckledTrent.“Iputthefirstoftheminyourdrawer—aftershootingoldWestwithit—Whatareyoulookingatovermyhead?Thatdoor?It’snouse,evenifClairewastoopenit—andshemighttoyou—I’dshootyoubeforeyougotthere.Notintheheart—nottokill,justwingyou,sothatyoucouldn’tgetaway.I’majollygoodshot,youknow.Isavedyourlifeonce.MorefoolI.No,no,Iwantyouhanged—yes,hanged.Itisn’tyouIwanttheknifefor.It’sClaire—prettyClaire,sowhiteandsoft.OldWestknew.That’swhathewasherefortonight,toseeifIwasmadornot.Hewantedtoshutmeup—sothatIshouldn’tgetClairewiththeknife.Iwasverycunning.Itookhislatchkeyandyourstoo.IslippedawayfromthedanceassoonasIgotthere.Isawyoucomeoutfromhishouse,andIwentin.Ishothimandcameawayatonce.ThenIwenttoyourplaceandlefttherevolver.IwasattheGraftonGalleriesagainalmostassoonasyouwere,andIputthelatchkeybackinyourcoatpocketwhenIwassayinggoodnighttoyou.Idon’tmindtellingyouallthis.There’snooneelsetohear,andwhenyou’rebeinghangedI’dlikeyoutoknowIdidit…God,howitmakesmelaugh!Whatareyouthinkingof?Whatthedevilareyoulookingat?”
“I’mthinkingofsomewordsyouquotedjustnow.You’dhavedonebetter,Trent,nottocomehome.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Lookbehindyou!”Trentspunround.InthedoorwayofthecommunicatingroomstoodClaire—andInspectorVerall..
Trentwasquick.Therevolverspokejustonce—andfounditsmark.Hefellforwardacrossthetable.Theinspectorsprangtohisside,asDermotstaredatClaireinadream.Thoughtsflashedthroughhisbraindisjointedly.Hisuncle—theirquarrel—thecolossalmisunderstanding—thedivorcelawsofEnglandwhichwouldneverfreeClairefromaninsanehusband—“wemustallpityher”—theplotbetweenherandSirAlingtonwhichthecunningofTrenthadseenthrough—hercrytohim,“Ugly—ugly—ugly!”Yes,butnow—
Theinspectorstraightenedupagain.
“Dead,”hesaidvexedly.
“Yes,”Dermotheardhimselfsaying,“hewasalwaysagoodshot….”
ThreeTHEFOURTHMAN
“TheFourthMan”wasfirstpublishedinPearson’sMagazine,December1925.
CanonParfittpantedalittle.Runningfortrainswasnotmuchofabusinessforamanofhisage.Foronethinghisfigurewasnotwhatitwasandwiththelossofhisslendersilhouettewentanincreasingtendencytobeshortofbreath.ThistendencytheCanonhimselfalwaysreferredto,withdignity,as“Myheart,youknow!”
Hesankintothecornerofthefirst-classcarriagewithasighofrelief.Thewarmthoftheheatedcarriagewasmostagreeabletohim.Outsidethesnowwasfalling.Luckytogetacornerseatonalongnightjourney.Miserablebusinessifyoudidn’t.Thereoughttobeasleeperonthistrain.
Theotherthreecornerswerealreadyoccupied,andnotingthisfactCanonParfittbecameawarethatthemaninthefarcornerwassmilingathimingentlerecognition.Hewasaclean-shavenmanwithaquizzicalfaceandhairjustturninggreyonthetemples.Hisprofessionwassoclearlythelawthatnoonecouldhavemistakenhimforanythingelseforamoment.SirGeorgeDurandwas,indeed,averyfamouslawyer.
“Well,Parfitt,”heremarkedgenially,“youhadarunforit,didn’tyou?”
“Verybadformyheart,I’mafraid,”saidtheCanon.“Quiteacoincidencemeetingyou,SirGeorge.Areyougoingfarnorth?”
“Newcastle,”saidSirGeorgelaconically.“Bytheway,”headded,“doyouknowDr.CampbellClark?”
ThemansittingonthesamesideofthecarriageastheCanoninclinedhisheadpleasantly.
“Wemetontheplatform,”continuedthelawyer.“Anothercoincidence.”
CanonParfittlookedatDr.CampbellClarkwithagooddealofinterest.Itwasanameofwhichhehadoftenheard.Dr.Clarkwasintheforefrontasaphysicianandmentalspecialist,andhislastbook,TheProblemoftheUnconsciousMind,hadbeenthemostdiscussedbookoftheyear.
CanonParfittsawasquarejaw,verysteadyblueeyesandreddishhairuntouchedbygrey,butthinningrapidly.Andhereceivedalsotheimpressionofaveryforcefulpersonality.
ByaperfectlynaturalassociationofideastheCanonlookedacrosstotheseatoppositehim,halfexpectingtoreceiveaglanceofrecognitiontherealso,butthefourthoccupantofthecarriageprovedtobeatotalstranger—aforeigner,theCanonfancied.Hewasaslightdarkman,ratherinsignificantinappearance.Huddledinabigovercoat,heappearedtobefastasleep.
“CanonParfittofBradchester?”inquiredDr.CampbellClarkinapleasantvoice.
TheCanonlookedflattered.Those“scientificsermons”ofhishadreallymadeagreathit—especiallysincethePresshadtakenthemup.Well,thatwaswhattheChurchneeded—goodmodernup-to-datestuff.
“Ihavereadyourbookwithgreatinterest,Dr.CampbellClark,”hesaid.“Thoughit’sabittechnicalhereandthereformetofollow.”
Durandbrokein.
“Areyoufortalkingorsleeping,Canon?”heasked.“I’llconfessatoncethatIsufferfrominsomniaandthatthereforeI’minfavouroftheformer.”
“Oh!certainly.Byallmeans,”saidtheCanon.“Iseldomsleeponthesenightjourneys,andthebookIhavewithmeisaverydullone.”
“Weareatanyratearepresentativegathering,”remarkedthedoctorwithasmile.“TheChurch,theLaw,theMedicalProfession.”
“Notmuchwecouldn’tgiveanopiniononbetweenus,eh?”laughedDurand.“TheChurchforthespiritualview,myselfforthepurelyworldlyandlegalview,andyou,doctor,withwidestfieldofall,rangingfromthepurelypathologicaltothesuper-psychological!Betweenusthreeweshouldcoveranygroundprettycompletely,Ifancy.”
“Notsocompletelyasyouimagine,Ithink,”saidDr.Clark.“There’sanotherpointofview,youknow,thatyouleftout,andthat’sratheranimportantone.”
“Meaning?”queriedthelawyer.
“ThepointofviewoftheManintheStreet.”
“Isthatsoimportant?Isn’ttheManintheStreetusuallywrong?”
“Oh!almostalways.Buthehasthethingthatallexpertopinionmustlack—thepersonalpointofview.Intheend,youknow,youcan’tgetawayfrompersonalrelationships.I’vefoundthatinmyprofession.Foreverypatientwhocomestomegenuinelyill,atleastfivecomewhohavenothingwhateverthematterwiththemexceptaninabilitytolivehappilywiththeinmatesofthesamehouse.Theycalliteverything—fromhousemaid’skneetowriter’scramp,butit’sallthesamething,therawsurfaceproducedbymindrubbingagainstmind.”
“Youhavealotofpatientswith‘nerves,’Isuppose,”theCanonremarkeddisparagingly.Hisownnerveswereexcellent.
“Ah!andwhatdoyoumeanbythat?”Theotherswungroundonhim,quickasaflash.“Nerves!Peopleusethatwordandlaughafterit,justasyoudid.‘Nothingthematterwithsoandso,’theysay.‘Justnerves.’But,goodGod,man,you’vegotthecruxofeverythingthere!Youcangetatamerebodilyailmentandhealit.Butatthisdayweknowverylittlemoreabouttheobscurecausesofthehundredandoneformsofnervousdiseasethanwedidin—well,thereignofQueenElizabeth!”
“Dearme,”saidCanonParfitt,alittlebewilderedbythisonslaught.“Isthatso?”
“Mindyou,it’sasignofgrace,”Dr.CampbellClarkwenton.“Intheolddaysweconsideredmanasimpleanimal,bodyandsoul—withstresslaidontheformer.”
“Body,soulandspirit,”correctedtheclergymanmildly.
“Spirit?”Thedoctorsmiledoddly.“Whatdoyouparsonsmeanexactlybyspirit?You’veneverbeenveryclearaboutit,youknow.Alldowntheagesyou’vefunkedanexactdefinition.”
TheCanonclearedhisthroatinpreparationforspeech,buttohischagrinhewasgivennoopportunity.Thedoctorwenton.
“Areweevensurethewordisspirit—mightitnotbespirits?”
“Spirits?”SirGeorgeDurandquestioned,hiseyebrowsraisedquizzically.
“Yes.”CampbellClark’sgazetransferreditselftohim.Heleanedforwardandtappedtheothermanlightlyonthebreast.“Areyousosure,”hesaidgravely,“thatthereisonlyoneoccupantofthisstructure—forthatisallitis,youknow—thisdesirableresidencetobeletfurnished—forseven,twenty-one,forty-one,seventy-one—whateveritmaybe!—years?Andintheendthetenantmoveshisthingsout—littlebylittle—andthengoesoutofthehousealtogether—anddowncomesthehouse,amassofruinanddecay.You’rethemasterofthehouse—we’lladmitthat,butaren’tyoueverconsciousofthepresenceofothers—soft-footedservants,hardlynoticed,exceptfortheworktheydo—workthatyou’renotconsciousofhavingdone?Orfriends—moodsthattakeholdofyouandmakeyou,forthetimebeing,a‘differentman’asthesayinggoes?You’rethekingofthecastle,rightenough,butbeverysurethe‘dirtyrascal’istheretoo.”
“MydearClark,”drawledthelawyer.“Youmakemepositivelyuncomfortable.Ismymindreallyabattlegroundofconflictingpersonalities?IsthatScience’slatest?”
Itwasthedoctor’sturntoshrughisshoulders.
“Yourbodyis,”hesaiddrily.“Ifthebody,whynotthemind?”
“Veryinteresting,”saidCanonParfitt.“Ah!Wonderfulscience—wonderfulscience.”
Andinwardlyhethoughttohimself:“Icangetamostinterestingsermonoutofthatidea.”
ButDr.CampbellClarkhadleantbackinhisseat,hismomentaryexcitementspent.
“Asamatteroffact,”heremarkedinadryprofessionalmanner,“itisacaseofdualpersonalitythattakesmetoNewcastletonight.Veryinterestingcase.Neuroticsubject,ofcourse.Butquitegenuine.”
“Dualpersonality,”saidSirGeorgeDurandthoughtfully.“It’snotsoveryrare,Ibelieve.There’slossofmemoryaswell,isn’tthere?IknowthemattercroppedupinacaseintheProbateCourttheotherday.”
Dr.Clarknodded.
“Theclassiccase,ofcourse,”hesaid,“wasthatofFelicieBault.Youmayrememberhearingofit?”
“Ofcourse,”saidCanonParfitt.“Irememberreadingaboutitinthepapers—butquitealongtimeago—sevenyearsatleast.”
Dr.CampbellClarknodded.
“ThatgirlbecameoneofthemostfamousfiguresinFrance.Scientistsfromallovertheworldcametoseeher.Shehadnolessthanfourdistinctpersonalities.TheywereknownasFelicie1,Felicie2,Felicie3,etc.”
“Wasn’ttheresomesuggestionofdeliberatetrickery?”askedSirGeorgealertly.
“ThepersonalitiesofFelicie3andFelicie4werealittleopentodoubt,”admittedthedoctor.“Butthemainfactsremain.FelicieBaultwasaBrittanypeasantgirl.Shewasthethirdofafamilyoffive;thedaughterofadrunkenfatherandamentallydefectivemother.Inoneofhisdrinkingboutsthefatherstrangledthemotherandwas,ifIrememberrightly,transportedforlife.Feliciewasthenfiveyearsofage.SomecharitablepeopleinterestedthemselvesinthechildrenandFeliciewasbroughtupandeducatedbyanEnglishmaidenladywhohadakindofhomefordestitutechildren.ShecouldmakeverylittleofFelicie,however.Shedescribesthegirlasabnormallyslowandstupid,
Thedoctorpausedforaminute,andtheCanon,recrossinghislegs,andarranginghistravellingrugmorecloselyroundhim,wassuddenlyawarethatthemanoppositehimhadmovedveryslightly.Hiseyes,whichhadformerlybeenshut,werenowopen,andsomethinginthem,somethingmockingandindefinable,startledtheworthyCanon.Itwasasthoughthemanwerelisteningandgloatingsecretlyoverwhatheheard.
“ThereisaphotographtakenofFelicieBaultattheageofseventeen,”continuedthedoctor.“Itshowsherasaloutishpeasantgirl,heavyofbuild.ThereisnothinginthatpicturetoindicatethatshewassoontobeoneofthemostfamouspersonsinFrance.
“Fiveyearslater,whenshewas22,FelicieBaulthadaseverenervousillness,andonrecoverythestrangephenomenabegantomanifestthemselves.Thefollowingarefactsattestedtobymanyeminentscientists.ThepersonalitycalledFelicie1wasundistinguishablefromtheFelicieBaultofthelasttwenty-twoyears.FelicieIwroteFrenchbadlyandhaltingly,shespokenoforeignlanguagesandwasunabletoplaythepiano.Felicie2,onthecontrary,spokeItalianfluentlyandGermanmoderately.HerhandwritingwasquitedissimilartothatofFelicie1,andshewrotefluentandexpressiveFrench.Shecoulddiscusspoliticsandartandshewaspassionatelyfondofplayingthepiano.Felicie3hadmanypointsincommonwithFelicie2.Shewasintelligentandapparentlywelleducated,butinmoralcharactershewasatotalcontrast.Sheappeared,infact,anutterlydepravedcreature—butdepravedinaParisianandnotaprovincialway.SheknewalltheParisargot,andtheexpressionsofthechicdemimonde.Herlanguagewasfilthyandshewouldrailagainstreligionandso-called‘goodpeople’inthemostblasphemousterms.FinallytherewasFelicie4—adreamy,almosthalf-wittedcreature,distinctlypiousandprofessedlyclairvoyant,butthisfourthpersonalitywasveryunsatisfactoryandelusiveandhasbeensometimesthoughttobeadeliberatetrickeryonthepartofFelicie3—akindofjokeplayedbyheronacredulouspublic.Imaysaythat(withthepossibleexceptionofFelicie4)eachpersonalitywasdistinctandseparateandhadnoknowledgeoftheothers.Felicie2wasundoubtedlythemostpredominantandwouldlastsometimesforafortnightatatime,thenFelicie1wouldappearabruptlyforadayortwo.Afterthat,perhapsFelicie3or4,butthetwolatterseldomremainedincommandformorethanafewhours.Eachchangewasaccompaniedbysevereheadacheandheavysleep,andineachcasetherewascompletelossofmemoryoftheotherstates,thepersonalityinquestiontakinguplifewhereshehadleftit,unconsciousofthepassageoftime.”
“Remarkable,”murmuredtheCanon.“Veryremarkable.Asyetweknownexttonothingofthemarvelsoftheuniverse.”
“Weknowthattherearesomeveryastuteimpostorsinit,”remarkedthelawyerdrily.
“ThecaseofFelicieBaultwasinvestigatedbylawyersaswellasbydoctorsandscientists,”saidDr.CampbellClarkquickly.“MaitreQuimbellier,youremember,madethemostthoroughinvestigationandconfirmedtheviewsofthescientists.Andafterall,whyshoulditsurpriseussomuch?Wecomeacrossthedouble-yolkedegg,dowenot?Andthetwinbanana?Whynotthedoublesoul—inthesinglebody?”
“Thedoublesoul?”protestedtheCanon.
Dr.CampbellClarkturnedhispiercingblueeyesonhim.
“Whatelsecanwecallit?Thatistosay—ifthepersonalityisthesoul?”
“Itisagoodthingsuchastateofaffairsisonlyinthenatureofa‘freak,’”remarkedSirGeorge.“Ifthecasewerecommon,itwouldgiverisetoprettycomplications.”
“Theconditionis,ofcourse,quiteabnormal,”agreedthedoctor.“Itwasagreatpitythatalongerstudycouldnothavebeenmade,butallthatwasputanendtobyFelicie’sunexpecteddeath.”
“Therewassomethingqueeraboutthat,ifIrememberrightly,”saidthelawyerslowly.
Dr.CampbellClarknodded.
“Amostunaccountablebusiness.Thegirlwasfoundonemorningdeadinbed.Shehadclearlybeenstrangled.Buttoeveryone’sstupefactionitwaspresentlyprovedbeyonddoubtthatshehadactuallystrangledherself.Themarksonherneckwerethoseofherownfingers.Amethodofsuicidewhich,thoughnotphysicallyimpossible,musthavenecessitatedterrificmuscularstrengthandalmostsuperhumanwillpower.Whathaddriventhegirltosuchstraitshasneverbeenfoundout.Ofcoursehermentalbalancemustalwayshavebeenprecarious.Still,thereitis.ThecurtainhasbeenrungdownforeveronthemysteryofFelicieBault.”
Itwasthenthatthemaninthefarcornerlaughed.
Theotherthreemenjumpedasthoughshot.Theyhadtotallyforgottentheexistenceofthefourthamongstthem.Astheystaredtowardstheplacewherehesat,stillhuddledinhisovercoat,helaughedagain.
“Youmustexcuseme,gentlemen,”hesaid,inperfectEnglishthathad,nevertheless,aforeignflavour.
Hesatup,displayingapalefacewithasmalljet-blackmoustache.
“Yes,youmustexcuseme,”hesaid,withamockbow.“Butreally!inscience,isthelastwordeversaid?”
“Youknowsomethingofthecasewehavebeendiscussing?”askedthedoctorcourteously.
“Ofthecase?No.ButIknewher.”
“FelicieBault?”
“Yes.AndAnnetteRavelalso.YouhavenotheardofAnnetteRavel,Isee?Andyetthestoryoftheoneisthestoryoftheother.Believeme,youknownothingofFelicieBaultifyoudonotalsoknowthehistoryofAnnetteRavel.”
Hedrewouthiswatchandlookedatit.
“Justhalfanhourbeforethenextstop.Ihavetimetotellyouthestory—thatis,ifyoucaretohearit?”
“Pleasetellittous,”saidthedoctorquietly.
“Delighted,”saidtheCanon.“Delighted.”
SirGeorgeDurandmerelycomposedhimselfinanattitudeofkeenattention.
“Myname,gentlemen,”begantheirstrangetravellingcompanion,“isRaoulLetardeau.YouhavespokenjustnowofanEnglishlady,MissSlater,whointerestedherselfinworksofcharity.IwasborninthatBritanyfishingvillageandwhenmyparentswerebothkilledinarailwayaccidentitwasMissSlaterwhocametotherescueandsavedmefromtheequivalentofyourEnglishworkhouse.Thereweresometwentychildrenunderhercare,girlsandboys.AmongstthesechildrenwereFelicieBaultandAnnetteRavel.IfIcannotmakeyouunderstandthepersonalityofAnnette,gentlemen,youwillunderstandnothing.Shewasthechildofwhatyoucalla‘filledejoie’whohaddiedofconsumptionabandonedbyherlover.Themotherhadbeenadancer,andAnnette,too,hadthedesiretodance.WhenIsawherfirstshewaselevenyearsold,alittleshrimpofathingwitheyesthatalternatelymockedandpromised—alittlecreatureallfireandlife.Andatonce—yes,atonce—shemademeherslave.Itwas‘Raoul,dothisforme.’‘Raoul,dothatforme.’Andme,Iobeyed.AlreadyIworshippedher,andsheknewit.
“Wewouldgodowntotheshoretogether,wethree—forFeliciewouldcomewithus.AndthereAnnettewouldpulloffhershoesandstockingsanddanceonthesand.Andthenwhenshesankdownbreathless,shewouldtellusofwhatshemeanttodoandtobe.
“‘Seeyou,Ishallbefamous.Yes,exceedinglyfamous.Iwillhavehundredsandthousandsofsilkstockings—thefinestsilk.AndIshallliveinanexquisiteapartment.Allmyloversshallbeyoungandhandsomeaswellasbeingrich.AndwhenIdanceallParisshallcometoseeme.Theywillyellandcallandshoutandgomadovermydancing.AndinthewintersIshallnotdance.Ishallgosouthtothesunlight.Therearevillastherewithorangetrees.Ishallhaveoneofthem.Ishalllieinthesunonsilkcushions,eatingoranges.Asforyou,Raoul,Iwillneverforgetyou,howeverrichandfamousIshallbe.Iwillprotectyouandadvanceyourcareer.Feliciehereshallbemymaid—no,herhandsaretooclumsy.Lookatthem,howlargeandcoarsetheyare.’
“Feliciewouldgrowangryatthat.AndthenAnnettewouldgoonteasingher.
“‘Sheissoladylike,Felicie—soelegant,sorefined.Sheisaprincessindisguise—ha,ha.’
“‘Myfatherandmotherweremarried,whichismorethanyourswere,’Feliciewouldgrowloutspitefully.
“‘Yes,andyourfatherkilledyourmother.Aprettything,tobeamurderer’sdaughter.’
“‘Yourfatherleftyourmothertorot,’Feliciewouldrejoin.
“‘Ah!yes.’Annettebecamethoughtful.‘PauvreMaman.Onemustkeepstrongandwell.Itiseverythingtokeepstrongandwell.’
“‘Iamasstrongasahorse,’Felicieboasted.
“Andindeedshewas.ShehadtwicethestrengthofanyothergirlintheHome.Andshewasneverill.
“Butshewasstupid,youcomprehend,stupidlikeabrutebeast.IoftenwonderedwhyshefollowedAnnetteroundasshedid.Itwas,withher,akindoffascination.Sometimes,Ithink,sheactuallyhatedAnnette,andindeedAnnettewasnotkindtoher.Shejeeredatherslownessandstupidity,andbaitedherinfrontoftheothers.IhaveseenFeliciegrowquitewhitewithrage.SometimesIhavethoughtthatshewouldfastenherfingersroundAnnette’sneckandchokethelifeoutofher.Shewasnotnimble-wittedenoughtoreplytoAnnette’staunts,butshedidlearnintimetomakeoneretortwhichneverfailed.Thatwasareferencetoherownhealthandstrength.Shehadlearned(whatIhadalwaysknown)thatAnnetteenviedherherstrongphysique,andshestruckinstinctivelyattheweakspotinherenemy’sarmour.
“OnedayAnnettecametomeingreatglee.
“‘Raoul,’shesaid.‘WeshallhavefuntodaywiththatstupidFelicie.Weshalldieoflaughing.’
“‘Whatareyougoingtodo?’
“‘Comebehindthelittleshed,andIwilltellyou.’
“ItseemedthatAnnettehadgotholdofsomebook.Partofitshedidnotunderstand,andindeedthewholethingwasmuchoverherhead.Itwasanearlyworkonhypnotism.
“‘Abrightobject,theysay.Thebrassknobofmybed,ittwirlsround.ImadeFelicielookatitlastnight.‘Lookatitsteadily,’Isaid.‘Donottakeyoureyesoffit.’AndthenItwirledit.Raoul,Iwasfrightened.Hereyeslookedsoqueer—soqueer.‘Felicie,youwilldowhatIsayalways,’Isaid.‘Iwilldowhatyousayalways,Annette,’sheanswered.Andthen—andthen—Isaid:‘Tomorrowyouwillbringatallowcandleoutintotheplaygroundattwelveo’clockandstarttoeatit.Andifanyoneasksyou,youwillsaythatisitthebestgaletteyouevertasted.Oh!Raoul,thinkofit!’
“‘Butshe’llneverdosuchathing,’Iobjected.
“‘Thebooksaysso.NotthatIcanquitebelieveit—but,oh!Raoul,ifthebookisalltrue,howweshallamuseourselves!’
“I,too,thoughttheideaveryfunny.Wepassedwordroundtothecomradesandattwelveo’clockwewereallintheplayground.Punctualtotheminute,outcameFeliciewithastumpofcandleinherhand.Willyoubelieveme,Messieurs,shebegansolemnlytonibbleatit?Wewereallinhysterics!Everynowandthenoneorotherofthechildrenwouldgouptoherandsaysolemnly:‘Itisgood,whatyoueatthere,eh,Felicie?’Andshewouldanswer:‘But,yes,itisthebestgaletteIevertasted.’Andthenwewouldshriekwithlaughter.WelaughedatlastsoloudthatthenoiseseemedtowakeupFelicietoarealizationofwhatshewasdoing.Sheblinkedhereyesinapuzzledway,lookedatthecandle,thenatus.Shepassedherhandoverherforehead.
“‘ButwhatisitthatIdohere?’shemuttered.
“‘Youareeatingacandle,’wescreamed.
“‘Imadeyoudoit.Imadeyoudoit,’criedAnnette,dancingabout.
“Feliciestaredforamoment.ThenshewentslowlyuptoAnnette.
“‘Soitisyou—itisyouwhohavemademeridiculous?Iseemtoremember.Ah!Iwillkillyouforthis.’
“Shespokeinaveryquiettone,butAnnetterushedsuddenlyawayandhidbehindme.
“‘Saveme,Raoul!IamafraidofFelicie.Itwasonlyajoke,Felicie.Onlyajoke.’
“‘Idonotlikethesejokes,’saidFelicie.‘Youunderstand?Ihateyou.Ihateyouall.’
“Shesuddenlyburstoutcryingandrushedaway.
“Annettewas,Ithink,scaredbytheresultofherexperiment,anddidnottrytorepeatit.Butfromthatdayon,herascendencyoverFelicieseemedtogrowstronger.
“Felicie,Inowbelieve,alwayshatedher,butneverthelessshecouldnotkeepawayfromher.SheusedtofollowAnnettearoundlikeadog.
“Soonafterthat,Messieurs,employmentwasfoundforme,andIonlycametotheHomeforoccasionalholidays.Annette’sdesiretobecomeadancerwasnottakenseriously,butshedevelopedaveryprettysingingvoiceasshegrewolderandMissSlaterconsentedtoherbeingtrainedasasinger.
“Shewasnotlazy,Annette.Sheworkedfeverishly,withoutrest.MissSlaterwasobligedtopreventherdoingtoomuch.Shespoketomeonceabouther.
“‘YouhavealwaysbeenfondofAnnette,’shesaid.‘Persuadehernottoworktoohard.ShehasalittlecoughlatelythatIdonotlike.’
“Myworktookmefarafieldsoonafterwards.IreceivedoneortwolettersfromAnnetteatfirst,butthencamesilence.ForfiveyearsafterthatIwasabroad.
“Quitebychance,whenIreturnedtoParis,myattentionwascaughtbyaposteradvertisingAnnetteRavelliwithapictureofthelady.Irecognizedheratonce.ThatnightIwenttothetheatreinquestion.AnnettesanginFrenchandItalian.Onthestageshewaswonderful.AfterwardsIwenttoherdressingroom.Shereceivedmeatonce.
“‘Why,Raoul,’shecried,stretchingoutherwhitenedhandstome.‘Thisissplendid.Wherehaveyoubeenalltheseyears?’
“Iwouldhavetoldher,butshedidnotreallywanttolisten.”
“‘Yousee,Ihaveverynearlyarrived!’
“Shewavedatriumphanthandroundtheroomfilledwithbouquets.
“‘ThegoodMissSlatermustbeproudofyoursuccess.’
“‘Thatoldone?No,indeed.Shedesignedme,youknow,fortheConservatoire.Decorousconcertsinging.Butme,Iamanartist.Itishere,onthevarietystage,thatIcanexpressmyself.’
“Justthenahandsomemiddle-agedmancamein.Hewasverydistinguished.ByhismannerIsoonsawthathewasAnnette’sprotector.Helookedsidewaysatme,andAnnetteexplained.
“‘Afriendofmyinfancy.HepassesthroughParis,seesmypictureonaposteretvoilà!’
“Themanwasthenveryaffableandcourteous.InmypresenceheproducedarubyanddiamondbraceletandclaspeditonAnnette’swrist.AsIrosetogo,shethrewmeaglanceoftriumphandawhisper.
“‘Iarrive,doInot?Yousee?Alltheworldisbeforeme.’
“ButasIlefttheroom,Iheardhercough,asharpdrycough.Iknewwhatitmeant,thatcough.Itwasthelegacyofherconsumptivemother.
“Isawhernexttwoyearslater.ShehadgoneforrefugetoMissSlater.Hercareerhadbrokendown.Shewasinastateofadvancedconsumptionforwhichthedoctorssaidnothingcouldbedone.
“Ah!IshallneverforgetherasIsawherthen!Shewaslyinginakindofshelterinthegarden.Shewaskeptoutdoorsnightandday.Hercheekswerehollowandflushed,hereyesbrightandfeverishandshecoughedrepeatedly.
“Shegreetedmewithakindofdesperationthatstartledme.
“‘Itisgoodtoseeyou,Raoul.Youknowwhattheysay—thatImaynotgetwell?Theysayitbehindmyback,youunderstand.Tometheyaresoothingandconsolatory.Butitisnottrue,Raoul,itisnottrue!Ishallnotpermitmyselftodie.Die?Withbeautifullifestretchinginfrontofme?Itisthewilltolivethatmatters.Allthegreatdoctorssaythatnowadays.Iamnotoneofthefeebleoneswholetgo.AlreadyIfeelmyselfinfinitelybetter—infinitelybetter,doyouhear?’
“Sheraisedherselfonherelbowtodriveherwordshome,thenfellback,attackedbyafitofcoughingthatrackedherthinbody.
“‘Thecough—itisnothing,’shegasped.‘Andhaemorrhagesdonotfrightenme.Ishallsurprisethedoctors.Itisthewillthatcounts.Remember,Raoul,Iamgoingtolive.’
“Itwaspitiful,youunderstand,pitiful.
“Justthen,FelicieBaultcameoutwithatray.Aglassofhotmilk.ShegaveittoAnnetteandwatchedherdrinkitwithanexpressionthatIcouldnotfathom.Therewasakindofsmugsatisfactioninit.
“Annettetoocaughtthelook.Sheflungtheglassdownangrily,sothatitsmashedtobits.
“‘Youseeher?Thatishowshealwayslooksatme.SheisgladIamgoingtodie!Yes,shegloatsoverit.Shewhoiswellandstrong.Lookather,neveraday’sillness,thatone!Andallfornothing.Whatgoodisthatgreatcarcassofherstoher?Whatcanshemakeofit?’
“Feliciestoopedandpickedupthebrokenfragmentsofglass.
“‘Idonotmindwhatshesays,’sheobservedinasingsongvoice.‘Whatdoesitmatter?Iamarespectablegirl,Iam.Asforher.ShewillbeknowingthefiresofPurgatorybeforeverylong.IamaChristian,Isaynothing.’
“‘Youhateme,’criedAnnette.‘Youhavealwayshatedme.Ah!butIcancharmyou,allthesame.IcanmakeyoudowhatIwant.Seenow,ifIaskyouto,youwouldgodownonyourkneesbeforemenowonthegrass.’
“‘Youareabsurd,’saidFelicieuneasily.
“‘But,yes,youwilldoit.Youwill.Topleaseme.Downonyourknees.Iaskitofyou,I,Annette.Downonyourknees,Felicie.’
“Whetheritwasthewonderfulpleadinginthevoice,orsomedeepermotive,Felicieobeyed.Shesankslowlytoherknees,herarmsspreadwide,herfacevacantandstupid.
“Annetteflungherheadbackandlaughed—pealuponpealoflaughter.
“‘Lookather,withherstupidface!Howridiculousshelooks.Youcangetupnow,Felicie,thankyou!Itisofnousetoscowlatme.Iamyourmistress.YouhavetodowhatIsay.’
“Shelaybackonherpillowsexhausted.Feliciepickedupthetrayandmovedslowlyaway.Onceshelookedbackoverhershoulder,andthesmoulderingresentmentinhereyesstartledme.
“IwasnottherewhenAnnettedied.Butitwasterrible,itseems.Sheclungtolife.Shefoughtagainstdeathlikeamadwoman.Againandagainshegaspedout:‘Iwillnotdie—doyouhearme?Iwillnotdie.Iwilllive—live—’
“MissSlatertoldmeallthiswhenIcametoseehersixmonthslater.
“‘MypoorRaoul,’shesaidkindly.‘Youlovedher,didyounot?’
“‘Always—always.ButofwhatusecouldIbetoher?Letusnottalkofit.Sheisdead—shesobrilliant,sofullofburninglife…’
“MissSlaterwasasympatheticwoman.Shewentontotalkofotherthings.ShewasveryworriedaboutFelicie,soshetoldme.Thegirlhadhadaqueersortofnervousbreakdown,andeversinceshehadbeenverystrangeinmanner.
“‘Youknow,’saidMissSlater,afteramomentaryhesitation,‘thatsheislearningthepiano?’
“Ididnotknowit,andwasverymuchsurprisedtohearit.Felicie—learningthepiano!Iwouldhavedeclaredthegirlwouldnotknowonenotefromanother.
“‘Shehastalent,theysay,’continuedMissSlater.‘Ican’tunderstandit.Ihavealwaysputherdownas—well,Raoul,youknowyourself,shewasalwaysastupidgirl.’
“Inodded.
“‘Sheissostrangeinhermannersometimes—Ireallydon’tknowwhattomakeofit.’
“AfewminuteslaterIenteredtheSalledeLecture.Feliciewasplayingthepiano.ShewasplayingtheairthatIhadheardAnnettesinginParis.Youunderstand,Messieurs,itgavemequiteaturn.Andthen,hearingme,shebrokeoffsuddenlyandlookedroundatme,hereyesfullofmockeryandintelligence.ForamomentIthought—Well,IwillnottellyouwhatIthought.
“‘Tiens!’shesaid.‘Soitisyou—MonsieurRaoul.’
“Icannotdescribethewayshesaidit.ToAnnetteIhadneverceasedtobeRaoul.ButFelicie,sincewehadmetasgrown-ups,alwaysaddressedmeasMonsieurRaoul.Butthewayshesaiditnowwasdifferent—asthoughtheMonsieur,slightlystressed,wassomehowveryamusing.
“‘Why,Felicie,’Istammered.‘Youlookquitedifferenttoday.’
“‘DoI?’shesaidreflectively.‘Itisodd,that.Butdonotbesosolemn,Raoul—decidedlyIshallcallyouRaoul—didwenotplaytogetheraschildren?—Lifewasmadeforlaughter.LetustalkofthepoorAnnette—shewhoisdeadandburied.IssheinPurgatory,Iwonder,orwhere?’
“Andshehummedasnatchofsong—untunefullyenough,butthewordscaughtmyattention.
“‘Felicie,’Icried.‘YouspeakItalian?’
“‘Whynot,Raoul?IamnotasstupidasIpretendtobe,perhaps.’Shelaughedatmymystification.
“‘Idon’tunderstand—’Ibegan.
“‘ButIwilltellyou.Iamaveryfineactress,thoughnoonesuspectsit.Icanplaymanyparts—andplaythemverywell.’
“ShelaughedagainandranquicklyoutoftheroombeforeIcouldstopher.
“IsawheragainbeforeIleft.Shewasasleepinanarmchair.Shewassnoringheavily.Istoodandwatchedher,fascinated,yetrepelled.Suddenlyshewokewithastart.Hereyes,dullandlifeless,metmine.
“‘MonsieurRaoul,’shemutteredmechanically.
“‘Yes,Felicie,Iamgoingnow.WillyouplaytomeagainbeforeIgo?’
“‘I?Play?Youarelaughingatme,MonsieurRaoul.’
“‘Don’tyourememberplayingtomethismorning?’
“Sheshookherhead.
“‘Iplay?Howcanapoorgirllikemeplay?’
“Shepausedforaminuteasthoughinthought,thenbeckonedmenearer.
“‘MonsieurRaoul,therearestrangethingsgoingoninthishouse!Theyplaytricksuponyou.Theyaltertheclocks.Yes,yes,IknowwhatIamsaying.Anditisallherdoing.’
“‘Whosedoing?’Iasked,startled.
“‘ThatAnnette’s.Thatwickedone’s.Whenshewasaliveshealwaystormentedme.Nowthatsheisdead,shecomesbackfromthedeadtotormentme.’
“IstaredatFelicie.Icouldseenowthatshewasinanextremityofterror,hereyesstaringfromherhead.
“‘Sheisbad,thatone.Sheisbad,Itellyou.Shewouldtakethebreadfromyourmouth,theclothesfromyourback,thesoulfromyourbody….’
“Sheclutchedmesuddenly.
“‘Iamafraid,Itellyou—afraid.Ihearhervoice—notinmyear—no,notinmyear.Here,inmyhead—’Shetappedherforehead.‘Shewilldrivemeaway—drivemeawayaltogether,andthenwhatshallIdo,whatwillbecomeofme?’
“Hervoicerosealmosttoashriek.Shehadinhereyesthelookoftheterrifiedbrutebeastatbay….
“Suddenlyshesmiled,apeasantsmile,fullofcunning,withsomethinginitthatmademeshiver.
“‘Ifitshouldcometoit,MonsieurRaoul,Iamverystrongwithmyhands—verystrongwithmyhands.’
“Ihadnevernoticedherhandsparticularlybefore.Ilookedatthemnowandshudderedinspiteofmyself.Squatbrutalfingers,andasFeliciehadsaid,terriblystrong…Icannotexplaintoyouthenauseathatsweptoverme.Withhandssuchastheseherfathermusthavestrangledhermother….
“ThatwasthelasttimeIeversawFelicieBault.ImmediatelyafterwardsIwentabroad—toSouthAmerica.Ireturnedfromtheretwoyearsafterherdeath.SomethingIhadreadinthenewspapersofherlifeandsuddendeath.Ihaveheardfullerdetailstonight—fromyou—gentlemen!Felicie3andFelicie4—Iwonder?Shewasagoodactress,youknow!”
Thetrainsuddenlyslackenedspeed.Themaninthecornersaterectandbuttonedhisovercoatmoreclosely.
“Whatisyourtheory?”askedthelawyer,leaningforward.
“Icanhardlybelieve—”beganCanonParfitt,andstopped.
Thedoctorsaidnothing.HewasgazingsteadilyatRaoulLepardeau.
“Theclothesfromyourback,thesoulfromyourbody,”quotedtheFrenchmanlightly.Hestoodup.“Isaytoyou,Messieurs,thatthehistoryofFelicieBaultisthehistoryofAnnetteRavel.Youdidnotknowher,gentlemen.Idid.Shewasveryfondoflife….”
Hishandonthedoor,readytospringout,heturnedsuddenlyandbendingdowntappedCanonParfittonthechest.
“M.ledocteuroverthere,hesaidjustnow,thatallthis”—hishandsmotetheCanon’sstomach,andtheCanonwinced—“wasonlyaresidence.Tellme,ifyoufindaburglarinyourhousewhatdoyoudo?Shoothim,doyounot?”
“No,”criedtheCanon.“No,indeed—Imean—notinthiscountry.”
Buthespokethelastwordstoemptyair.Thecarriagedoorbanged.
Theclergyman,thelawyerandthedoctorwerealone.Thefourthcornerwasvacant.
FourS.O.S.
“S.O.S.”wasfirstpublishedinGrandMagazine,February1926.
Ah!”saidMr.Dinsmeadappreciatively.
Hesteppedbackandsurveyedtheroundtablewithapproval.Thefirelightgleamedonthecoarsewhitetablecloth,theknivesandforks,andtheothertableappointments.
“Is—iseverythingready?”askedMrs.Dinsmeadhesitatingly.Shewasalittlefadedwoman,withacolourlessface,meagrehairscrapedbackfromherforehead,andaperpetuallynervousmanner.
“Everything’sready,”saidherhusbandwithakindofferociousgeniality.
Hewasabigman,withstoopingshoulders,andabroadredface.Hehadlittlepig’seyesthattwinkledunderhisbushybrows,andabigjowldevoidofhair.
“Lemonade?”suggestedMrs.Dinsmead,almostinawhisper.
Herhusbandshookhishead.
“Tea.Muchbetterineveryway.Lookattheweather,streamingandblowing.Anicecupofhotteaiswhat’sneededforsupperonaneveninglikethis.”
Hewinkedfacetiously,thenfelltosurveyingthetableagain.
“Agooddishofeggs,coldcornedbeef,andbreadandcheese.That’smyorderforsupper.Socomealongandgetitready,Mother.Charlotte’sinthekitchenwaitingtogiveyouahand.”
Mrs.Dinsmeadrose,carefullywindinguptheballofherknitting.
“She’sgrownaverygood-lookinggirl,”shemurmured.“Sweetlypretty,Isay.”
“Ah!”saidMr.Dinsmead.“ThemortalimageofherMa!Sogoalongwithyou,anddon’tlet’swasteanymoretime.”
Hestrolledabouttheroomhummingtohimselfforaminuteortwo.Onceheapproachedthewindowandlookedout.
“Wildweather,”hemurmuredtohimself.“Notmuchlikelihoodofourhavingvisitorstonight.”
Thenhetoolefttheroom.
AbouttenminuteslaterMrs.Dinsmeadenteredbearingadishoffriedeggs.Hertwodaughtersfollowed,bringingintherestoftheprovisions.Mr.DinsmeadandhissonJohnniebroughtuptherear.Theformerseatedhimselfattheheadofthetable.
“Andforwhatwearetoreceive,etcetera,”heremarkedhumorously.“Andblessingsonthemanwhofirstthoughtoftinnedfoods.Whatwouldwedo,Ishouldliketoknow,milesfromanywhere,ifwehadn’tatinnowandthentofallbackuponwhenthebutcherforgetshisweeklycall?”
Heproceededtocarvecornedbeefdexterously.
“Iwonderwhoeverthoughtofbuildingahouselikethis,milesfromanywhere,”saidhisdaughterMagdalenpettishly.“Weneverseeasoul.”
“No,”saidherfather.“Neverasoul.”
“Ican’tthinkwhatmadeyoutakeit,Father,”saidCharlotte.
“Can’tyou,mygirl?Well,Ihadmyreasons—Ihadmyreasons.”
Hiseyessoughthiswife’sfurtively,butshefrowned.
“Andhauntedtoo,”saidCharlotte.“Iwouldn’tsleepalonehereforanything.”
“Packofnonsense,”saidherfather.“Neverseenanything,haveyou?Comenow.”
“Notseenanythingperhaps,but—”
“Butwhat?”
Charlottedidnotreply,butsheshiveredalittle.Agreatsurgeofraincamedrivingagainstthewindowpane,andMrs.Dinsmeaddroppedaspoonwithatinkleonthetray.
“Notnervousareyou,Mother?”saidMr.Dinsmead.“It’sawildnight,that’sall.Don’tyouworry,we’resafeherebyourfireside,andnotasoulfromoutsidelikelytodisturbus.Why,itwouldbeamiracleifanyonedid.Andmiraclesdon’thappen.No,”headdedasthoughtohimself,withakindofpeculiarsatisfaction.“Miraclesdon’thappen.”
Asthewordslefthislipstherecameasuddenknockingatthedoor.Mr.Dinsmeadstayedasthoughpetrified.
“Whatever’sthat?”hemuttered.Hisjawfell.
Mrs.Dinsmeadgavealittlewhimperingcryandpulledhershawluproundher.ThecolourcameintoMagdalen’sfaceandsheleantforwardandspoketoherfather.
“Themiraclehashappened,”shesaid.“You’dbettergoandletwhoeveritisin.”
TwentyminutesearlierMortimerClevelandhadstoodinthedrivingrainandmistsurveyinghiscar.Itwasreallycursedbadluck.Twopunctureswithintenminutesofeachother,andherehewas,strandedmilesfromanywhere,inthemidstofthesebareWiltshiredownswithnightcomingon,andnoprospectofshelter.Servehimrightfortryingtotakeashortcut.Ifonlyhehadstucktothemainroad!Nowhewaslostonwhatseemedamerecarttrack,andnoideaiftherewereevenavillageanywherenear.
Helookedroundhimperplexedly,andhiseyewascaughtbyagleamoflightonthehillsideabovehim.Asecondlaterthemistobscureditoncemore,but,waitingpatiently,hepresentlygotasecondglimpseofit.Afteramoment’scogitation,heleftthecarandstruckupthesideofthehill.
Soonhewasoutofthemist,andherecognizedthelightasshiningfromthelightedwindowofasmallcottage.Here,atanyrate,wasshelter.MortimerClevelandquickenedhispace,bendinghisheadtomeetthefuriousonslaughtofwindandrainwhichseemedtobetryingitsbesttodrivehimback.
Clevelandwasinhisownwaysomethingofacelebritythoughdoubtlessthemajorityoffolkswouldhavedisplayedcompleteignoranceofhisnameandachievements.Hewasanauthorityonmentalscienceandhadwrittentwoexcellenttextbooksonthesubconscious.HewasalsoamemberofthePsychicalResearchSocietyandastudentoftheoccultinsofarasitaffectedhisownconclusionsandlineofresearch.
Hewasbynaturepeculiarlysusceptibletoatmosphere,andbydeliberatetraininghehadincreasedhisownnaturalgift.Whenhehadatlastreachedthecottageandrappedatthedoor,hewasconsciousofanexcitement,aquickeningofinterest,asthoughallhisfacultieshadsuddenlybeensharpened.
Themurmurofvoiceswithinhadbeenplainlyaudibletohim.Uponhisknocktherecameasuddensilence,thenthesoundofachairbeingpushedbackalongthefloor.Inanotherminutethedoorwasflungopenbyaboyofaboutfifteen.Clevelandlookedstraightoverhisshoulderuponthescenewithin.
ItremindedhimofaninteriorbysomeDutchMaster.Aroundtablespreadforameal,afamilypartysittingroundit,oneortwoflickeringcandlesandthefirelight’sglowoverall.Thefather,abigman,satonesideofthetable,alittlegreywomanwithafrightenedfacesatoppositehim.Facingthedoor,lookingstraightatCleveland,wasagirl.Herstartledeyeslookedstraightintohis,herhandwithacupinitwasarrestedhalfwaytoherlips.
Shewas,Clevelandsawatonce,abeautifulgirlofanextremelyuncommontype.Herhair,redgold,stoodoutroundherfacelikeamist,hereyes,veryfarapart,wereapuregrey.ShehadthemouthandchinofanearlyItalianMadonna.
Therewasamoment’sdeadsilence.ThenClevelandsteppedintotheroomandexplainedhispredicament.Hebroughthistritestorytoaclose,andtherewasanotherpausehardertounderstand.Atlast,asthoughwithaneffort,thefatherrose.
“Comein,sir—Mr.Cleveland,didyousay?”
“Thatismyname,”saidMortimer,smiling.
“Ah!yes.Comein,Mr.Cleveland.Notweatherforadogoutside,isit?Comeinbythefire.Shutthedoor,can’tyou,Johnnie?Don’tstandtherehalfthenight.”
Clevelandcameforwardandsatonawoodenstoolbythefire.TheboyJohnnieshutthedoor.
“Dinsmead,that’smyname,”saidtheotherman.Hewasallgenialitynow.“ThisistheMissus,andthesearemytwodaughters,CharlotteandMagdalen.”
Forthefirsttime,Clevelandsawthefaceofthegirlwhohadbeensittingwithherbacktohim,andsawthat,inatotallydifferentway,shewasquiteasbeautifulashersister.Verydark,withafaceofmarblepallor,adelicateaquilinenose,andagravemouth.Itwasakindoffrozenbeauty,austereandalmostforbidding.Sheacknowledgedherfather’sintroductionbybendingherhead,andshelookedathimwithanintentgazethatwassearchingincharacter.Itwasasthoughsheweresumminghimup,weighinghiminthebalanceofheryoungjudgement.
“Adropofsomethingtodrink,eh,Mr.Cleveland?”
“Thankyou,”saidMortimer.“Acupofteawillmeetthecaseadmirably.”
Mr.Dinsmeadhesitatedaminute,thenhepickedupthefivecups,oneafteranother,fromthetableandemptiedthemintoaslopbowl.
“Thistea’scold,”hesaidbrusquely.“Makeussomemorewillyou,Mother?”
Mrs.Dinsmeadgotupquicklyandhurriedoffwiththeteapot.Mortimerhadanideathatshewasgladtogetoutoftheroom.
Thefreshteasooncame,andtheunexpectedguestwaspliedwithviands.
Mr.Dinsmeadtalkedandtalked.Hewasexpansive,genial,loquacious.Hetoldthestrangerallabouthimself.He’dlatelyretiredfromthebuildingtrade—yes,madequiteagoodthingofit.HeandtheMissusthoughtthey’dlikeabitofcountryair—neverlivedinthecountrybefore.Wrongtimeofyeartochoose,ofcourse,OctoberandNovember,buttheydidn’twanttowait.“Life’suncertain,youknow,sir.”Sotheyhadtakenthiscottage.Eightmilesfromanywhere,andnineteenmilesfromanythingyoucouldcallatown.No,theydidn’tcomplain.Thegirlsfounditabitdull,butheandmotherenjoyedthequiet.
Sohetalkedon,leavingMortimeralmosthypnotizedbytheeasyflow.Nothinghere,surely,butrathercommonplacedomesticity.Andyet,atthatfirstglimpseoftheinterior,hehaddiagnosedsomethingelse,sometension,somestrain,emanatingfromoneofthosefivepeople—hedidn’tknowwhich.Merefoolishness,hisnerveswereallawry!Theywereallstartledbyhissuddenappearance—thatwasall.
Hebroachedthequestionofanight’slodging,andwasmetwithareadyresponse.
“You’llhavetostopwithus,Mr.Cleveland.Nothingelseformilesaround.Wecangiveyouabedroom,andthoughmypyjamasmaybeabitroomy,why,they’rebetterthannothing,andyourownclotheswillbedrybymorning.”
“It’sverygoodofyou.”
“Notatall,”saidtheothergenially.“AsIsaidjustnow,onecouldn’tturnawayadogonanightlikethis.Magdalen,Charlotte,goupandseetotheroom.”
Thetwogirlslefttheroom.PresentlyMortimerheardthemmovingaboutoverhead.
“Icanquiteunderstandthattwoattractiveyoungladieslikeyourdaughtersmightfinditdullhere,”saidCleveland.
“Good-lookers,aren’tthey?”saidMr.Dinsmeadwithfatherlypride.“Notmuchliketheirmotherormyself.We’reahomelypair,butmuchattachedtoeachother.I’lltellyouthat,Mr.Cleveland.Eh,Maggie,isn’tthatso?”
Mrs.Dinsmeadsmiledprimly.Shehadstartedknittingagain.Theneedlesclickedbusily.Shewasafastknitter.
Presentlytheroomwasannouncedready,andMortimer,expressingthanksoncemore,declaredhisintentionofturningin.
“Didyouputahot-waterbottleinthebed?”demandedMrs.Dinsmead,suddenlymindfulofherhousepride.
“Yes,Mother,two.”
“That’sright,”saidDinsmead.“Goupwithhim,girls,andseethatthere’snothingelsehewants.”
Magdalenwentovertothewindowandsawthatthefasteningsweresecure.Charlottecastafinaleyeoverthewashstandappointments.Thentheybothlingeredbythedoor.
“Goodnight,Mr.Cleveland.Youaresurethereiseverything?”
“Yes,thankyou,MissMagdalen.Iamashamedtohavegivenyoubothsomuchtrouble.Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Theywentout,shuttingthedoorbehindthem.MortimerClevelandwasalone.Heundressedslowlyandthoughtfully.WhenhehaddonnedMr.Dinsmead’spinkpyjamashegathereduphisownwetclothesandputthemoutsidethedoorashishosthadbadehim.FromdownstairshecouldheartherumbleofDinsmead’svoice.
Whatatalkerthemanwas!Altogetheranoddpersonality—butindeedtherewassomethingoddaboutthewholefamily,orwasithisimagination?
Hewentslowlybackintohisroomandshutthedoor.Hestoodbythebedlostinthought.Andthenhestarted—
Themahoganytablebythebedwassmotheredindust.Writteninthedustwerethreeletters,clearlyvisible,SOS.
Mortimerstaredasifhecouldhardlybelievehiseyes.Itwasconfirmationofallhisvaguesurmisesandforebodings.Hewasright,then.Somethingwaswronginthishouse.
SOS.Acallforhelp.Butwhosefingerhadwrittenitinthedust?Magdalen’sorCharlotte’s?Theyhadbothstoodthere,heremembered,foramomentortwo,beforegoingoutoftheroom.Whosehandhadsecretlydroppedtothetableandtracedoutthosethreeletters?
Thefacesofthetwogirlscameupbeforehim.Magdalen’s,darkandaloof,andCharlotte’s,ashehadseenitfirst,wide-eyed,startled,withanunfathomablesomethinginherglance….
Hewentagaintothedoorandopenedit.TheboomofMr.Dinsmead’svoicewasnolongertobeheard.Thehousewassilent.
Hethoughttohimself.
“Icandonothingtonight.Tomorrow—well.Weshallsee.”
Clevelandwokeearly.Hewentdownthroughthelivingroom,andoutintothegarden.Themorningwasfreshandbeautifulaftertherain.Someoneelsewasupearly,too.Atthebottomofthegarden,CharlottewasleaningonthefencestaringoutovertheDowns.Hispulsequickenedalittleashewentdowntojoinher.AllalonghehadbeensecretlyconvincedthatitwasCharlottewhohadwrittenthemessage.Ashecameuptoher,sheturnedandwishedhim“Goodmorning.”Hereyesweredirectandchildlike,withnohintofasecretunderstandinginthem.
“Averygoodmorning,”saidMortimer,smiling.“Theweatherthismorningisacontrasttolastnight.”
“Itisindeed.”
Mortimerbrokeoffatwigfromatreenearby.Withithebeganidlytodrawonthesmooth,sandypatchathisfeet.HetracedanS,thenanO,thenanS,watchingthegirlnarrowlyashedidso.Butagainhecoulddetectnogleamofcomprehension.
“Doyouknowwhattheselettersrepresent?”hesaidabruptly.
Charlottefrownedalittle.“Aren’ttheywhatboats—liners,sendoutwhentheyareindistress?”sheasked.
Mortimernodded.“Someonewrotethatonthetablebymybedlastnight,”hesaidquietly.“Ithoughtperhapsyoumighthavedoneso.”
Shelookedathiminwide-eyedastonishment.
“I?Oh,no.”
Hewaswrongthen.Asharppangofdisappointmentshotthroughhim.Hehadbeensosure—sosure.Itwasnotoftenthathisintuitionsledhimastray.
“Youarequitecertain?”hepersisted
“Oh,yes.”
Theyturnedandwentslowlytogethertowardthehouse.Charlotteseemedpreoccupiedaboutsomething.Sherepliedatrandomtothefewobservationshemade.Suddenlysheburstoutinalow,hurriedvoice:
“It—it’soddyouraskingaboutthoseletters,SOS.Ididn’twritethem,ofcourse,but—Isoeasilymighthavedone.”
Hestoppedandlookedather,andshewentonquickly:
“Itsoundssilly,Iknow,butIhavebeensofrightened,sodreadfullyfrightened,andwhenyoucameinlastnight,itseemedlikean—ananswertosomething.”
“Whatareyoufrightenedof?”heaskedquickly.
“Idon’tknow.”
“Youdon’tknow.”
“Ithink—it’sthehouse.Eversincewecamehereithasbeengrowingandgrowing.Everyoneseemsdifferentsomehow.Father,Mother,andMagdalen,theyallseemdifferent.”
Mortimerdidnotspeakatonce,andbeforehecoulddoso,Charlottewentonagain.
“Youknowthishouseissupposedtobehaunted?”
“What?”Allhisinterestwasquickened.
“Yes,amanmurderedhiswifeinit,oh,someyearsagonow.Weonlyfoundoutaboutitafterwegothere.Fathersaysghostsareallnonsense,butI—don’tknow.”
Mortimerwasthinkingrapidly.
“Tellme,”hesaidinabusinessliketone,“wasthismurdercommittedintheroomIhadlastnight?”
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutthat,”saidCharlotte.
“Iwondernow,”saidMortimerhalftohimself,“yes,thatmaybeit.”
Charlottelookedathimuncomprehendingly.
“MissDinsmead,”saidMortimer,gently,“haveyoueverhadanyreasontobelievethatyouaremediumistic?”
Shestaredathim.
“IthinkyouknowthatyoudidwriteSOSlastnight,”hesaidquietly.“Oh!quiteunconsciously,ofcourse.Acrimestainstheatmosphere,sotospeak.Asensitivemindsuchasyoursmightbeacteduponinsuchamanner.Youhavebeenreproducingthesensationsandimpressionsofthevictim.ManyyearsagoshemayhavewrittenSOSonthattable,andyouunconsciouslyreproducedheractlastnight.”
Charlotte’sfacebrightened.
“Isee,”shesaid.“Youthinkthatistheexplanation?”
Avoicecalledherfromthehouse,andshewentinleavingMortimertopaceupanddownthegardenpath.Washesatisfiedwithhisownexplanation?Diditcoverthefactsasheknewthem?Diditaccountforthetensionhehadfeltonenteringthehouselastnight?
Perhaps,andyethestillhadtheoddfeelingthathissuddenappearancehadproducedsomethingverylikeconsternation,hethoughttohimself:
“Imustnotbecarriedawaybythepsychicexplanation,itmightaccountforCharlotte—butnotfortheothers.Mycominghasupsetthemhorribly,allexceptJohnnie.Whateveritisthat’sthematter,Johnnieisoutofit.”
Hewasquitesureofthat,strangethatheshouldbesopositive,butthereitwas.
Atthatminute,Johnniehimselfcameoutofthecottageandapproachedtheguest.
“Breakfast’sready,”hesaidawkwardly.“Willyoucomein?”
Mortimernoticedthatthelad’sfingersweremuchstained.Johnniefelthisglanceandlaughedruefully.
“I’malwaysmessingaboutwithchemicals,youknow,”hesaid.“ItmakesDadawfullywildsometimes.Hewantsmetogointobuilding,butIwanttodochemistryandresearchwork.”
Mr.Dinsmeadappearedatthewindowaheadofthem,broad,jovial,smiling,andatsightofhimallMortimer’sdistrustandantagonismreawakened.Mrs.Dinsmeadwasalreadyseatedatthetable.Shewishedhim“Goodmorning”inhercolourlessvoice,andhehadagaintheimpressionthatforsomereasonorother,shewasafraidofhim.
Magdalencameinlast.Shegavehimabriefnodandtookherseatoppositehim
“Didyousleepwell?”sheaskedabruptly.“Wasyourbedcomfortable?”
Shelookedathimveryearnestly,andwhenherepliedcourteouslyintheaffirmativehenoticedsomethingverylikeaflickerofdisappointmentpassoverherface.Whathadsheexpectedhimtosay,hewondered?
Heturnedtohishost.
“Thisladofyoursisinterestedinchemistry,itseems?”hesaidpleasantly
Therewasacrash.Mrs.Dinsmeadhaddroppedherteacup.
“Nowthen,Maggie,nowthen,”saidherhusband.
ItseemedtoMortimerthattherewasadmonition,warning,inhisvoice.Heturnedtohisguestandspokefluentlyoftheadvantagesofthebuildingtrade,andofnotlettingyoungboysgetabovethemselves.
Afterbreakfast,hewentoutinthegardenbyhimself,andsmoked.Thetimewasclearlyathandwhenhemustleavethecottage.Anight’sshelterwasonething,toprolongitwasdifficultwithoutanexcuse,andwhatpossibleexcusecouldheoffer?Andyethewassingularlyloathtodepart.
Turningthethingoverandoverinhismind,hetookapaththatledroundtheothersideofthehouse.Hisshoesweresoledwithcreperubber,andmadelittleornonoise.Hewaspassingthekitchenwindow,whenheheardDinsmead’swordsfromwithin,andthewordsattractedhisattentionimmediately.
“It’safairlumpofmoney,itis.”
Mrs.Dinsmead’svoiceanswered.ItwastoofaintintoneforMortimertohearthewords,butDinsmeadreplied:
“Nighon￡60,000,thelawyersaid.”
Mortimerhadnointentionofeavesdropping,butheretracedhisstepsverythoughtfully.Thementionofmoneyseemedtocrystallizethesituation.Somewhereorothertherewasaquestionof￡60,000—itmadethethingclearer—anduglier.
Magdalencameoutofthehouse,butherfather’svoicecalledheralmostimmediately,andshewentinagain.PresentlyDinsmeadhimselfjoinedhisguest.
“Raregoodmorning,”hesaidgenially.“Ihopeyourcarwillbenonetheworse.”
“WantstofindoutwhenI’mgoing,”thoughtMortimertohimself.
AloudhethankedMr.Dinsmeadoncemoreforhistimelyhospitality.
“Notatall,notatall,”saidtheother.
MagdalenandCharlottecametogetheroutofthehouse,andstrolledarminarmtoarusticseatsomelittledistanceaway.Thedarkheadandthegoldenonemadeapleasantcontrasttogether,andonanimpulseMortimersaid:
“Yourdaughtersareveryunalike,Mr.Dinsmead.”
Theotherwhowasjustlightinghispipegaveasharpjerkofthewrist,anddroppedthematch.
“Doyouthinkso?”heasked.“Yes,well,Isupposetheyare.”
Mortimerhadaflashofintuition.
“Butofcoursetheyarenotbothyourdaughters,”hesaidsmoothly.
HesawDinsmeadlookathim,hesitateforamoment,andthenmakeuphismind.
“That’sverycleverofyou,sir,”hesaid.“No,oneofthemisafoundling,wetookherinasababyandwehavebroughtherupasourown.Sheherselfhasnottheleastideaofthetruth,butshe’llhavetoknowsoon.”Hesighed.
“Aquestionofinheritance?”suggestedMortimerquietly.
Theotherflashedasuspiciouslookathim.
Thenheseemedtodecidethatfranknesswasbest;hismannerbecamealmostaggressivelyfrankandopen.
“It’soddthatyoushouldsaythat,sir.”
“Acaseoftelepathy,eh?”saidMortimer,andsmiled.
“Itislikethis,sir.Wetookherintoobligethemother—foraconsideration,asatthetimeIwasjuststartinginthebuildingtrade.AfewmonthsagoInoticedanadvertisementinthepapers,anditseemedtomethatthechildinquestionmustbeourMagdalen.Iwenttoseethelawyers,andtherehasbeenalotoftalkonewayandanother.Theyweresuspicious—naturally,asyoumightsay,buteverythingisclearedupnow.IamtakingthegirlherselftoLondonnextweek,shedoesn’tknowanythingaboutitsofar.Herfather,itseems,wasoneoftheserichJewishgentlemen.Heonlylearntofthechild’sexistenceafewmonthsbeforehisdeath.Hesetagentsontotryandtraceher,andleftallhismoneytoherwhensheshouldbefound.”
Mortimerlistenedwithcloseattention.HehadnoreasontodoubtMr.Dinsmead’sstory.ItexplainedMagdalen’sdarkbeauty;explainedtoo,perhaps,heraloofmanner.Nevertheless,thoughthestoryitselfmightbetrue,somethinglaybehinditundivulged.
ButMortimerhadnointentionofrousingtheother’ssuspicions.Instead,hemustgooutofhiswaytoallaythem.
“Averyinterestingstory,Mr.Dinsmead,”hesaid.“IcongratulateMissMagdalen.Anheiressandabeauty,shehasagreattimeaheadofher.”
“Shehasthat,”agreedherfatherwarmly,“andshe’sararegoodgirltoo,Mr.Cleveland.”
Therewaseveryevidenceofheartywarmthinhismanner.
“Well,”saidMortimer,“Imustbepushingalongnow,Isuppose.Ihavegottothankyouoncemore,Mr.Dinsmead,foryoursingularlywell-timedhospitality.”
Accompaniedbyhishost,hewentintothehousetobidfarewelltoMrs.Dinsmead.Shewasstandingbythewindowwithherbacktothem,anddidnothearthementer.Atherhusband’sjovial:“Here’sMr.Clevelandcometosaygood-bye,”shestartednervouslyandswunground,droppingsomethingwhichsheheldinherhand.Mortimerpickeditupforher.ItwasaminiatureofCharlottedoneinthestyleofsometwenty-fiveyearsago.Mortimerrepeatedtoherthethankshehadalreadyprofferedtoherhusband.Henoticedagainherlookoffearandthefurtiveglancesthatsheshotathimfrombeneathhereyelids.
Thetwogirlswerenotinevidence,butitwasnotpartofMortimer’spolicytoseemanxioustoseethem;alsohehadhisownidea,whichwasshortlytoprovecorrect.
Hehadgoneabouthalfamilefromthehouseonhiswaydowntowherehehadleftthecarthenightbefore,whenthebushesonthesideofthepathwerethrustaside,andMagdalencameoutonthetrackaheadofhim.
“Ihadtoseeyou,”shesaid.
“Iexpectedyou,”saidMortimer.“ItwasyouwhowroteSOSonthetableinmyroomlastnight,wasn’tit?”
Magdalennodded.
“Why?”askedMortimergently.
Thegirlturnedasideandbeganpullingoffleavesfromabush.
“Idon’tknow,”shesaid,“honestly,Idon’tknow.”
“Tellme,”saidMortimer.
Magdalendrewadeepbreath.
“Iamapracticalperson,”shesaid,“notthekindofpersonwhoimaginesthingsorfanciesthem.You,Iknow,believeinghostsandspirits.Idon’t,andwhenItellyouthatthereissomethingverywronginthathouse,”shepointedupthehill,“Imeanthatthereissomethingtangiblywrong;it’snotjustanechoofthepast.Ithasbeencomingoneversincewe’vebeenthere.Everydayitgrowsworse,Fatherisdifferent,Motherisdifferent,Charlotteisdifferent.”
Mortimerinterposed.“IsJohnniedifferent?”heasked.
Magdalenlookedathim,adawningappreciationinhereyes.“No,”shesaid,“nowIcometothinkofit.Johnnieisnotdifferent.Heistheonlyonewho’s—who’suntouchedbyitall.Hewasuntouchedlastnightattea.”
“Andyou?”askedMortimer.
“Iwasafraid—horriblyafraid,justlikeachild—withoutknowingwhatitwasIwasafraidof.Andfatherwas—queer,there’snootherwordforit,queer.HetalkedaboutmiraclesandthenIprayed—actuallyprayedforamiracle,andyouknockedonthedoor.”
Shestoppedabruptly,staringathim.
“Iseemmadtoyou,Isuppose,”shesaiddefiantly.
“No,”saidMortimer,“onthecontraryyouseemextremelysane.Allsanepeoplehaveapremonitionofdangerifitisnearthem.”
“Youdon’tunderstand,”saidMagdalen.“Iwasnotafraid—formyself.”
“Forwhom,then?”
ButagainMagdalenshookherheadinapuzzledfashion.“Idon’tknow.”
Shewenton:
“IwroteSOSonanimpulse.Ihadanidea—absurd,nodoubt,thattheywouldnotletmespeaktoyou—therestofthem,Imean.Idon’tknowwhatitwasImeanttoaskyoutodo.Idon’tknownow.”
“Nevermind,”saidMortimer.“Ishalldoit.”
“Whatcanyoudo?”
Mortimersmiledalittle.
“Icanthink.”
Shelookedathimdoubtfully.
“Yes,”saidMortimer,“alotcanbedonethatway,morethanyouwouldeverbelieve.Tellme,wasthereanychancewordorphrasethatattractedyourattentionjustbeforethemeallastevening?”
Magdalenfrowned.“Idon’tthinkso,”shesaid.“AtleastIheardFathersaysomethingtoMotheraboutCharlottebeingthelivingimageofher,andhelaughedinaveryqueerway,but—there’snothingoddinthat,isthere?”
“No,”saidMortimerslowly,“exceptthatCharlotteisnotlikeyourmother.”
Heremainedlostinthoughtforaminuteortwo,thenlookeduptofindMagdalenwatchinghimuncertainly.
“Gohome,child,”hesaid,“anddon’tworry;leaveitinmyhands.”
Shewentobedientlyupthepathtowardsthecottage.Mortimerstrolledonalittlefurther,thenthrewhimselfdownonthegreenturf.Heclosedhiseyes,detachedhimselffromconsciousthoughtoreffort,andletaseriesofpicturesflitatwillacrosshismind.
Johnnie!HealwayscamebacktoJohnnie.Johnnie,completelyinnocent,utterlyfreefromallthenetworkofsuspicionandintrigue,butneverthelessthepivotroundwhicheverythingturned.HerememberedthecrashofMrs.Dinsmead’scuponhersauceratbreakfastthatmorning.Whathadcausedheragitation?Achancereferenceonhisparttothelad’sfondnessforchemicals?AtthemomenthehadnotbeenconsciousofMr.Dinsmead,buthesawhimnowclearly,ashesat,histeacuppoisedhalfwaytohislips.
ThattookhimbacktoCharlotte,ashehadseenherwhenthedooropenedlastnight.Shehadsatstaringathimovertherimofherteacup.Andswiftlyonthatfollowedanothermemory.Mr.Dinsmeademptyingteacupsoneaftertheother,andsaying“thisteaiscold.”
Herememberedthesteamthatwentup.Surelytheteahadnotbeensoverycoldafterall?
Somethingbegantostirinhisbrain.Amemoryofsomethingreadnotsoverylongago,withinamonthperhaps.Someaccountofawholefamilypoisonedbyalad’scarelessness.Apacketofarsenicleftinthelarderhadalldrippedthroughonthebreadbelow.Hehadreaditinthepaper.ProbablyMr.Dinsmeadhadreadittoo.
Thingsbegantogrowclearer….
Halfanhourlater,MortimerClevelandrosebrisklytohisfeet.
Itwaseveningoncemoreinthecottage.Theeggswerepoachedtonightandtherewasatinofbrawn.PresentlyMrs.Dinsmeadcameinfromthekitchenbearingthebigteapot.Thefamilytooktheirplacesroundthetable.
“Acontrasttolastnight’sweather,”saidMrs.Dinsmead,glancingtowardsthewindow.
“Yes,”saidMr.Dinsmead,“it’ssostilltonightthatyoucouldhearapindrop.Nowthen,Mother,pourout,willyou?”
Mrs.Dinsmeadfilledthecupsandhandedthemroundthetable.Then,assheputtheteapotdown,shegaveasuddenlittlecryandpressedherhandtoherheart.Mr.Dinsmeadswungroundhischair,followingthedirectionofherterrifiedeyes.MortimerClevelandwasstandinginthedoorway.
Hecameforward.Hismannerwaspleasantandapologetic.
“I’mafraidIstartledyou,”hesaid.“Ihadtocomebackforsomething.”
“Backforsomething,”criedMr.Dinsmead.Hisfacewaspurple,hisveinsswelling.“Backforwhat,Ishouldliketoknow?”
“Sometea,”saidMortimer.
Withaswiftgesturehetooksomethingfromhispocket,and,takinguponeoftheteacupsfromthetable,emptiedsomeofitscontentsintoalittletesttubeheheldinhislefthand.
“What—whatareyoudoing?”gaspedMr.Dinsmead.Hisfacehadgonechalky-white,thepurpledyingoutasifbymagic.Mrs.Dinsmeadgaveathin,high,frightenedcry.
“Youreadthepapers,Ithink,Mr.Dinsmead?Iamsureyoudo.Sometimesonereadsaccountsofawholefamilybeingpoisoned,someofthemrecover,somedonot.Inthiscase,onewouldnot.Thefirstexplanationwouldbethetinnedbrawnyouwereeating,butsupposingthedoctortobeasuspiciousman,noteasilytakeninbythetinnedfoodtheory?Thereisapacketofarsenicinyourlarder.Ontheshelfbelowitisapacketoftea.Thereisaconvenientholeinthetopshelf,whatmorenaturaltosupposethenthatthearsenicfounditswayintotheteabyaccident?YoursonJohnniemightbeblamedforcarelessness,nothingmore.”
“I—Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,”gaspedDinsmead.
“Ithinkyoudo,”Mortimertookupasecondteacupandfilledasecondtesttube.Hefixedaredlabeltooneandabluelabeltotheother.
“Thered-labelledone,”hesaid,“containsteafromyourdaughterCharlotte’scup,theotherfromyourdaughterMagdalen’s.IampreparedtoswearthatinthefirstIshallfindfourorfivetimestheamountofarsenicthaninthelatter.”
“Youaremad,”saidDinsmead.
“Oh!dearme,no.Iamnothingofthekind.Youtoldmetoday,Mr.Dinsmead,thatMagdalenisyourdaughter.Charlottewasthechildyouadopted,thechildwhowassolikehermotherthatwhenIheldaminiatureofthatmotherinmyhandtodayImistookitforoneofCharlotteherself.Yourowndaughterwastoinheritthefortune,andsinceitmightbeimpossibletokeepyoursupposeddaughterCharlotteoutofsight,andsomeonewhoknewthemothermighthaverealizedthetruthoftheresemblance,youdecidedon,well—apinchofwhitearsenicatthebottomofateacup.”
Mrs.Dinsmeadgaveasuddenhighcackle,rockingherselftoandfroinviolenthysterics.
“Tea,”shesqueaked,“that’swhathesaid,tea,notlemonade.”
“Holdyourtongue,can’tyou?”roaredherhusbandwrathfully.
MortimersawCharlottelookingathim,wide-eyed,wondering,acrossthetable.Thenhefeltahandonhisarm,andMagdalendraggedhimoutofearshot.
“Those,”shepointedatthephials—“Daddy.Youwon’t—”
Mortimerlaidhishandonhershoulder.“Mychild,”hesaid,“youdon’tbelieveinthepast.Ido.Ibelieveintheatmosphereofthishouse.Ifhehadnotcometoit,perhaps—Isayperhaps—yourfathermightnothaveconceivedtheplanhedid.IkeepthesetwotesttubestosafeguardCharlottenowandinthefuture.Apartfromthat,Ishalldonothing,ingratitude,ifyouwill,tothathandthatwroteSOS.”
FiveWIRELESS
“Wireless”wasfirstpublishedintheSundayChronicleAnnual1925,September1925.
Aboveall,avoidworryandexcitement,”saidDr.Meynell,inthecomfortablefashionaffectedbydoctors.
Mrs.Harter,asisoftenthecasewithpeoplehearingthesesoothingbutmeaninglesswords,seemedmoredoubtfulthanrelieved.
“Thereisacertaincardiacweakness,”continuedthedoctorfluently,“butnothingtobealarmedabout.Icanassureyouofthat.
“Allthesame,”headded,“itmightbeaswelltohavealiftinstalled.Eh?Whataboutit?”
Mrs.Harterlookedworried.
Dr.Meynell,onthecontrary,lookedpleasedwithhimself.Thereasonhelikedattendingrichpatientsratherthanpooroneswasthathecouldexercisehisactiveimaginationinprescribingfortheirailments.
“Yes,alift,”saidDr.Meynell,tryingtothinkofsomethingelseevenmoredashing—andfailing.“Thenweshallavoidallundueexertion.Dailyexerciseonthelevelonafineday,butavoidwalkinguphills.Andaboveall,”headdedhappily,“plentyofdistractionforthemind.Don’tdwellonyourhealth.”
Totheoldlady’snephew,CharlesRidgeway,thedoctorwasslightlymoreexplicit.
“Donotmisunderstandme,”hesaid.“Yourauntmayliveforyears,probablywill.Atthesametimeshockoroverexertionmightcarryherofflikethat!”Hesnappedhisfingers.“Shemustleadaveryquietlife.Noexertion.Nofatigue.But,ofcourse,shemustnotbeallowedtobrood.Shemustbekeptcheerfulandthemindwelldistracted.”
“Distracted,”saidCharlesRidgewaythoughtfully.
Charleswasathoughtfulyoungman.Hewasalsoayoungmanwhobelievedinfurtheringhisowninclinationswheneverpossible.
Thateveninghesuggestedtheinstallationofawirelessset.
Mrs.Harter,alreadyseriouslyupsetatthethoughtofthelift,wasdisturbedandunwilling.Charleswasfluentandpersuasive.
“IdonotknowthatIcareforthesenewfangledthings,”saidMrs.Harterpiteously.“Thewaves,youknow—theelectricwaves.Theymightaffectme.”
Charlesinasuperiorandkindlyfashionpointedoutthefutilityofthisidea
Mrs.Harter,whoseknowledgeofthesubjectwasofthevaguest,butwhowastenaciousofherownopinion,remainedunconvinced.
“Allthatelectricity,”shemurmuredtimorously.“Youmaysaywhatyoulike,Charles,butsomepeopleareaffectedbyelectricity.Ialwayshaveaterribleheadachebeforeathunderstorm.Iknowthat.”
Shenoddedherheadtriumphantly.
Charleswasapatientyoungman.Hewasalsopersistent.
“MydearAuntMary,”hesaid,“letmemakethethingcleartoyou.”
Hewassomethingofanauthorityonthesubject.Hedeliverednowquitealectureonthetheme;warmingtohistask,hespokeofbright-emittervalves,ofdull-emittervalves,ofhighfrequencyandlowfrequency,ofamplificationandofcondensers.
Mrs.Harter,submergedinaseaofwordsthatshedidnotunderstand,surrendered.
“Ofcourse,Charles,”shemurmured,“ifyoureallythink—”
“MydearAuntMary,”saidCharlesenthusiastically.“Itistheverythingforyou,tokeepyoufrommopingandallthat.”
TheliftprescribedbyDr.MeynellwasinstalledshortlyafterwardsandwasverynearlythedeathofMrs.Hartersince,likemanyotheroldladies,shehadarootedobjectiontostrangemeninthehouse.Shesuspectedthemoneandallofhavingdesignsonheroldsilver.
Aftertheliftthewirelesssetarrived.Mrs.Harterwaslefttocontemplatethe,toher,repellentobject—alargeungainly-lookingbox,studdedwithknobs
IttookallCharles’enthusiasmtoreconcilehertoit.
Charleswasinhiselement,heturnedknobs,discoursingeloquentlythewhile.
Mrs.Hartersatinherhigh-backedchair,patientandpolite,witharootedconvictioninherownmindthatthesenewfanglednotionswereneithermorenorlessthanunmitigatednuisances.
“Listen,AuntMary,weareontoBerlin,isn’tthatsplendid?Canyouhearthefellow?”
“Ican’thearanythingexceptagooddealofbuzzingandclicking,”saidMrs.Harter.
Charlescontinuedtotwirlknobs.“Brussels,”heannouncedwithenthusiasm.
“Isitreally?”saidMrs.Harterwithnomorethanatraceofinterest.
Charlesagainturnedknobsandanunearthlyhowlechoedforthintotheroom.
“NowweseemtobeontotheDogs’Home,”saidMrs.Harter,whowasanoldladywithacertainamountofspirit.
“Ha,ha!”saidCharles,“youwillhaveyourjoke,won’tyou,AuntMary?Verygoodthat!”
Mrs.Hartercouldnothelpsmilingathim.ShewasveryfondofCharles.Forsomeyearsaniece,MiriamHarter,hadlivedwithher.Shehadintendedtomakethegirlherheiress,butMiriamhadnotbeenasuccess.Shewasimpatientandobviouslyboredbyheraunt’ssociety.Shewasalwaysout,“gaddingabout”asMrs.Hartercalledit.Intheend,shehadentangledherselfwithayoungmanofwhomherauntthoroughlydisapproved.Miriamhadbeenreturnedtohermotherwithacurtnotemuchasifshehadbeengoodsonapproval.ShehadmarriedtheyoungmaninquestionandMrs.HarterusuallysentherahandkerchiefcaseoratablecentreatChristmas.
Havingfoundniecesdisappointing,Mrs.Harterturnedherattentiontonephews.Charles,fromthefirst,hadbeenanunqualifiedsuccess.Hewasalwayspleasantlydeferentialtohisaunt,andlistenedwithanappearanceofintenseinteresttothereminiscencesofheryouth.InthishewasagreatcontrasttoMiriam,whohadbeenfranklyboredandshowedit.Charleswasneverbored,hewasalwaysgood-tempered,alwaysgay.Hetoldhisauntmanytimesadaythatshewasaperfectlymarvellousoldlady.
Highlysatisfiedwithhernewacquisition,Mrs.Harterhadwrittentoherlawyerwithinstructionsastothemakingofanewwill.Thiswassenttoher,dulyapprovedbyherandsigned.
Andnoweveninthematterofthewireless,Charleswassoonprovedtohavewonfreshlaurels.
Mrs.Harter,atfirstantagonistic,becametolerantandfinallyfascinated.SheenjoyeditverymuchbetterwhenCharleswentout.ThetroublewithCharleswasthathecouldnotleavethethingalone.Mrs.HarterwouldbeseatedinherchaircomfortablylisteningtoasymphonyconcertoralectureonLucreziaBorgiaorPondLife,quitehappyandatpeacewiththeworld.NotsoCharles.Theharmonywouldbeshatteredbydiscordantshriekswhileheenthusiasticallyattemptedtogetforeignstations.ButonthoseeveningswhenCharleswasdiningoutwithfriendsMrs.Harterenjoyedthewirelessverymuchindeed.Shewouldturnontwoswitches,sitinherhigh-backedchairandenjoytheprogrammeoftheevening.
Itwasaboutthreemonthsafterthewirelesshadbeeninstalledthatthefirsteeriehappeningoccurred.Charleswasabsentatabridgeparty.
Theprogrammeforthateveningwasaballadconcert.Awell-knownsopranowassinging“AnnieLaurie,”andinthemiddleof“AnnieLaurie”astrangethinghappened.Therewasasuddenbreak,themusicceasedforamoment,thebuzzing,clickingnoisecontinuedandthenthattoodiedaway.Therewasdeadsilence,andthenveryfaintlyalowbuzzingsoundwasheard.
Mrs.Hartergottheimpression,whyshedidnotknow,thatthemachinewastunedintosomewhereveryfaraway,andthenclearlyanddistinctlyavoicespoke,aman’svoicewithafaintIrishaccent.
“Mary—canyouhearme,Mary?ItisPatrickspeaking…Iamcomingforyousoon.Youwillbeready,won’tyou,Mary?”
Then,almostimmediately,thestrainsof“AnnieLaurie”oncemorefilledtheroom.Mrs.Hartersatrigidinherchair,herhandsclenchedoneacharmofit.Hadshebeendreaming?Patrick!Patrick’svoice!Patrick’svoiceinthisveryroom,speakingtoher.No,itmustbeadream,ahallucinationperhaps.Shemustjusthavedroppedofftosleepforaminuteortwo.Acuriousthingtohavedreamed—thatherdeadhusband’svoiceshouldspeaktoherovertheether.Itfrightenedherjustalittle.Whatwerethewordshehadsaid?
“Iwascomingforyousoon,Mary.Youwillbeready,won’tyou?”
Wasit,coulditbeapremonition?Cardiacweakness.Herheart.Afterall,shewasgettingoninyears.
“It’sawarning—that’swhatitis,”saidMrs.Harter,risingslowlyandpainfullyfromherchair,andaddedcharacteristically:
“Allthatmoneywastedonputtinginalift!”
Shesaidnothingofherexperiencetoanyone,butforthenextdayortwoshewasthoughtfulandalittlepreoccupied
Andthencamethesecondoccasion.Againshewasaloneintheroom.Thewireless,whichhadbeenplayinganorchestralselection,diedawaywiththesamesuddennessasbefore.Againtherewassilence,thesenseofdistance,andfinallyPatrick’svoicenotasithadbeeninlife—butavoicerarefied,faraway,withastrangeunearthlyquality.Patrickspeakingtoyou,Mary,Iwillbecomingforyouverysoonnow….”
Thenclick,buzz,andtheorchestralselectionwasinfullswingagain.
Mrs.Harterglancedattheclock.No,shehadnotbeenasleepthistime.Awakeandinfullpossessionofherfaculties,shehadheardPatrick’svoicespeaking.Itwasnohallucination,shewassureofthat.InaconfusedwayshetriedtothinkoverallthatCharleshadexplainedtoherofthetheoryofetherwaves.
CoulditbePatrickhadreallyspokentoher?Thathisactualvoicehadbeenwaftedthroughspace?Thereweremissingwavelengthsorsomethingofthatkind.SherememberedCharlesspeakingof“gapsinthescale.”Perhapsthemissingwavesexplainedalltheso-calledpsychologicalphenomena?No,therewasnothinginherentlyimpossibleintheidea.Patrickhadspokentoher.Hehadavailedhimselfofmodernsciencetoprepareherforwhatmustsoonbecoming.
Mrs.Harterrangthebellforhermaid,Elizabeth.
Elizabethwasatallgauntwomanofsixty.Beneathanunbendingexteriorsheconcealedawealthofaffectionandtendernessforhermistress.
“Elizabeth,”saidMrs.Harterwhenherfaithfulretainerhadappeared,“yourememberwhatItoldyou?Thetopleft-handdrawerofmybureau.Itislocked,thelongkeywiththewhitelabel.Everythingisthereready.”
“Ready,ma’am?”
“Formyburial,”snortedMrs.Harter.“YouknowperfectlywellwhatImean,Elizabeth.Youhelpedmetoputthethingsthereyourself.”
Elizabeth’sfacebegantoworkstrangely.
“Oh,ma’am,”shewailed,“don’tdwellonsuchthings.Ithoughtyouwasasightbetter.”
“Wehaveallgottogosometimeoranother,”saidMrs.Harterpractically.“Iamovermythreescoreyearsandten,Elizabeth.There,there,don’tmakeafoolofyourself.Ifyoumustcry,goandcrysomewhereelse.”
Elizabethretired,stillsniffing.
Mrs.Harterlookedafterherwithagooddealofaffection.
“Sillyoldfool,butfaithful,”shesaid,“veryfaithful.Letmesee,wasitahundredpoundsoronlyfiftyIlefther?Itoughttobeahundred.Shehasbeenwithmealongtime.”
Thepointworriedtheoldladyandthenextdayshesatdownandwrotetoherlawyeraskingifhewouldsendherwillsothatshemightlookoverit.ItwasthatsamedaythatCharlesstartledherbysomethinghesaidatlunch.
“Bytheway,AuntMary,”hesaid,“whoisthatfunnyoldjosserupinthespareroom?Thepictureoverthemantelpiece,Imean.Theoldjohnnywiththebeaverandsidewhiskers?”
Mrs.Harterlookedathimausterely.
“ThatisyourUnclePatrickasayoungman,”shesaid.
“Oh,Isay,AuntMary,Iamawfullysorry.Ididn’tmeantoberude.”
Mrs.Harteracceptedtheapologywithadignifiedbendofthehead.
Charleswentonratheruncertainly:
“Ijustwondered.Yousee—”
HestoppedundecidedlyandMrs.Hartersaidsharply:
“Well?Whatwereyougoingtosay?”
“Nothing,”saidCharleshastily.“Nothingthatmakessense,Imean.”
Forthemomenttheoldladysaidnothingmore,butlaterthatday,whentheywerealonetogether,shereturnedtothesubject.
“Iwishyouwouldtellme,Charles,whatitwasmadeyouaskmeaboutthatpictureofyouruncle.”
Charleslookedembarrassed.
“Itoldyou,AuntMary.Itwasnothingbutasillyfancyofmine—quiteabsurd.”
“Charles,”saidMrs.Harterinhermostautocraticvoice,“Iinsistuponknowing.”
“Well,mydearaunt,ifyouwillhaveit,IfanciedIsawhim—themaninthepicture,Imean—lookingoutoftheendwindowwhenIwascomingupthedrivelastnight.Someeffectofthelight,Isuppose.Iwonderedwhoonearthhecouldbe,thefacewasso—earlyVictorian,ifyouknowwhatImean.AndthenElizabethsaidtherewasnoone,novisitororstrangerinthehouse,andlaterintheeveningIhappenedtodriftintothespareroom,andtherewasthepictureoverthemantelpiece.Mymantothelife!Itisquiteeasilyexplained,really,Iexpect.Subconsciousandallthat.MusthavenoticedthepicturebeforewithoutrealizingthatIhadnoticedit,andthenjustfanciedthefaceatthewindow.”
“Theendwindow?”saidMrs.Hartersharply.
“Yes,why?”
“Nothing,”saidMrs.Harter.
Butshewasstartledallthesame.Thatroomhadbeenherhusband’sdressingroom.
Thatsameevening,Charlesagainbeingabsent,Mrs.Hartersatlisteningtothewirelesswithfeverishimpatience.Ifforthethirdtimesheheardthemysteriousvoice,itwouldprovetoherfinallyandwithoutashadowofdoubtthatshewasreallyincommunicationwithsomeotherworld.
Althoughherheartbeatfaster,shewasnotsurprisedwhenthesamebreakoccurred,andaftertheusualintervalofdeathlysilencethefaintfarawayIrishvoicespokeoncemore.
“Mary—youarepreparednow…OnFridayIshallcomeforyou…Fridayathalfpastnine…Donotbeafraid—therewillbenopain…Beready….”
Thenalmostcuttingshortthelastword,themusicoftheorchestrabrokeoutagain,clamorousanddiscordant.
Mrs.Hartersatverystillforaminuteortwo.Herfacehadgonewhiteandshelookedblueandpinchedroundthelips.
Presentlyshegotupandsatdownatherwritingdesk.Inasomewhatshakyhandshewrotethefollowinglines:
Tonight,at9:15,Ihavedistinctlyheardthevoiceofmydeadhusband.HetoldmethathewouldcomeformeonFridaynightat9:30.IfIshoulddieonthatdayandatthathourIshouldlikethefactsmadeknownsoastoprovebeyondquestionthepossibilityofcommunicatingwiththespiritworld.MaryHarter.
Mrs.Harterreadoverwhatshehadwritten,encloseditinanenvelopeandaddressedtheenvelope.ThensherangthebellwhichwaspromptlyansweredbyElizabeth.Mrs.Hartergotupfromherdeskandgavethenoteshehadjustwrittentotheoldwoman.
“Elizabeth,”shesaid,“ifIshoulddieonFridaynightIshouldlikethatnotegiventoDr.Meynell.No,”—asElizabethappearedtobeabouttoprotest—“donotarguewithme.Youhaveoftentoldmeyoubelieveinpremonitions.Ihaveapremonitionnow.Thereisonethingmore.Ihaveleftyouinmywill￡50.Ishouldlikeyoutohave￡100.IfIamnotabletogotothebankmyselfbeforeIdieMr.Charleswillseetoit.”
Asbefore,Mrs.HartercutshortElizabeth’stearfulprotests.Inpursuanceofherdetermination,theoldladyspoketohernephewonthesubjectthefollowingmorning.
“Remember,Charles,thatifanythingshouldhappentome,Elizabethistohaveanextra￡50.”
“Youareverygloomythesedays,AuntMary,”saidCharlescheerfully.“Whatisgoingtohappentoyou?AccordingtoDr.Meynell,weshallbecelebratingyourhundredthbirthdayintwentyyearsorso!”
Mrs.Hartersmiledaffectionatelyathimbutdidnotanswer.Afteraminuteortwoshesaid:
“WhatareyoudoingonFridayevening,Charles?”
Charleslookedatriflesurprised.
“Asamatteroffact,theEwingsaskedmetogoinandplaybridge,butifyouwouldratherIstayedathome—”
“No,”saidMrs.Harterwithdetermination.“Certainlynot.Imeanit,Charles.OnthatnightofallnightsIshouldmuchratherbealone.”
Charleslookedathercuriously,butMrs.Hartervouchsafednofurtherinformation.Shewasanoldladyofcourageanddetermination.Shefeltthatshemustgothroughwithherstrangeexperiencesinglehanded.
Fridayeveningfoundthehouseverysilent.Mrs.Hartersatasusualinherstraight-backedchairdrawnuptothefireplace.Allherpreparationsweremade.Thatmorningshehadbeentothebank,haddrawnout￡50innotesandhadhandedthemovertoElizabethdespitethelatter’stearfulprotests.Shehadsortedandarrangedallherpersonalbelongingsandhadlabelledoneortwopiecesofjewellerywiththenamesoffriendsorrelations.ShehadalsowrittenoutalistofinstructionsforCharles.TheWorcesterteaservicewastogotoCousinEmma.TheSèvresjarstoyoungWilliam,andsoon.
Nowshelookedatthelongenvelopesheheldinherhandanddrewfromitafoldeddocument.ThiswasherwillsenttoherbyMr.Hopkinsoninaccordancewithherinstructions.Shehadalreadyreaditcarefully,butnowshelookedoveritoncemoretorefreshhermemory.Itwasashort,concisedocument.Abequestof￡50toElizabethMarshallinconsiderationoffaithfulservice,twobequestsof￡500toasisterandafirstcousin,andtheremaindertoherbelovednephewCharlesRidgeway.
Mrs.Harternoddedherheadseveraltimes.Charleswouldbeaveryrichmanwhenshewasdead.Well,hehadbeenadeargoodboytoher.Alwayskind,alwaysaffectionate,andwithamerrytonguewhichneverfailedtopleaseher.
Shelookedattheclock.Threeminutestothehalfhour.Wellshewasready.Andshewascalm—quitecalm.Althoughsherepeatedtheselastwordstoherselfseveraltimes,herheartbeatstrangelyandunevenly.Shehardlyrealizeditherself,butshewasstrunguptoafinepointofoverwroughtnerves.
Halfpastnine.Thewirelesswasswitchedon.Whatwouldshehear?Afamiliarvoiceannouncingtheweatherforecastorthatfarawayvoicebelongingtoamanwhohaddiedtwenty-fiveyearsbefore?
Butsheheardneither.Insteadtherecameafamiliarsound,asoundsheknewwellbutwhichtonightmadeherfeelasthoughanicyhandwerelaidonherheart.Afumblingatthedoor….
Itcameagain.Andthenacoldblastseemedtosweepthoughtheroom.Mrs.Harterhadnownodoubtwhathersensationswere.Shewasafraid…Shewasmorethanafraid—shewasterrified..
Andsuddenlytherecametoherthethought:Twenty-fiveyearsisalongtime.Patrickisastrangertomenow.
Terror!Thatwaswhatwasinvadingher.
Asoftstepoutsidethedoor—asofthaltingfootstep.Thenthedoorswungsilentlyopen….
Mrs.Harterstaggeredtoherfeet,swayingslightlyfromsidetoside,hereyesfixedonthedoorway,somethingslippedfromherfingersintothegrate.
Shegaveastrangledcrywhichdiedinherthroat.Inthedimlightofthedoorwaystoodafamiliarfigurewithchestnutbeardandwhiskersandanold-fashionedVictoriancoat.
Patrickhadcomeforher!
Herheartgaveoneterrifiedleapandstoodstill.Sheslippedtothegroundinahuddledheap.
ThereElizabethfoundher,anhourlater.
Dr.MeynellwascalledatonceandCharlesRidgewaywashastilyrecalledfromhisbridgeparty.Butnothingcouldbedone.Mrs.Harterhadgonebeyondhumanaid.
ItwasnotuntiltwodayslaterthatElizabethrememberedthenotegiventoherbyhermistress.Dr.MeynellreaditwithgreatinterestandshowedittoCharlesRidgeway.
“Averycuriouscoincidence,”hesaid.“Itseemsclearthatyouraunthadbeenhavinghallucinationsaboutherdeadhusband’svoice.Shemusthavestrungherselfuptosuchapointthattheexcitementwasfatalandwhenthetimeactuallycameshediedoftheshock.”
“Autosuggestion?”saidCharles.
“Somethingofthesort.Iwillletyouknowtheresultoftheautopsyassoonaspossible,thoughIhavenodoubtofitmyself.”Inthecircumstancesanautopsywasdesirable,thoughpurelyasamatterofform.
Charlesnoddedcomprehendingly.
Ontheprecedingnight,whenthehouseholdwasinbed,hehadremovedacertainwirewhichranfromthebackofthewirelesscabinettohisbedroomonthefloorabove.Also,sincetheeveninghadbeenachillyone,hehadaskedElizabethtolightafireinhisroom,andinthatfirehehadburnedachestnutbeardandwhiskers.SomeVictorianclothingbelongingtohislateunclehereplacedinthecamphor-scentedchestintheattic.
Asfarashecouldsee,hewasperfectlysafe.Hisplan,theshadowyoutlineofwhichhadfirstformedinhisbrainwhenDoctorMeynellhadtoldhimthathisauntmightwithduecareliveformanyyears,hadsucceededadmirably.Asuddenshock,Dr.Meynellhadsaid.Charles,thataffectionateyoungman,belovedofoldladies,smiledtohimself.
Whenthedoctordeparted,Charleswentabouthisdutiesmechanically.Certainfuneralarrangementshadtobefinallysettled.Relativescomingfromadistancehadtohavetrainslookedoutforthem.Inoneortwocasestheywouldhavetostaythenight.Charleswentaboutitallefficientlyandmethodically,totheaccompanimentofanundercurrentofhisownthoughts.
Averygoodstrokeofbusiness!Thatwastheburdenofthem.Nobody,leastofallhisdeadaunt,hadknowninwhatperilousstraitsCharlesstood.Hisactivities,carefullyconcealedfromtheworld,hadlandedhimwheretheshadowofaprisonloomedahead.
Exposureandruinhadstaredhiminthefaceunlesshecouldinafewshortmonthsraiseaconsiderablesumofmoney.Well—thatwasallrightnow.Charlessmiledtohimself.Thanksto—yes,callitapracticaljoke—nothingcriminalaboutthat—hewassaved.Hewasnowaveryrichman.Hehadnoanxietiesonthesubject,forMrs.Harterhadnevermadeanysecretofherintentions.
Chiminginveryappositelywiththesethoughts,ElizabethputherheadroundthedoorandinformedhimthatMr.Hopkinsonwashereandwouldliketoseehim
Abouttime,too,Charlesthought.Repressingatendencytowhistle,hecomposedhisfacetooneofsuitablegravityandrepairedtothelibrary.TherehegreetedthepreciseoldgentlemanwhohadbeenforoveraquarterofacenturythelateMrs.Harter’slegaladviser.
ThelawyerseatedhimselfatCharles’invitationandwithadrycoughentereduponbusinessmatters.
“Ididnotquiteunderstandyourlettertome,Mr.Ridgeway.YouseemedtobeundertheimpressionthatthelateMrs.Harter’swillwasinourkeeping?”
Charlesstaredathim.
“Butsurely—I’veheardmyauntsayasmuch.”
“Oh!quiteso,quiteso.Itwasinourkeeping.”
“Was?”
“ThatiswhatIsaid.Mrs.Harterwrotetous,askingthatitmightbeforwardedtoheronTuesdaylast.”
AnuneasyfeelingcreptoverCharles.Hefeltafar-offpremonitionofunpleasantness.
“Doubtlessitwillcometolightamonstherpapers,”continuedthelawyersmoothly.
Charlessaidnothing.Hewasafraidtotrusthistongue.HehadalreadybeenthroughMrs.Harter’spapersprettythoroughly,wellenoughtobequitecertainthatnowillwasamongstthem.Inaminuteortwo,whenhehadregainedcontrolofhimself,hesaidso.Hisvoicesoundedunrealtohimself,andhehadasensationasofcoldwatertricklingdownhisback.
“Hasanyonebeenthroughherpersonaleffects?”askedthelawyer.
Charlesrepliedthatherownmaid,Elizabeth,haddoneso.AtMr.Hopkinson’ssuggestion,Elizabethwassentfor.Shecamepromptly,grimandupright,andansweredthequestionsputtoher.
Shehadbeenthroughallhermistress’sclothesandpersonalbelongings.Shewasquitesurethattherehadbeennolegaldocumentsuchasawillamongstthem.Sheknewwhatthewilllookedlike—hermistresshadhaditinherhandonlythemorningofherdeath.
“Youaresureofthat?”askedthelawyersharply.
“Yes,sir.Shetoldmeso,andshemademetakefiftypoundsinnotes.Thewillwasinalongblueenvelope.”
“Quiteright,”saidMr.Hopkinson.
“NowIcometothinkofit,”continuedElizabeth,“thatsameblueenvelopewaslyingonthistablethemorningafter—butempty.Ilaiditonthedesk.”
“Irememberseeingitthere,”saidCharles.
Hegotupandwentovertothedesk.InaminuteortwoheturnedroundwithanenvelopeinhishandwhichhehandedtoMr.Hopkinson.Thelatterexamineditandnoddedhishead.
“ThatistheenvelopeinwhichIdespatchedthewillonTuesdaylast.”
BothmenlookedhardatElizabeth.
“Isthereanythingmore,sir?”sheinquiredrespectfully.
“Notatpresent,thankyou.”
Elizabethwenttowardsthedoor.
“Oneminute,”saidthelawyer.“Wasthereafireinthegratethatevening?”
“Yes,sir,therewasalwaysafire.”
“Thankyou,thatwilldo.”
Elizabethwentout.Charlesleanedforward,restingashakinghandonthetable.
“Whatdoyouthink?Whatareyoudrivingat?”
Mr.Hopkinsonshookhishead.
“Wemuststillhopethewillmayturnup.Ifitdoesnot—”
“Well,ifitdoesnot?”
“Iamafraidthereisonlyoneconclusionpossible.Yourauntsentforthatwillinordertodestroyit.NotwishingElizabethtolosebythat,shegavehertheamountofherlegacyincash.”
“Butwhy?”criedCharleswildly.“Why?”
Mr.Hopkinsoncoughed.Adrycough.
“Youhavehadno—er—disagreementwithyouraunt,Mr.Ridgeway?”hemurmured.
Charlesgasped.
“No,indeed,”hecriedwarmly.“Wewereonthekindest,mostaffectionateterms,rightuptotheend.”
“Ah!”saidMr.Hopkinson,notlookingathim.
ItcametoCharleswithashockthatthelawyerdidnotbelievehim.Whoknewwhatthisdryoldstickmightnothaveheard?RumoursofCharles’doingsmighthavecomeroundtohim.WhatmorenaturalthanthatheshouldsupposethatthesesamerumourshadcometoMrs.Harter,andtheauntandnephewshouldhavehadanaltercationonthesubject?
Butitwasn’tso!Charlesknewoneofthebitterestmomentsofhiscareer.Hislieshadbeenbelieved.Nowthathespokethetruth,beliefwaswithheld.Theironyofit!
Ofcoursehisaunthadneverburntthewill!Ofcourse—
Histhoughtscametoasuddencheck.Whatwasthatpicturerisingbeforehiseyes?Anoldladywithonehandclaspedtoherheart…somethingslipping…apaper…fallingonthered-hotembers….
Charles’facegrewlivid.Heheardahoarsevoice—hisown—asking:
“Ifthatwill’sneverfound—?”
“ThereisaformerwillofMrs.Harter’sstillextant.DatedSeptember1920.ByitMrs.Harterleaveseverythingtoherniece,MiriamHarter,nowMiriamRobinson.”
Whatwastheoldfoolsaying?Miriam?Miriamwithhernondescripthusband,andherfourwhiningbrats.Allhiscleverness—forMiriam!
Thetelephonerangsharplyathiselbow.Hetookupthereceiver.Itwasthedoctor’svoice,heartyandkindly.
“ThatyouRidgeway?Thoughtyou’dliketoknow.Theautopsy’sjustconcluded.CauseofdeathasIsurmised.ButasamatteroffactthecardiactroublewasmuchmoreseriousthanIsuspectedwhenshewasalive.Withtheutmostcare,shecouldn’thavelivedlongerthantwomonthsattheoutside.Thoughtyou’dliketoknow.Mightconsoleyoumoreorless.”
“Excuseme,”saidCharles,“wouldyoumindsayingthatagain?”
“Shecouldn’thavelivedlongerthantwomonths,”saidthedoctorinaslightlyloudertone.“Allthingsworkoutforthebest,youknow,mydearfellow—”
ButCharleshadslammedbackthereceiveronitshook.Hewasconsciousofthelawyer’svoicespeakingfromalongwayoff.
“Dearme,Mr.Ridgeway,areyouill?”
Damnthemall!Thesmug-facedlawyer.ThatpoisonousoldassMeynell.Nohopeinfrontofhim—onlytheshadowoftheprisonwall….
HefeltthatSomebodyhadbeenplayingwithhim—playingwithhimlikeacatwithamouse.Somebodymustbelaughing.
SixTHEMYSTERYOFTHEBLUEJAR
“TheMysteryoftheBlueJar”wasfirstpublishedinGrandMagazine,July1924.
JackHartingtonsurveyedhistoppeddriveruefully.Standingbytheball,helookedbacktothetee,measuringthedistance.Hisfacewaseloquentofthedisgustedcontemptwhichhefelt.Withasighhedrewouthisiron,executedtwoviciousswingswithit,annihilatinginturnadandelionandatuftofgrass,andthenaddressedhimselffirmlytotheball.
Itishardwhenyouaretwenty-fouryearsofage,andyouroneambitioninlifeistoreduceyourhandicapatgolf,tobeforcedtogivetimeandattentiontotheproblemofearningyourliving.FiveandahalfdaysoutofthesevensawJackimprisonedinakindofmahoganytombinthecity.SaturdayafternoonandSundaywerereligiouslydevotedtotherealbusinessoflife,andinanexcessofzealhehadtakenroomsatthesmallhotelnearStourtonHeathlinks,androsedailyatthehourofsixa.m.togetinanhour’spracticebeforecatchingthe8:46totown.
Theonlydisadvantagetotheplanwasthatheseemedconstitutionallyunabletohitanythingatthathourinthemorning.Afoozledironsucceededamuffeddrive.Hismashieshotsranmerrilyalongtheground,andfourputtsseemedtobetheminimumonanygreen.
Jacksighed,graspedhisironfirmlyandrepeatedtohimselfthemagicwords,“Leftarmrightthrough,anddon’tlookup.”
Heswungback—andthenstopped,petrified,asashrillcryrentthesilenceofthesummer’smorning.
“Murder,”itcalled.“Help!Murder!”
Itwasawoman’svoice,anditdiedawayattheendintoasortofgurglingsigh.
Jackflungdownhisclubandraninthedirectionofthesound.Ithadcomefromsomewherequitenearathand.Thisparticularpartofthecoursewasquitewildcountry,andtherewerefewhousesabout.Infact,therewasonlyonenearathand,asmallpicturesquecottage,whichJackhadoftennoticedforitsairofoldworlddaintiness.Itwastowardsthiscottagethatheran.Itwashiddenfromhimbyaheather-coveredslope,butheroundedthisandinlessthanaminutewasstandingwithhishandonthesmalllatchedgate.
Therewasagirlstandinginthegarden,andforamomentJackjumpedtothenaturalconclusionthatitwasshewhohadutteredthecryforhelp.Buthequicklychangedhismind.
Shehadalittlebasketinherhand,halffullofweeds,andhadevidentlyjuststraightenedherselfupfromweedingawideborderofpansies.Hereyes,Jacknoticed,werejustlikepansiesthemselves,velvetyandsoftanddark,andmorevioletthanblue.Shewaslikeapansyaltogether,inherstraightpurplelinengown.
ThegirlwaslookingatJackwithanexpressionmidwaybetweenannoyanceandsurprise.
“Ibegyourpardon,”saidtheyoungman.“Butdidyoucryoutjustnow?”
“I?No,indeed.”
HersurprisewassogenuinethatJackfeltconfused.Hervoicewasverysoftandprettywithslightforeigninflection.
“Butyoumusthaveheardit,”heexclaimed.“Itcamefromsomewherejustnearhere.”
Shestaredathim.
“Iheardnothingatall.”
Jackinhisturnstaredather.Itwasperfectlyincrediblethatsheshouldnothaveheardthatagonizedappealforhelp.Andyethercalmnesswassoevidentthathecouldnotbelieveshewaslyingtohim.
“Itcamefromsomewherecloseathand,”heinsisted.
Shewaslookingathimsuspiciouslynow
“Whatdiditsay?”sheasked.
“Murder—help!Murder!”
“Murder—help!Murder,”repeatedthegirl.“Somebodyhasplayedatrickonyou,Monsieur.Whocouldbemurderedhere?”
Jacklookedabouthimwithaconfusedideaofdiscoveringadeadbodyuponagardenpath.Yethewasstillperfectlysurethatthecryhehadheardwasrealandnotaproductofhisimagination.Helookedupatthecottagewindows.Everythingseemedperfectlystillandpeaceful.
“Doyouwanttosearchourhouse?”askedthegirldrily.
ShewassoclearlyscepticalthatJack’sconfusiongrewdeeperthanever.Heturnedaway.
“I’msorry,”hesaid.“Itmusthavecomefromhigherupinthewoods.”
Heraisedhiscapandretreated.Glancingbackoverhisshoulder,hesawthatthegirlhadcalmlyresumedherweeding
Forsometimehehuntedthroughthewoods,butcouldfindnosignofanythingunusualhavingoccurred.Yethewasaspositiveaseverthathehadreallyheardthecry.Intheend,hegaveupthesearchandhurriedhometobolthisbreakfastandcatchthe8:46bytheusualnarrowmarginofasecondorso.Hisconscienceprickedhimalittleashesatinthetrain.Oughthenottohaveimmediatelyreportedwhathehadheardtothepolice?Thathehadnotdonesowassolelyowingtothepansygirl’sincredulity.Shehadclearlysuspectedhimofromancing—possiblythepolicemightdothesame.Washeabsolutelycertainthathehadheardthecry?
Bynowhewasnotnearlysopositiveashehadbeen—thenaturalresultoftryingtorecapturealostsensation.Wasitsomebird’scryinthedistancethathehadtwistedintothesemblanceofawoman’svoice?
Butherejectedthesuggestionangrily.Itwasawoman’svoice,andhehadheardit.Herememberedlookingathiswatchjustbeforethecryhadcome.Asnearlyaspossibleitmusthavebeenfiveandtwentyminutespastsevenwhenhehadheardthecall.Thatmightbeafactusefultothepoliceif—ifanythingshouldbediscovered.
Goinghomethatevening,hescannedtheeveningpapersanxiouslytoseeiftherewereanymentionofacrimehavingbeencommitted.Buttherewasnothing,andhehardlyknewwhethertoberelievedordisappointed.
Thefollowingmorningwaswet—sowetthateventhemostardentgolfermighthavehisenthusiasmdamped.Jackroseatthelastpossiblemoment,gulpedhisbreakfast,ranforthetrainandagaineagerlyscannedthepapers.Stillnomentionofanygruesomediscoveryhavingbeenmade.Theeveningpaperstoldthesametale.
“Queer,”saidJacktohimself,“butthereitis.Probablysomeblinkinglittleboyshavingagametogetherupinthewoods.”
Hewasoutearlythefollowingmorning.Ashepassedthecottage,henotedoutofthetailofhiseyethatthegirlwasoutinthegardenagainweeding.Evidentlyahabitofhers.Hedidaparticularlygoodapproachshot,andhopedthatshehadnoticedit.Asheteeduponthenexttee,heglancedathiswatch.
“Justfiveandtwentypastseven,”hemurmured.“Iwonder—”
Thewordswerefrozenonhislips.Frombehindhimcamethesamecrywhichhadsostartledhimbefore.Awoman’svoice,indiredistress.
“Murder—help!Murder!”
Jackracedback.Thepansygirlwasstandingbythegate.Shelookedstartled,andJackranuptohertriumphantly,cryingout:
“Youhearditthistime,anyway.”
Hereyeswerewidewithsomeemotionhecouldnotfathombuthenoticedthatsheshrankbackfromhimasheapproached,andevenglancedbackatthehouse,asthoughshemeditatedrunningtoitforshelter.
Sheshookherhead,staringathim.
“Iheardnothingatall,”shesaidwonderingly.
Itwasasthoughshehadstruckhimablowbetweentheeyes.Hersinceritywassoevidentthathecouldnotdisbelieveher.Yethecouldn’thaveimaginedit—hecouldn’t—hecouldn’t—
Heheardhervoicespeakinggently—almostwithsympathy.
“Youhavehadtheshellshock,yes?”
Inaflashheunderstoodherlookoffear,herglancebackatthehouse.Shethoughtthathesufferedfromdelusions.
Andthen,likeadoucheofcoldwater,camethehorriblethought,wassheright?Didhesufferfromdelusions?Obsessedbythehorrorofthethought,heturnedandstumbledawaywithoutvouchsafingaword.Thegirlwatchedhimgo,sighed,shookherhead,andbentdowntoherweedingagain.
Jackendeavouredtoreasonmattersoutwithhimself.“IfIhearthedamnedthingagainattwenty-fiveminutespastseven,”hesaidtohimself,“it’sclearthatI’vegotholdofahallucinationofsomesort.ButIwon’thearit.”
Hewasnervousallthatday,andwenttobedearlydeterminedtoputthemattertotheproofthefollowingmorning.
Aswasperhapsnaturalinsuchacase,heremainedawakehalfthenight,andfinallyoverslepthimself.Itwastwentypastsevenbythetimehewasclearofthehotelandrunningtowardsthelinks.Herealizedthathewouldnotbeabletogettothefatalspotbytwenty-fivepast,butsurely,ifthevoicewasahallucinationpureandsimple,hewouldhearitanywhere.Heranon,hiseyesfixedonthehandsofhiswatch.
Twenty-fivepast.Fromfaroffcametheechoofawoman’svoice,calling.Thewordscouldnotbedistinguished,buthewasconvincedthatitwasthesamecryhehadheardbefore,andthatitcamefromthesamespot,somewhereintheneighbourhoodofthecottage.
Strangelyenough,thatfactreassuredhim.Itmight,afterall,beahoax.Unlikelyasitseemed,thegirlherselfmightbeplayingatrickonhim.Hesethisshouldersresolutely,andtookoutaclubfromhisgolfbag.Hewouldplaythefewholesuptothecottage.
Thegirlwasinthegardenasusual.Shelookedupthismorning,andwhenheraisedhiscaptoher,saidgoodmorningrathershyly…Shelooked,hethought,lovelierthanever.
“Niceday,isn’tit?”Jackcalledoutcheerily,cursingtheunavoidablebanalityoftheobservation.
“Yes,indeed,itislovely.”
“Goodforthegarden,Iexpect?”
Thegirlsmiledalittle,disclosingafascinatingdimple.
“Alas,no!Formyflowerstherainisneeded.See,theyarealldriedup.”
Jackacceptedtheinvitationofhergesture,andcameuptothelowhedgedividingthegardenfromthecourse,lookingoveritintothegarden.
“Theyseemallright,”heremarkedawkwardly,consciousashespokeofthegirl’sslightlypityingglancerunningoverhim.
“Thesunisgood,isitnot?”shesaid.“Fortheflowersonecanalwayswaterthem.Butthesungivesstrengthandrepairsthehealth.Monsieurismuchbettertoday,Icansee.”
HerencouragingtoneannoyedJackintensely.
“Curseitall,”hesaidtohimself.“Ibelieveshe’stryingtocuremebysuggestion.”
“I’mperfectlywell,”hesaid.
“Thatisgoodthen,”returnedthegirlquicklyandsoothingly.
Jackhadtheirritatingfeelingthatshedidn’tbelievehim.
Heplayedafewmoreholesandhurriedbacktobreakfast.Asheateit,hewasconscious,notforthefirsttime,oftheclosescrutinyofamanwhosatatthetablenexttohim.Hewasamanofmiddleage,withapowerfulforcefulface.Hehadasmalldarkbeardandverypiercinggreyeyes,andaneaseandassuranceofmannerwhichplacedhimamongthehigherranksoftheprofessionalclasses.Hisname,Jackknew,wasLavington,andhehadheardvaguerumoursastohisbeingawell-knownmedicalspecialist,butasJackwasnotafrequenterofHarleyStreet,thenamehadconveyedlittleornothingtohim.
Butthismorninghewasveryconsciousofthequietobservationunderwhichhewasbeingkept,anditfrightenedhimalittle.Washissecretwrittenplainlyinhisfaceforalltosee?Didthisman,byreasonofhisprofessionalcalling,knowthattherewassomethingamissinthehiddengreymatter?
Jackshiveredatthethought.Wasittrue?Washereallygoingmad?Wasthewholethingahallucination,orwasitagigantichoax?
Andsuddenlyaverysimplewayoftestingthesolutionoccurredtohim.Hehadhithertobeenaloneonhisround.Supposingsomeoneelsewaswithhim?Thenoneoutofthreethingsmighthappen.Thevoicemightbesilent.Theymightbothhearit.Or—heonlymighthearit.
Thateveningheproceededtocarryhisplanintoeffect.Lavingtonwasthemanhewantedwithhim.Theyfellintoconversationeasilyenough—theoldermanmighthavebeenwaitingforsuchanopening.ItwasclearthatforsomereasonorotherJackinterestedhim.Thelatterwasabletocomequiteeasilyandnaturallytothesuggestionthattheymightplayafewholestogetherbeforebreakfast.Thearrangementwasmadeforthefollowingmorning.
Theystartedoutalittlebeforeseven.Itwasaperfectday,stillandcloudless,butnottoowarm.Thedoctorwasplayingwell,Jackwretchedly.Hiswholemindwasintentontheforthcomingcrisis.Hekeptglancingsurreptitiouslyathiswatch.Theyreachedtheseventhtee,betweenwhichandtheholethecottagewassituated,abouttwentypastseven.
Thegirl,asusual,wasinthegardenastheypassed.Shedidnotlookup.
Twoballslayonthegreen,Jack’snearthehole,thedoctor’ssomelittledistanceaway.
“I’vegotthisforit,”saidLavington.“Imustgoforit,Isuppose.”
Hebentdown,judgingthelineheshouldtake.Jackstoodrigid,hiseyesgluedtohiswatch.Itwasexactlytwenty-fiveminutespastseven.
Theballranswiftlyalongthegrass,stoppedontheedgeofthehole,hesitatedanddroppedin.
“Goodputt,”saidJack.Hisvoicesoundedhoarseandunlikehimself…Heshovedhiswristwatchfartheruphisarmwithasighofoverwhelmingrelief.Nothinghadhappened.Thespellwasbroken.
“Ifyoudon’tmindwaitingaminute,”hesaid,“IthinkI’llhaveapipe.”
Theypausedawhileontheeighthtee.Jackfilledandlitthepipewithfingersthattrembledalittleinspiteofhimself.Anenormousweightseemedtohaveliftedfromhismind.
“Lord,whatagooddayitis,”heremarked,staringattheprospectaheadofhimwithgreatcontentment.“Goon,Lavington,yourswipe.”
Andthenitcame.Justattheveryinstantthedoctorwashitting.Awoman’svoice,highandagonized.
“Murder—Help!Murder!”
ThepipefellfromJack’snervelesshand,ashespunroundinthedirectionofthesound,andthen,remembering,gazedbreathlesslyathiscompanion.
Lavingtonwaslookingdownthecourse,shadinghiseyes.
“Abitshort—justclearedthebunker,though,Ithink.”
Hehadheardnothing.
TheworldseemedtospinroundwithJack.Hetookasteportwo,lurchingheavily.Whenherecoveredhimself,hewaslyingontheshortturf,andLavingtonwasbendingoverhim.
“There,takeiteasynow,takeiteasy.”
“WhatdidIdo?”
“Youfainted,youngman—orgaveaverygoodtryatit.”
“MyGod!”saidJack,andgroaned.
“What’sthetrouble?Somethingonyourmind?”
“I’lltellyouinoneminute,butI’dliketoaskyousomethingfirst.”
Thedoctorlithisownpipeandsettledhimselfonthebank.
“Askanythingyoulike,”hesaidcomfortably.
“You’vebeenwatchingmeforthelastdayortwo.Why?”
Lavington’seyestwinkledalittle.
“That’sratheranawkwardquestion.Acatcanlookataking,youknow.”
“Don’tputmeoff.I’mearnest.Whywasit?I’veavitalreasonforasking.”
Lavington’sfacegrewserious.
“I’llansweryouquitehonestly.Irecognizedinyouallthesignsofamanlabouringunderasenseofacutestrain,anditintriguedmewhatthatstraincouldbe.”
“Icantellyouthateasilyenough,”saidJackbitterly.“I’mgoingmad.”
Hestoppeddramatically,buthisstatementnotseemingtoarousetheinterestandconsternationheexpected,herepeatedit.
“ItellyouI’mgoingmad.”
“Verycurious,”murmuredLavington.“Verycuriousindeed.”
Jackfeltindignant.
“Isupposethat’sallitdoesseemtoyou.Doctorsaresodamnedcallous.”
“Come,comemyyoungfriend,you’retalkingatrandom.Tobeginwith,althoughIhavetakenmydegree,Idonotpractisemedicine.Strictlyspeaking,Iamnotadoctor—notadoctorofthebody,thatis.”
Jacklookedathimkeenly.
“Orthemind?”
“Yes,inasense,butmoretrulyIcallmyselfadoctorofthesoul.”
“Oh!”
“Iperceivethedisparagementinyourtone,andyetwemustusesomewordtodenotetheactiveprinciplewhichcanbeseparatedandexistindependentlyofitsfleshyhome,thebody.You’vegottocometotermswiththesoul,youknow,youngman,itisn’tjustareligiousterminventedbyclergymen.Butwe’llcallitthemind,orthesubconsciousself,oranytermthatsuitsyoubetter.Youtookoffenceatmytonejustnow,butIcanassureyouthatitreallydidstrikemeasverycuriousthatsuchawell-balancedandperfectlynormalyoungmanasyourselfshouldsufferfromthedelusionthathewasgoingoutofhismind.”
“I’moutofmymindallright.Absolutelybalmy.”
“Youwillforgivemeforsayingso,butIdon’tbelieveit.”
“Isufferfromdelusions.”
“Afterdinner?”
“No,inthemorning.”
“Can’tbedone,”saidthedoctor,relightinghispipewhichhadgoneout.
“ItellyouIhearthingsthatnooneelsehears.”
“OnemaninathousandcanseethemoonsofJupiter.Becausetheotherninehundredandninetyninecan’tseethemthere’snoreasontodoubtthatthemoonsofJupiterexist,andcertainlynoreasonforcallingthethousandthmanalunatic.”
“ThemoonsofJupiterareaprovedscientificfact.”
“It’squitepossiblethatthedelusionsoftodaymaybetheprovedscientificfactsoftomorrow.”
Inspiteofhimself,Lavington’smatter-of-factmannerwashavingitseffectuponJack.Hefeltimmeasurablysoothedandcheered.Thedoctorlookedathimattentivelyforaminuteortwoandthennodded.
“That’sbetter,”hesaid.“Thetroublewithyouyoungfellowsisthatyou’resococksurenothingcanexistoutsideyourownphilosophythatyougetthewindupwhensomethingoccurstojoltyououtofthatopinion.Let’shearyourgroundsforbelievingthatyou’regoingmad,andwe’lldecidewhetherornottolockyouupafterwards.”
Asfaithfullyashecould,Jacknarratedthewholeseriesofoccurrences.
“ButwhatIcan’tunderstand,”heended,“iswhythismorningitshouldcomeathalfpastseven—fiveminuteslate.”
Lavingtonthoughtforaminuteortwo.Then—
“What’sthetimenowbyyourwatch?”heasked.
“Quartertoeight,”repliedJack,consultingit.
“That’ssimpleenough,then.Minesaystwentytoeight.Yourwatchisfiveminutesfast.That’saveryinterestingandimportantpoint—tome.Infact,it’sinvaluable.”
“Inwhatway?”
Jackwasbeginningtogetinterested.
“Well,theobviousexplanationisthatonthefirstmorningyoudidhearsomesuchcry—mayhavebeenajoke,maynot.Onthefollowingmornings,yousuggestionedyourselftohearitatexactlythesametime.”
“I’msureIdidn’t.”
“Notconsciously,ofcourse,butthesubconsciousplaysussomefunnytricks,youknow.Butanyway,thatexplanationwon’twash.Ifitwasacaseofsuggestion,youwouldhaveheardthecryattwenty-fiveminutespastsevenbyyourwatch,andyoucouldneverhavehearditwhenthetime,asyouthought,waspast.”
“Well,then?”
“Well—it’sobvious,isn’tit?Thiscryforhelpoccupiesaperfectlydefiniteplaceandtimeinspace.Theplaceisthevicinityofthatcottageandthetimeistwenty-fiveminutespastseven.”
“Yes,butwhyshouldIbetheonetohearit?Idon’tbelieveinghostsandallthatspookstuff—spiritsrappingandalltherestofit.WhyshouldIhearthedamnedthing?”
“Ah!thatwecan’ttellatpresent.It’sacuriousthingthatmanyofthebestmediumsaremadeoutofconfirmedsceptics.Itisn’tthepeoplewhoareinterestedinoccultphenomenawhogetthemanifestations.Somepeopleseeandhearthingsthatotherpeopledon’t—wedon’tknowwhy,andninetimesoutoftentheydon’twanttoseeorhearthem,andareconvincedthattheyaresufferingfromdelusions—justasyouwere.It’slikeelectricity.Somesubstancesaregoodconductors,othersarenonconductors,andforalongtimewedidn’tknowwhy,andhadtobecontentjusttoacceptthefact.Nowadayswedoknowwhy.Someday,nodoubt,weshallknowwhyyouhearthisthingandIandthegirldon’t.Everything’sgovernedbynaturallaw,youknow—there’snosuchthingreallyasthesupernatural.Findingoutthelawsthatgovernsocalledpsychicphenomenaisgoingtobeatoughjob—buteverylittlehelps.”
“ButwhatamIgoingtodo?”askedJack.
Lavingtonchuckled.
“Practical,Isee.Well,myyoungfriend,youaregoingtohaveagoodbreakfastandgetofftothecitywithoutworryingyourheadfurtheraboutthingsyoudon’tunderstand.I,ontheotherhand,amgoingtopokeabout,andseewhatIcanfindoutaboutthatcottagebackthere.That’swherethemysterycentres,Idareswear.”
Jackrosetohisfeet.
“Right,sir,I’mon,but,Isay—”
“Yes?”
Jackflushedawkwardly.
“I’msurethegirl’sallright,”hemuttered.
Lavingtonlookedamused.
“Youdidn’ttellmeshewasaprettygirl!Well,cheerup,Ithinkthemysterystartedbeforehertime.”
Jackarrivedhomethateveninginaperfectfeverofcuriosity.HewasbynowpinninghisfaithblindlytoLavington.Thedoctorhadacceptedthemattersonaturally,hadbeensomatter-of-factandunperturbedbyit,thatJackwasimpressed.
Hefoundhisnewfriendwaitingforhiminthehallwhenhecamedownfordinner,andthedoctorsuggestedthattheyshoulddinetogetheratthesametable.
“Anynews,sir?”askedJackanxiously
“I’vecollectedthelifehistoryofHeatherCottageallright.Itwastenantedfirstbyanoldgardenerandhiswife.Theoldmandied,andtheoldwomanwenttoherdaughter.Thenabuildergotholdofit,andmodernizeditwithgreatsuccess,sellingittoacitygentlemanwhouseditforweekends.Aboutayearago,hesoldittosomepeoplecalledTurner—Mr.andMrs.Turner.TheyseemtohavebeenratheracuriouscouplefromallIcanmakeout.HewasanEnglishman,hiswifewaspopularlysupposedtobepartlyRussian,andwasaveryhandsomeexotic-lookingwoman.Theylivedveryquietly,seeingnoone,andhardlyevergoingoutsidethecottagegarden.Thelocalrumourgoesthattheywereafraidofsomething—butIdon’tthinkweoughttorelyonthat.
“Andthensuddenlyonedaytheydeparted,clearedoutonemorningearly,andnevercameback.TheagentsheregotaletterfromMr.Turner,writtenfromLondon,instructinghimtoselluptheplaceasquicklyaspossible.Thefurniturewassoldoff,andthehouseitselfwassoldtoaMr.Mauleverer.Heonlyactuallylivedinitafortnight—thenhe
Jackdigestedthisinsilence.
“Idon’tseethatthatgetsusanyforrader,”hesaidatlast.“Doyou?”
“IratherwanttoknowmoreabouttheTurners,”saidLavingtonquietly.“Theyleftveryearlyinthemorning,youremember.AsfarasIcanmakeout,nobodyactuallysawthemgo.Mr.Turnerhasbeenseensince—butIcan’tfindanybodywhohasseenMrs.Turner.
Jackpaled.
“Itcan’tbe—youdon’tmean—”
“Don’texciteyourself,youngman.Theinfluenceofanyoneatthepointofdeath—andespeciallyofviolentdeath—upontheirsurroundingsisverystrong.Thosesurroundingsmightconceivablyabsorbthatinfluence,transmittingitinturntoasuitablytunedreceiver—inthiscaseyourself.”
“Butwhyme?”murmuredJackrebelliously.“Whynotsomeonewhocoulddosomegood?”
“Youareregardingtheforceasintelligentandpurposeful,insteadofblindandmechanical.Idonotbelievemyselfinearthboundspirits,hauntingaspotforoneparticularpurpose.ButthethingIhaveseen,againandagain,untilIcanhardlybelieveittobepurecoincidence,isakindofblindgropingtowardsjustice—asubterraneanmovingof
Heshookhimself—asthoughcastingoffsomeobsessionthatpreoccupiedhim,andturnedtoJackwithareadysmile.
“Letusbanishthesubject—fortonightatallevents,”hesuggested.
Jackagreedreadilyenough,butdidnotfinditsoeasytobanishthesubjectfromhisownmind.
Duringtheweekend,hemadevigorousinquiriesofhisown,butsucceededinelicitinglittlemorethanthedoctorhaddone.Hehaddefinitelygivenupplayinggolfbeforebreakfast.
Thenextlinkinthechaincamefromanunexpectedquarter.Ongettingbackoneday,Jackwasinformedthatayoungladywaswaitingtoseehim.Tohisintensesurpriseitprovedtobethegirlofthegarden—thepansygirl,ashealwayscalledherinhisownmind.Shewasverynervousandconfused.
“Youwillforgiveme,Monsieur,forcomingtoseekyoulikethis?ButthereissomethingIwanttotellyou—I—”
Shelookedrounduncertainly.
“Comeinhere,”saidJackpromptly,leadingthewayintothenowdeserted“Ladies’Drawingroom”ofthehotel,adrearyapartment,withagooddealofredplushaboutit.“Now,sitdown,Miss,Miss—”
“Marchaud,Monsieur,FeliseMarchaud.”
“Sitdown,MademoiselleMarchaud,andtellmeallaboutit.”
Felisesatdownobediently.Shewasdressedindarkgreentoday,andthebeautyandcharmoftheproudlittlefacewasmoreevidentthanever.Jack’sheartbeatfasterashesatdownbesideher.
“Itislikethis,”explainedFelise.“Wehavebeenherebutashorttime,andfromthebeginningwehearthehouse—oursosweetlittlehouse—ishaunted.Noservantwillstayinit.Thatdoesnotmattersomuch—me,Icandotheménageandcookeasilyenough.”
“Angel,”thoughttheinfatuatedyoungman.“She’swonderful.”
Buthemaintainedanoutwardsemblanceofbusinesslikeattention.
“Thistalkofghosts,Ithinkitisallfolly—thatisuntilfourdaysago.Monsieur,fournightsrunning,Ihavehadthesamedream.Aladystandsthere—sheisbeautiful,tallandveryfair.Inherhandssheholdsabluechinajar.Sheisdistressed—verydistressed,andcontinuallysheholdsoutthejartome,asthoughimploringmetodosomethingwithit—butalas!shecannotspeak,andI—Idonotknowwhatsheasks.Thatwasthedreamforthefirsttwonights—butthenightbeforelast,therewasmoreofit.Sheandthebluejarfadedaway,andsuddenlyIheardhervoicecryingout—Iknowitishervoice,youcomprehend—and,oh!Monsieur,thewordsshesaysarethoseyouspoketomethatmorning.‘Murder—Help!Murder!’Iawokeinterror.Isaytomyself—itisanightmare,thewordsyouheardareanaccident.Butlastnightthedreamcameagain.Monsieur,whatisit?Youtoohaveheard.Whatshallwedo?”
Felise’sfacewasterrified.Hersmallhandsclaspedthemselvestogether,andshegazedappealinglyatJack.Thelatteraffectedanunconcernhedidnotfeel.
“That’sallright,MademoiselleMarchaud.Youmustn’tworry.ItellyouwhatI’dlikeyoutodo,ifyoudon’tmind,repeatthewholestorytoafriendofminewhoisstayinghere,aDr.Lavington.”
Felisesignifiedherwillingnesstoadoptthiscourse,andJackwentoffinsearchofLavington.Hereturnedwithhimafewminuteslater.
LavingtongavethegirlakeenscrutinyasheacknowledgedJack’shurriedintroductions.Withafewreassuringwords,hesoonputthegirlatherease,andhe,inhisturn,listenedattentivelytoherstory.
“Verycurious,”hesaid,whenshehadfinished.“Youhavetoldyourfatherofthis?”
Feliseshookherhead.
“Ihavenotlikedtoworryhim.Heisveryillstill”—hereyesfilledwithtears—“Ikeepfromhimanythingthatmightexciteoragitatehim.”
“Iunderstand,”saidLavingtonkindly.“AndIamgladyoucametous,MademoiselleMarchaud.Hartingtonhere,asyouknow,hadanexperiencesomethingsimilartoyours.IthinkImaysaythatwearewellonthetracknow.Thereisnothingelsethatyoucanthinkof?”
Felisegaveaquickmovement.
“Ofcourse!HowstupidIam.Itisthepointofthewholestory.Look,Monsieur,atwhatIfoundatthebackofoneofthecupboardswhereithadslippedbehindtheshelf.”
Sheheldouttothemadirtypieceofdrawingpaperonwhichwasexecutedroughlyinwatercoloursasketchofawoman.Itwasameredaub,butthelikenesswasprobablygoodenough.Itrepresentedatallfairwoman,withsomethingsubtlyun-Englishaboutherface.Shewasstandingbyatableonwhichwasstandingabluechinajar.
“Ionlyfounditthismorning,”explainedFelise.“Monsieurledocteur,thatisthefaceofthewomanIsawinmydream,andthatistheidenticalbluejar.”
“Extraordinary,”commentedLavington.“Thekeytothemysteryisevidentlythebluejar.ItlookslikeaChinesejartome,probablyanoldone.Itseemstohaveacuriousraisedpatternoverit.”
“ItisChinese,”declaredJack.“Ihaveseenanexactlysimilaroneinmyuncle’scollection—heisagreatcollectorofChineseporcelain,youknow,andIremembernoticingajarjustlikethisashorttimeago.”
“TheChinesejar,”musedLavington.Heremainedaminuteortwolostinthought,thenraisedhisheadsuddenly,acuriouslightshininginhiseyes.“Hartington,howlonghasyourunclehadthatjar?”
“Howlong?Ireallydon’tknow.”
“Think.Didhebuyitlately?”
“Idon’tknow—yes,Ibelievehedid,nowIcometothinkofit.I’mnotveryinterestedinporcelainmyself,butIrememberhisshowingmehis‘recentacquisitions,’andthiswasoneofthem.”
“Lessthantwomonthsago?TheTurnersleftHeatherCottagejusttwomonthsago.”
“Yes,Ibelieveitwas.”
“Youruncleattendscountrysalessometimes?”
“He’salwaystoolingroundtosales.”
“ThenthereisnoinherentimprobabilityinourassumingthatheboughtthisparticularpieceofporcelainatthesaleoftheTurners’things.Acuriouscoincidence—orperhapswhatIcallthegropingofblindjustice.Hartington,youmustfindoutfromyouruncleatoncewhereheboughtthisjar.”
Jack’sfacefell.
“I’mafraidthat’simpossible.UncleGeorgeisawayontheContinent.Idon’tevenknowwheretowritetohim.”
“Howlongwillhebeaway?”
“Threeweekstoamonthatleast.”
Therewasasilence.Felisesatlookinganxiouslyfromonemantotheother.
“Istherenothingthatwecando?”sheaskedtimidly.
“Yes,thereisonething,”saidLavington,inatoneofsuppressedexcitement.“Itisunusual,perhaps,butIbelievethatitwillsucceed.Hartington,youmustgetholdofthatjar.Bringitdownhere,and,ifMademoisellepermits,wewillspendanightatHeatherCottage,takingthebluejarwithus.”
Jackfelthisskincreepuncomfortably.
“Whatdoyouthinkwillhappen?”heaskeduneasily.
“Ihavenottheslightestidea—butIhonestlybelievethatthemysterywillbesolvedandtheghostlaid.Quitepossiblytheremaybeafalsebottomtothejarandsomethingisconcealedinsideit.Ifnophenomenonoccurs,wemustuseourowningenuity.”
Feliseclaspedherhands.
“Itisawonderfulidea,”sheexclaimed.
Hereyeswerealightwithenthusiasm.Jackdidnotfeelnearlysoenthusiastic—infact,hewasinwardlyfunkingitbadly,butnothingwouldhaveinducedhimtoadmitthefactbeforeFelise.Thedoctoractedasthoughhissuggestionwerethemostnaturaloneintheworld.
“Whencanyougetthejar?”askedFelise,turningtoJack.
“Tomorrow,”saidthelatter,unwillingly.
Hehadtogothroughwithitnow,butthememoryofthefrenziedcryforhelpthathadhauntedhimeachmorningwassomethingtoberuthlesslythrustdownandnotthoughtaboutmorethancouldbehelped.
Hewenttohisuncle’shousethefollowingevening,andtookawaythejarinquestion.Hewasmorethaneverconvincedwhenhesawitagainthatitwastheidenticalonepicturedinthewatercoloursketch,butcarefullyashelookeditoverhecouldseenosignthatitcontainedasecretreceptacleofanykind.
Itwaseleveno’clockwhenheandLavingtonarrivedatHeatherCottage.Felisewasonthelookoutforthem,andopenedthedoorsoftlybeforetheyhadtimetoknock.
“Comein,”shewhispered.“Myfatherisasleepupstairs,andwemustnotwakehim.Ihavemadecoffeeforyouinhere.”
Sheledthewayintothesmallcosysittingroom.Aspiritlampstoodinthegrate,andbendingoverit,shebrewedthembothsomefragrantcoffee.
ThenJackunfastenedtheChinesejarfromitsmanywrappings.Felisegaspedashereyesfellonit.
“Butyes,butyes,”shecriedeagerly.“Thatisit—Iwouldknowitanywhere.”
MeanwhileLavingtonwasmakinghisownpreparations.Heremovedalltheornamentsfromasmalltableandsetitinthemiddleoftheroom.Rounditheplacedthreechairs.Then,takingthebluejarfromJack,heplaceditinthecentreofthetable.
“Now,”hesaid,“weareready.Turnoffthelights,andletussitroundthetableinthedarkness.”
Theothersobeyedhim.Lavington’svoicespokeagainoutofthedarkness.
“Thinkofnothing—orofeverything.Donotforcethemind.Itispossiblethatoneofushasmediumisticpowers.Ifso,thatpersonwillgointoatrance.Remember,thereisnothingtofear.Castoutfearfromyourhearts,anddrift—drift—”
Hisvoicediedawayandtherewassilence.Minutebyminute,thesilenceseemedtogrowmorepregnantwithpossibilities.ItwasallverywellforLavingtontosay“Castoutfear.”ItwasnotfearthatJackfelt—itwaspanic.AndhewasalmostcertainthatFelisefeltthesameway.Suddenlyheheardhervoice,lowandterrified.
“Somethingterribleisgoingtohappen.Ifeelit.”
“Castoutfear,”saidLavington.“Donotfightagainsttheinfluence.”
Thedarknessseemedtogetdarkerandthesilencemoreacute.Andnearerandnearercamethatindefinablesenseofmenace.
Jackfelthimselfchoking—stifling—theevilthingwasverynear….
Andthenthemomentofconflictpassed.Hewasdrifting,driftingdownstream—hislidsclosed—peace—darkness..
Jackstirredslightly.Hisheadwasheavy—heavyaslead.Wherewashe?
Sunshine…birds…Helaystaringupatthesky.
Thenitallcamebacktohim.Thesitting.Thelittleroom.Feliseandthedoctor.Whathadhappened?
Hesatup,hisheadthrobbingunpleasantly,andlookedroundhim.Hewaslyinginalittlecopsenotfarfromthecottage.Nooneelsewasnearhim.Hetookouthiswatch.Tohisamazementitregisteredhalfpasttwelve.
Jackstruggledtohisfeet,andranasfastashecouldinthedirectionofthecottage.Theymusthavebeenalarmedbyhisfailuretocomeoutofthetrance,andcarriedhimoutintotheopenair.
Arrivedatthecottage,heknockedloudlyonthedoor.Buttherewasnoanswer,andnosignsoflifeaboutit.Theymusthavegoneofftogethelp.Orelse—Jackfeltanindefinablefearinvadehim.Whathadhappenedlastnight?
Hemadehiswaybacktothehotelasquicklyaspossible.Hewasabouttomakesomeinquiriesattheoffice,whenhewasdivertedbyacolossalpunchintheribswhichnearlyknockedhimoffhisfeet.Turninginsomeindignation,hebeheldawhite-hairedoldgentlemanwheezingwithmirth.
“Didn’texpectme,myboy.Didn’texpectme,hey?”saidthisindividual.
“Why,UncleGeorge,Ithoughtyouweremilesaway—inItalysomewhere.”
“Ah!butIwasn’t.LandedatDoverlastnight.ThoughtI’dmotoruptotownandstopheretoseeyouontheway.AndwhatdidIfind.Outallnight,hey?Nicegoingson—”
“UncleGeorge,”Jackcheckedhimfirmly.“I’vegotthemostextraordinarystorytotellyou.Idaresayyouwon’tbelieveit.”
“IdaresayIshan’t,”laughedtheoldman.“Butdoyourbest,myboy.”
“ButImusthavesomethingtoeat,”continuedJack.“I’mfamished.”
Heledthewaytothediningroom,andoverasubstantialrepast,henarratedthewholestory.
“AndGodknowswhat’sbecomeofthem,”heended.
Hisuncleseemedonthevergeofapoplexy.
“Thejar,”hemanagedtoejaculateatlast.“THEBLUEJAR!What’sbecomeofthat?”
Jackstaredathiminnoncomprehension,butsubmergedinthetorrentofwordsthatfollowedhebegantounderstand.
Itcamewitharush:“Ming—unique—gemofmycollection—worthtenthousandpoundsatleast—offerfromHoggenheimer,theAmericanmillionaire—onlyoneofitskindintheworld—Confoundit,sir,whathaveyoudonewithmyBLUEJAR?”
Jackrushedfromtheroom.HemustfindLavington.Theyoungladyattheofficeeyedhimcoldly.
“Dr.Lavingtonleftlatelastnight—bymotor.Heleftanoteforyou.”
Jacktoreitopen.Itwasshortandtothepoint.
MYDEARYOUNGFRIEND,Isthedayofthesupernaturalover?Notquite—especiallywhentrickedoutinnewscientificlanguage.KindestregardsfromFelise,invalidfather,andmyself.Wehavetwelvehoursstart,whichoughttobeample.Yoursever,AMBROSELAVINGTON,DoctoroftheSoul.SevenSINGASONGOFSIXPENCE
“SingaSongofSixpence”wasfirstpublishedinHollyLeaves(publishedbyIllustratedSportingandDramaticNews),2December1929.
SirEdwardPalliser,K.C.,livedatNo.9QueenAnne’sClose.QueenAnne’sCloseisacul-de-sac.IntheveryheartofWestminsteritmanagestohaveapeacefulold-worldatmospherefarremovedfromtheturmoilofthetwentiethcentury.ItsuitedSirEdwardPalliseradmirably.
SirEdwardhadbeenoneofthemosteminentcriminalbarristersofhisdayandnowthathenolongerpractisedattheBarhehadamusedhimselfbyamassingaveryfinecriminologicallibrary.HewasalsotheauthorofavolumeofReminiscencesofEminentCriminals.
OnthisparticulareveningSirEdwardwassittinginfrontofhislibraryfiresippingsomeveryexcellentblackcoffee,andshakinghisheadoveravolumeofLombroso.Suchingenioustheoriesandsocompletelyoutofdate.
Thedooropenedalmostnoiselesslyandhiswell-trainedmanservantapproachedoverthethickpilecarpet,andmurmureddiscreetly:
“Ayoungladywishestoseeyou,sir.”
“Ayounglady?”
SirEdwardwassurprised.Herewassomethingquiteoutoftheusualcourseofevents.Thenhereflectedthatitmightbehisniece,Ethel—butno,inthatcaseArmourwouldhavesaidso.
Heinquiredcautiously.
“Theladydidnotgivehername?”
“No,sir,butshesaidshewasquitesureyouwouldwishtoseeher.”
“Showherin,”saidSirEdwardPalliser.Hefeltpleasurablyintrigued.
Atall,darkgirlofcloseonthirty,wearingablackcoatandskirt,wellcut,andalittleblackhat,cametoSirEdwardwithoutstretchedhandandalookofeagerrecognitiononherface.Armourwithdrew,closingthedoornoiselesslybehindhim.
“SirEdward—youdoknowme,don’tyou?I’mMagdalenVaughan.”
“Why,ofcourse.”Hepressedtheoutstretchedhandwarmly.
Herememberedherperfectlynow.ThattriphomefromAmericaontheSiluric!Thischarmingchild—forshehadbeenlittlemorethanachild.Hehadmadelovetoher,heremembered,inadiscreetelderlyman-of-the-worldfashion.Shehadbeensoadorablyyoung—soeager—sofullofadmirationandheroworship—justmadetocaptivatetheheartofamannearingsixty.Theremembrancebroughtadditionalwarmthintothepressureofhishand.
“Thisismostdelightfulofyou.Sitdown,won’tyou.”Hearrangedanarmchairforher,talkingeasilyandevenly,wonderingallthetimewhyshehadcome.Whenatlasthebroughttheeasyflowofsmalltalktoanend,therewasasilence.
Herhandclosedandunclosedonthearmofthechair,shemoistenedherlips.Suddenlyshespoke—abruptly.
“SirEdward—Iwantyoutohelpme.”
Hewassurprisedandmurmuredmechanically:
“Yes?”
Shewenton,speakingmoreintensely:
“YousaidthatifeverIneededhelp—thatiftherewasanythingintheworldyoucoulddoforme—youwoulddoit.”
Yes,hehadsaidthat.Itwasthesortofthingonedidsay—particularlyatthemomentofparting.Hecouldrecallthebreakinhisvoice—thewayhehadraisedherhandtohislips.
“IfthereiseveranythingIcando—remember,Imeanit….”
Yes,onesaidthatsortofthing…Butvery,veryrarelydidonehavetofulfillone’swords!Andcertainlynotafter—howmany?—nineortenyears.Heflashedaquickglanceather—shewasstillaverygood-lookinggirl,butshehadlostwhathadbeentohimhercharm—thatlookofdewyuntouchedyouth.Itwasamoreinterestingfacenow,perhaps—ayoungermanmighthavethoughtso—butSirEdwardwasfarfromfeelingthetideofwarmthandemotionthathadbeenhisattheendofthatAtlanticvoyage.
Hisfacebecamelegalandcautious.Hesaidinaratherbriskway:
“Certainly,mydearyounglady.Ishallbedelightedtodoanythinginmypower—thoughIdoubtifIcanbeveryhelpfultoanyoneinthesedays.”
Ifhewaspreparinghiswayofretreatshedidnotnoticeit.Shewasofthetypethatcanonlyseeonethingatatimeandwhatshewasseeingatthismomentwasherownneed.ShetookSirEdward’swillingnesstohelpforgranted.
“Weareinterribletrouble,SirEdward.”
“We?Youaremarried?”
“No—ImeantmybrotherandI.Oh!andWilliamandEmilytoo,forthatmatter.ButImustexplain.Ihave—Ihadanaunt—MissCrabtree.Youmayhavereadaboutherinthepapers.Itwashorrible.Shewaskilled—murdered.”
“Ah!”AflashofinterestlitupSirEdward’sface.“Aboutamonthago,wasn’tit?”
Thegirlnodded.
“Ratherlessthanthat—threeweeks.”
“Yes,Iremember.Shewashitontheheadinherownhouse.Theydidn’tgetthefellowwhodidit.”
AgainMagdalenVaughannodded.
“Theydidn’tgettheman—Idon’tbelievetheyeverwillgettheman.Yousee—theremightn’tbeanymantoget.”
“What?”
“Yes—it’sawful.Nothing’scomeoutaboutitinthepapers.Butthat’swhatthepolicethink.Theyknownobodycametothehousethatnight.”
“Youmean—?”
“Thatit’soneofusfour.Itmustbe.Theydon’tknowwhich—andwedon’tknowwhich…Wedon’tknow.Andwesitthereeverydaylookingateachothersurreptitiouslyandwondering.Oh!ifonlyitcouldhavebeensomeonefromoutside—butIdon’tseehowitcan….”
SirEdwardstaredather,hisinterestarising.
“Youmeanthatthemembersofthefamilyareundersuspicion?”
“Yes,that’swhatImean.Thepolicehaven’tsaidso,ofcourse.They’vebeenquitepoliteandnice.Butthey’veransackedthehouse,they’vequestionedusall,andMarthaagainandagain…Andbecausetheydon’tknowwhich,they’reholdingtheirhand.I’msofrightened—sohorriblyfrightened….”
“Mydearchild.Comenow,surelynow,surelyyouareexaggerating.”
“I’mnot.It’soneofusfour—itmustbe.”
“Whoarethefourtowhomyourefer?”
Magdalensatupstraightandspokemorecomposedly.
“There’smyselfandMatthew.AuntLilywasourgreataunt.Shewasmygrandmother’ssister.We’velivedwithhereversincewewerefourteen(we’retwins,youknow).ThentherewasWilliamCrabtree.Hewashernephew—herbrother’schild.Helivedtheretoo,withhiswifeEmily.”
“Shesupportedthem?”
“Moreorless.Hehasalittlemoneyofhisown,buthe’snotstrongandhastoliveathome.He’saquiet,dreamysortofman.I’msureitwouldhavebeenimpossibleforhimtohave—oh!—it’sawfulofmetothinkofiteven!”
“Iamstillveryfarfromunderstandingtheposition.Perhapsyouwouldnotmindrunningoverthefacts—ifitdoesnotdistressyoutoomuch.”
“Oh!no—Iwanttotellyou.Andit’sallquiteclearinmymindstill—horriblyclear.We’dhadtea,youunderstand,andwe’dallgoneofftodothingsofourown.Itodosomedressmaking.Matthewtotypeanarticle—hedoesalittlejournalism;Williamtodohisstamps.Emilyhadn’tbeendowntotea.She’dtakenaheadachepowderandwaslyingdown.Sotherewewere,allofus,busyandoccupied.AndwhenMarthawentintolaysupperathalfpastseven,thereAuntLilywas—dead.Herhead—oh!it’shorrible—allcrushedin.”
“Theweaponwasfound,Ithink?”
“Yes.Itwasaheavypaperweightthatalwayslayonthetablebythedoor.Thepolicetesteditforfingerprints,buttherewerenone.Ithadbeenwipedclean.”
“Andyourfirstsurmise?”
“Wethoughtofcourseitwasaburglar.Thereweretwoorthreedrawersofthebureaupulledout,asthoughathiefhadbeenlookingforsomething.Ofcoursewethoughtitwasaburglar!Andthenthepolicecame—andtheysaidshehadbeendeadatleastanhour,andaskedMarthawhohadbeentothehouse,andMarthasaidnobody.Andallthewindows
Shestopped.Herbreastheaved.Hereyes,frightenedandimploring,soughtSirEdward’sinsearchofreassurance.
“Forinstance,whobenefitedbyyouraunt’sdeath?”
“That’ssimple.Weallbenefitequally.Shelefthermoneytobedividedinequalsharesamongthefourofus.”
“Andwhatwasthevalueofherestate?”
“Thelawyertoldusitwillcometoabouteightythousandpoundsafterthedeathdutiesarepaid.”
SirEdwardopenedhiseyesinsomeslightsurprise.
“Thatisquiteaconsiderablesum.Youknew,Isuppose,thetotalofyouraunt’sfortune?”
Magdalenshookherhead.
“No—itcamequiteasasurprisetous.AuntLilywasalwaysterriblycarefulaboutmoney.Shekeptjusttheoneservantandalwaystalkedalotabouteconomy.”
SirEdwardnoddedthoughtfully.Magdalenleanedforwardalittleinherchair.
“Youwillhelpme—youwill?”
HerwordscametoSirEdwardasanunpleasantshockjustatthemomentwhenhewasbecominginterestedinherstoryforitsownsake.
“Mydearyounglady—whatcanIpossiblydo?Ifyouwantgoodlegaladvice,Icangiveyouthename—”
Sheinterruptedhim.
“Oh!Idon’twantthatsortofthing!Iwantyoutohelpmepersonally—asafriend.”
“That’sverycharmingofyou,but—”
“Iwantyoutocometoourhouse.Iwantyoutoaskquestions.Iwantyoutoseeandjudgeforyourself.”
“Butmydearyoung—”
“Remember,youpromised.Anywhere—anytime—yousaid,ifIwantedhelp….”
Hereyes,pleadingyetconfident,lookedintohis.Hefeltashamedandstrangelytouched.Thatterrificsincerityofhers,thatabsolutebeliefinanidlepromise,tenyearsold,asasacredbindingthing.Howmanymenhadnotsaidthoseself-samewords—aclichéalmost!—andhowfewofthemhadeverbeencalledupontomakegood.
Hesaidratherweakly:“I’msuretherearemanypeoplewhocouldadviseyoubetterthanIcould.”
“I’vegotlotsoffriends—naturally.”(Hewasamusedbythena?veself-assuranceofthat.)“Butyousee,noneofthemareclever.Notlikeyou.You’reusedtoquestioningpeople.Andwithallyourexperienceyoumustknow.”
“Knowwhat?”
“Whetherthey’reinnocentorguilty.”
Hesmiledrathergrimlytohimself.Heflatteredhimselfthatonthewholeheusuallyhadknown!Though,onmanyoccasions,hisprivateopinionhadnotbeenthatofthejury.
Magdalenpushedbackherhatfromherforeheadwithanervousgesture,lookedroundtheroom,andsaid:
“Howquietitishere.Don’tyousometimeslongforsomenoise?”
Thecul-de-sac!Allunwittinglyherwords,spokenatrandom,touchedhimontheraw.Acul-de-sac.Yes,buttherewasalwaysawayout—thewayyouhadcome—thewaybackintotheworld…Somethingimpetuousandyouthfulstirredinhim.Hersimpletrustappealedtothebestsideofhisnature—andtheconditionofherproblemappealedtosomethingelse—theinnatecriminologistinhim.Hewantedtoseethesepeopleofwhomshespoke.Hewantedtoformhisownjudgement.
Hesaid:“IfyouarereallyconvincedIcanbeofanyuse…Mind,Iguaranteenothing.”
Heexpectedhertobeoverwhelmedwithdelight,butshetookitverycalmly.
“Iknewyouwoulddoit.I’vealwaysthoughtofyouasarealfriend.Willyoucomebackwithmenow?”
“No.IthinkifIpayyouavisittomorrowitwillbemoresatisfactory.WillyougivemethenameandaddressofMissCrabtree’slawyer?Imaywanttoaskhimafewquestions.”
Shewroteitdownandhandedittohim.Thenshegotupandsaidrathershyly:
“I—I’mreallymostawfullygrateful.Good-bye.”
“Andyourownaddress?”
“Howstupidofme.18PalatineWalk,Chelsea.”
Itwasthreeo’clockonthefollowingafternoonwhenSirEdwardPalliserapproached18PalatineWalkwithasober,measuredtread.Intheintervalhehadfoundoutseveralthings.HehadpaidavisitthatmorningtoScotlandYard,wheretheAssistantCommissionerwasanoldfriendofhis,andhehadalsohadaninterviewwiththelateMissCrabtree’slawyer.Asaresulthehadaclearervisionofthecircumstances.MissCrabtree’sarrangementsinregardtomoneyhadbeensomewhatpeculiar.Shenevermadeuseofachequebook.Insteadshewasinthehabitofwritingtoherlawyerandaskinghimtohaveacertainsuminfive-poundnoteswaitingforher.Itwasnearlyalwaysthesamesum.Three
AtScotlandYardSirEdwardlearnedthatthequestionoffinancehadbeengoneintoverycarefully.MissCrabtreehadbeenalmostdueforhernextinstalmentofmoney.Presumablythepreviousthreehundredhadbeenspent—oralmostspent.Butthiswasexactlythepointthathadnotbeeneasytoascertain.Bycheckingthehouseholdexpenditure,itwassoonevidentthatMissCrabtree’sexpenditureperquarterfellagooddealshortofthreehundredpounds.Ontheotherhandshewasinthehabitofsendingfive-poundnotesawaytoneedyfriendsorrelatives.Whethertherehadbeenmuchorlittlemoneyinthehouseatthetimeofherdeathwasadebatablepoint.Nonehadbeenfound.
ItwasthisparticularpointwhichSirEdwardwasrevolvinginhismindasheapproachedPalatineWalk.
Thedoorofthehouse(whichwasanon-basementone)wasopenedtohimbyasmallelderlywomanwithanalertgaze.HewasshownintoabigdoubleroomontheleftofthesmallhallwayandthereMagdalencametohim.Moreclearlythanbefore,hesawthetracesofnervousstraininherface.
“Youtoldmetoaskquestions,andIhavecometodoso,”saidSirEdward,smilingasheshookhands.“FirstofallIwanttoknowwholastsawyourauntandexactlywhattimethatwas?”
“Itwasaftertea—fiveo’clock.Marthawasthelastpersonwithher.Shehadbeenpayingthebooksthatafternoon,andbroughtAuntLilythechangeandtheaccounts.”
“YoutrustMartha?”
“Oh,absolutely.ShewaswithAuntLilyfor—oh!thirtyyears,Isuppose.She’shonestastheday.”
SirEdwardnodded.
“Anotherquestion.Whydidyourcousin,Mrs.Crabtree,takeaheadachepowder?”
“Well,becauseshehadaheadache.”
“Naturally,butwasthereanyparticularreasonwhysheshouldhaveaheadache?”
“Well,yes,inaway.Therewasratherasceneatlunch.Emilyisveryexcitableandhighlystrung.SheandAuntLilyusedtohaverowssometimes.”
“Andtheyhadoneatlunch?”
“Yes.AuntLilywasrathertryingaboutlittlethings.Itallstartedoutofnothing—andthentheywereatithammerandtongs—withEmilysayingallsortsofthingsshecouldn’tpossiblyhavemeant—thatshe’dleavethehouseandnevercomeback—thatshewasgrudgedeverymouthfulsheate—oh!allsortsofsillythings.AndAuntLilysaidthesoonersheandherhusbandpackedtheirboxesandwentthebetter.Butitallmeantnothing,really.”
“BecauseMr.andMrs.Crabtreecouldn’taffordtopackupandgo?”
“Oh,notonlythat.WilliamwasfondofAuntEmily.Hereallywas.”
“Itwasn’tadayofquarrelsbyanychance?”
Magdalen’scolourheightened.
“Youmeanme?Thefussaboutmywantingtobeamannequin?”
“Yourauntwouldn’tagree?”
“No.”
“Whydidyouwanttobeamannequin,MissMagdalen?Doesthelifestrikeyouasaveryattractiveone?”
“No,butanythingwouldbebetterthangoingonlivinghere.”
“Yes,then.Butnowyouwillhaveacomfortableincome,won’tyou?”
“Oh!yes,it’squitedifferentnow.”
Shemadetheadmissionwiththeutmostsimplicity.
Hesmiledbutpursuedthesubjectnofurther.Insteadhesaid:“Andyourbrother?Didhehaveaquarreltoo?”
“Matthew?Oh,no.”
“Thennoonecansayhehadamotiveforwishinghisauntoutoftheway.”
Hewasquicktoseizeonthemomentarydismaythatshowedinherface.
“Iforgot,”hesaidcasually.“Heowedagooddealofmoney,didn’the?”
“Yes;pooroldMatthew.”
“Still,thatwillbeallrightnow.”
“Yes—”Shesighed.“Itisarelief.”
Andstillshesawnothing!Hechangedthesubjecthastily.
“Yourcousinsandyourbrotherareathome?”
“Yes;Itoldthemyouwerecoming.Theyareallsoanxioustohelp.Oh,SirEdward—Ifeel,somehow,thatyouaregoingtofindoutthateverythingisallright—thatnoneofushadanythingtodowithit—that,afterall,itwasanoutsider.”
“Ican’tdomiracles.Imaybeabletofindoutthetruth,butIcan’tmakethetruthbewhatyouwantittobe.”
“Can’tyou?Ifeelthatyoucoulddoanything—anything.”
Shelefttheroom.Hethought,disturbed,“Whatdidshemeanbythat?Doesshewantmetosuggestalineofdefence?Forwhom?”
Hismeditationswereinterruptedbytheentranceofamanaboutfiftyyearsofage.Hehadanaturallypowerfulframe,butstoopedslightly.Hisclotheswereuntidyandhishaircarelesslybrushed.Helookedgood-naturedbutvague.
“SirEdwardPalliser?Oh,howdoyoudo.Magdalensentmealong.It’sverygoodofyou,I’msure,towishtohelpus.ThoughIdon’tthinkanythingwilleverbereallydiscovered.Imean,theywon’tcatchthefellow.”
“Youthinkitwasaburglarthen—someonefromoutside?”
“Well,itmusthavebeen.Itcouldn’tbeoneofthefamily.Thesefellowsareveryclevernowadays,theyclimblikecatsandtheygetinandoutastheylike.”
“Wherewereyou,Mr.Crabtree,whenthetragedyoccurred?”
“Iwasbusywithmystamps—inmylittlesittingroomupstairs.”
“Youdidn’thearanything?”
“No—butthenIneverdohearanythingwhenI’mabsorbed.Veryfoolishofme,butthereitis.”
“Isthesittingroomyourefertooverthisroom?”
“No,it’sattheback.”
Againthedooropened.Asmallfairwomanentered.Herhandsweretwitchingnervously.Shelookedfretfulandexcited
“William,whydidn’tyouwaitforme?Isaid‘wait.’”
“Sorry,mydear,Iforgot.SirEdwardPalliser—mywife.”
“Howdoyoudo,Mrs.Crabtree?Ihopeyoudon’tmindmycomingheretoaskafewquestions.Iknowhowanxiousyoumustallbetohavethingsclearedup.”
“Naturally.ButIcan’ttellyouanything—canI,William?Iwasasleep—onmybed—IonlywokeupwhenMarthascreamed.”
Herhandscontinuedtotwitch.
“Whereisyourroom,Mrs.Crabtree?”
“It’soverthis.ButIdidn’thearanything—howcouldI?Iwasasleep.”
Hecouldgetnothingoutofherbutthat.Sheknewnothing—shehadheardnothing—shehadbeenasleep.Shereiterateditwiththeobstinacyofafrightenedwoman.YetSirEdwardknewverywellthatitmighteasilybe—probablywas—thebaretruth.
Heexcusedhimselfatlast—saidhewouldliketoputafewquestionstoMartha.WilliamCrabtreevolunteeredtotakehimtothekitchen.Inthehall,SirEdwardnearlycollidedwithatalldarkyoungmanwhowasstridingtowardsthefrontdoor.
“Mr.MatthewVaughan?”
“Yes—butlookhere,Ican’twait.I’vegotanappointment.”
“Matthew!”Itwashissister’svoicefromthestairs.“Oh!Matthew,youpromised—”
“Iknow,sis.ButIcan’t.Gottomeetafellow.And,anyway,what’sthegoodoftalkingaboutthedamnedthingoverandoveragain.Wehaveenoughofthatwiththepolice.I’mfedupwiththewholeshow.”
Thefrontdoorbanged.Mr.MatthewVaughanhadmadehisexit.
SirEdwardwasintroducedintothekitchen.Marthawasironing.Shepaused,ironinhand.SirEdwardshutthedoorbehindhim.
“MissVaughanhasaskedmetohelpher,”hesaid.“Ihopeyouwon’tobjecttomyaskingyouafewquestions.”
Shelookedathim,thenshookherhead.
“Noneofthemdidit,sir.Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,butitisn’tso.Asniceasetofladiesandgentlemenasyoucouldwishtosee.”
“I’venodoubtofit.Buttheirnicenessisn’twhatwecallevidence,youknow.”
“Perhapsnot,sir.Thelaw’safunnything.Butthereisevidence—asyoucallit,sir.Noneofthemcouldhavedoneitwithoutmyknowing.”
“Butsurely—”
“IknowwhatI’mtalkingaboutsir.There,listentothat—”
“That”wasacreakingsoundabovetheirheads.
“Thestairs,sir.Everytimeanyonegoesupordown,thestairscreaksomethingawful.Itdoesn’tmatterhowquietyougo.Mrs.Crabtree,shewaslyingonherbed,andMr.Crabtreewasfiddlingaboutwiththemwretchedstampsofhis,andMissMagdalenshewasupaboveagainworkinghermachine,andifanyoneofthosethreehadcomedownthestairsIshouldhaveknownit.Andtheydidn’t!”
Shespokewithapositiveassurancewhichimpressedthebarrister.Hethought:“Agoodwitness.She’dcarryweight.”
“Youmightn’thavenoticed.”
“Yes,Iwould.I’dhavenoticedwithoutnoticing,sotospeak.Likeyounoticewhenadoorshutsandsomebodygoesout.”
SirEdwardshiftedhisground.
“Thatisthreeofthemacountedfor,butthereisafourth.WasMr.MatthewVaughanupstairsalso?”
“No,buthewasinthelittleroomdownstairs.Nextdoor.Andhewastypewriting.Youcanhearitplaininhere.Hismachineneverstoppedforamoment.Notforamoment,sir,Icansweartoit.Anastyirritatingtaptappingnoiseitis,too.”
SirEdwardpausedaminute.
“Itwasyouwhofoundher,wasn’tit?”
“Yes,sir,itwas.Lyingtherewithbloodonherpoorhair.Andnoonehearingasoundonaccountofthetap-tappingofMr.Matthew’stypewriter.”
“Iunderstandyouarepositivethatnoonecameintothehouse?”
“Howcouldthey,sir,withoutmyknowing?Thebellringsinhere.Andthere’sonlytheonedoor.”
Helookedatherstraightintheface.
“YouwereattachedtoMissCrabtree?”
Awarmglow—genuine—unmistakable—cameintoherface.
“Yes,indeed,Iwas,sir.ButforMissCrabtree—well,I’mgettingonandIdon’tmindspeakingofitnow.Igotintotrouble,sir,whenIwasagirl,andMissCrabtreestoodbyme—tookmebackintoherservice,shedid,whenitwasallover.I’dhavediedforher—Iwouldindeed.”
SirEdwardknewsinceritywhenheheardit.Marthawassincere.
“Asfarasyouknow,noonecametothedoor—?”
“Noonecouldhavecome.”
“Isaidasfarasyouknow.ButifMissCrabtreehadbeenexpectingsomeone—ifsheopenedthedoortothatsomeoneherself….”
“Oh!”Marthaseemedtakenaback.
“That’spossible,Isuppose?”SirEdwardurged.
“It’spossible—yes—butitisn’tverylikely.Imean….”
Shewasclearlytakenaback.Shecouldn’tdenyandyetshewantedtodoso.Why?Becausesheknewthatthetruthlayelsewhere.Wasthatit?Thefourpeopleinthehouse—oneofthemguilty?DidMarthawanttoshieldthatguiltyparty?Hadthestairscreaked?HadsomeonecomestealthilydownanddidMarthaknowwhothatsomeonewas?
Sheherselfwashonest—SirEdwardwasconvincedofthat.
Hepressedhispoint,watchingher.
“MissCrabtreemighthavedonethat,Isuppose?Thewindowofthatroomfacesthestreet.Shemighthaveseenwhoeveritwasshewaswaitingforfromthewindowandgoneoutintothehallandlethim—orher—in.Shemightevenhavewishedthatnooneshouldseetheperson.”
Marthalookedtroubled.Shesaidatlastreluctantly:
“Yes,youmayberight,sir.Ineverthoughtofthat.Thatshewasexpectingagentleman—yes,itwellmightbe.”
Itwasthoughshebegantoperceiveadvantagesintheidea.
“Youwerethelastpersontoseeher,wereyounot?”
“Yes,sir.AfterI’dclearedawaythetea.Itookthereceiptedbookstoherandthechangefromthemoneyshe’dgivenme.”
“Hadshegiventhemoneytoyouinfive-poundnotes?”
“Afive-poundnote,sir,”saidMarthainashockedvoice.“Thebooknevercameupashighasfivepounds.I’mverycareful.”
“Wheredidshekeephermoney?”
“Idon’trightlyknow,sir.Ishouldsaythatshecarrieditaboutwithher—inherblackvelvetbag.Butofcourseshemayhavekeptitinoneofthedrawersinherbedroomthatwerelocked.Shewasveryfondoflockingupthings,thoughpronetoloseherkeys.”
SirEdwardnodded.
“Youdon’tknowhowmuchmoneyshehad—infive-poundnotes,Imean?”
“No,sir,Icouldn’tsaywhattheexactamountwas.”
“Andshesaidnothingtoyouthatcouldleadyoutobelievethatshewasexpectinganybody?”
“No,sir.”
“You’requitesure?Whatexactlydidshesay?”
“Well,”Marthaconsidered,“shesaidthebutcherwasnothingmorethanarogueandacheat,andshesaidI’dhadinaquarterofapoundofteamorethanIought,andshesaidMrs.Crabtreewasfullofnonsensefornotlikingtoeatmargarine,andshedidn’tlikeoneofthesixpencesI’dbroughtherback—oneofthenewoneswithoakleavesonit—shesaiditwasbad,andIhadalotoftroubletoconvinceher.Andshesaid—oh,thatthefishmongerhadsenthaddocksinsteadofwhitings,andhadItoldhimaboutit,andIsaidIhad—and,really,Ithinkthat’sall,sir.”
Martha’sspeechhadmadethedeceasedladyloomcleartoSirEdwardasadetaileddescriptionwouldneverhavedone.Hesaidcasually:
“Ratheradifficultmistresstoplease,eh?”
“Abitfussy,butthere,poordear,shedidn’toftengetout,andstayingcoopedupshehadtohavesomethingtoamuseherselflike.Shewaspernicketybutkindhearted—neverabeggarsentawayfromthedoorwithoutsomething.Fussyshemayhavebeen,butarealcharitablelady.”
“Iamglad,Martha,thatsheleavesonepersontoregrether.”
Theoldservantcaughtherbreath.
“Youmean—oh,buttheywereallfondofher—really—underneath.Theyallhadwordswithhernowandagain,butitdidn’tmeananything.”
SirEdwardliftedhishead.Therewasacreakabove.
“That’sMissMagdalencomingdown.”
“Howdoyouknow?”heshotather.
Theoldwomanflushed.“Iknowherstep,”shemuttered.
SirEdwardleftthekitchenrapidly.Marthahadbeenright.Magdalenhadjustreachedthebottomstair.Shelookedathimhopefully.
“Notveryfaronasyet,”saidSirEdward,answeringherlook,andadded,“Youdon’thappentoknowwhatlettersyourauntreceivedonthedayofherdeath?”
“Theyarealltogether.Thepolicehavebeenthroughthem,ofcourse.”
Sheledthewaytothebigdoubledrawingroom,andunlockingadrawertookoutalargeblackvelvetbagwithanold-fashionedsilverclasp.
“ThisisAunt’sbag.Everythingisinherejustasitwasonthedayofherdeath.I’vekeptitlikethat.”
SirEdwardthankedherandproceededtoturnoutthecontentsofthebagonthetable.Itwas,hefancied,afairspecimenofaneccentricelderlylady’shandbag.
Therewassomeoddsilverchange,twogingernuts,threenewspapercuttingsaboutJoannaSouthcott’sbox,atrashyprintedpoemabouttheunemployed,anOldMoore’sAlmanack,alargepieceofcamphor,somespectaclesandthreeletters.Aspideryonefromsomeonecalled“CousinLucy,”abillformendingawatch,andanappealfromacharitableinstitution.
SirEdwardwentthrougheverythingverycarefully,thenrepackedthebagandhandedittoMagdalenwithasigh.
“Thankyou,MissMagdalen.I’mafraidthereisn’tmuchthere.”
Herose,observedthatfromthewindowyoucommandedagoodviewofthefrontdoorsteps,thentookMagdalen’shandinhis.
“Youaregoing?”
“Yes.”
“Butit’s—it’sgoingtobeallright?”
“Nobodyconnectedwiththelawevercommitshimselftoarashstatementlikethat,”saidSirEdwardsolemnly,andmadehisescape.
Hewalkedalongthestreetlostinthought.Thepuzzlewasthereunderhishand—andhehadnotsolvedit.Itneededsomething—somelittlething.Justtopointtheway.
Ahandfellonhisshoulderandhestarted.ItwasMatthewVaughan,somewhatoutofbreath.
“I’vebeenchasingyou,SirEdward.Iwanttoapologize.Formyrottenmannershalfanhourago.ButI’venotgotthebesttemperintheworld,I’mafraid.It’sawfullygoodofyoutobotheraboutthisbusiness.Pleaseaskmewhateveryoulike.Ifthere’sanythingIcandotohelp—”
SuddenlySirEdwardstiffened.Hisglancewasfixed—notonMatthew—butacrossthestreet.Somewhatbewildered,Matthewrepeated:
“Ifthere’sanythingIcandotohelp—”
“Youhavealreadydoneit,mydearyoungman,”saidSirEdward.“BystoppingmeatthisparticularspotandsofixingmyattentiononsomethingImightotherwisehavemissed.”
Hepointedacrossthestreettoasmallrestaurantopposite.
“TheFourandTwentyBlackbirds?”askedMatthewinapuzzledvoice.
“Exactly.”
“It’sanoddname—butyougetquitedecentfoodthere,Ibelieve.”
“Ishallnottaketheriskofexperimenting,”saidSirEdward.“Beingfurtherfrommynurserydaysthanyouare,myfriend,Iprobablyremembermynurseryrhymesbetter.Thereisaclassicthatrunsthus,ifIrememberrightly:Singasongofsixpence,apocketfullofrye,Fourandtwentyblackbirds,bakedinapie—andsoon.Therestofitdoesnotconcernus.”
Hewheeledroundsharply.
“Whereareyougoing?”askedMatthewVaughan.
“Backtoyourhouse,myfriend.”
Theywalkedthereinsilence,MatthewVaughanshootingpuzzledglancesathiscompanion.SirEdwardentered,strodetoadrawer,liftedoutavelvetbagandopenedit.HelookedatMatthewandtheyoungmanreluctantlylefttheroom.
SirEdwardtumbledoutthesilverchangeonthetable.Thenhenodded.Hismemoryhadnotbeenatfault.
Hegotupandrangthebell,slippingsomethingintothepalmofhishandashedidso.
Marthaansweredthebell.
“Youtoldme,Martha,ifIrememberrightly,thatyouhadaslightaltercationwithyourlatemistressoveroneofthenewsixpences.”
“Yes,sir.”
“Ah!butthecuriousthingis,Martha,thatamongthisloosechange,thereisnonewsixpence.Therearetwosixpences,buttheyarebotholdones.”
Shestaredathiminapuzzledfashion.
“Youseewhatthatmeans?Someonedidcometothehousethatevening—someonetowhomyourmistressgavesixpence…Ithinkshegaveithiminexchangeforthis….”
Withaswiftmovement,heshothishandforward,holdingoutthedoggerelverseaboutunemployment.
Oneglanceatherfacewasenough.
“Thegameisup,Martha—yousee,Iknow.Youmayaswelltellmeeverything.”
Shesankdownonachair—thetearsraceddownherface.
“It’strue—it’strue—thebelldidn’tringproperly—Iwasn’tsure,andthenIthoughtI’dbettergoandsee.Igottothedoorjustashestruckherdown.Therolloffive-poundnoteswasonthetableinfrontofher—itwasthesightofthemasmadehimdoit—thatandthinkingshewasaloneinthehouseasshe’dlethimin.Icouldn’tscream.Iwastooparalysedandthenheturned—andIsawitwasmyboy….
“Oh,he’sbeenabadonealways.IgavehimallthemoneyIcould.He’sbeeningaoltwice.Hemusthavecomearoundtoseeme,andthenMissCrabtree,seeingasIdidn’tanswerthedoor,wenttoansweritherself,andhewastakenabackandpulledoutoneofthoseunemploymentleaflets,andthemistressbeingkindofcharitable,toldhimtocomeinandgotoutasixpence.AndallthetimethatrollofnoteswaslyingonthetablewhereithadbeenwhenIwasgivingherthechange.AndthedevilgotintomyBenandhegotbehindherandstruckherdown.”
“Andthen?”askedSirEdward.
“Oh,sir,whatcouldIdo?Myownfleshandblood.Hisfatherwasabadone,andBentakesafterhim—buthewasmyownson.Ihustledhimout,andIwentbacktothekitchenandIwenttolayforsupperattheusualtime.Doyouthinkitwasverywickedofme,sir?Itriedtotellyounolieswhenyouwasaskingmequestions.”
SirEdwardrose.
“Mypoorwoman,”hesaidwithfeelinginhisvoice,“Iamverysorryforyou.Allthesame,thelawwillhavetotakeitscourse,youknow.”
“He’sfledthecountry,sir.Idon’tknowwhereheis.”
“There’sachance,then,thathemayescapethegallows,butdon’tbuilduponit.WillyousendMissMagdalentome.”
“Oh,SirEdward.Howwonderfulofyou—howwonderfulyouare,”saidMagdalenwhenhehadfinishedhisbriefrecital.“You’vesavedusall.HowcanIeverthankyou?”
SirEdwardsmileddownatherandpattedherhandgently.Hewasverymuchthegreatman.LittleMagdalenhadbeenverycharmingontheSiluric.Thatbloomofseventeen—wonderful!Shehadcompletelylostitnow,ofcourse.
“Nexttimeyouneedafriend—”hesaid.
“I’llcomestraighttoyou.”
“No,no,”criedSirEdwardinalarm.“That’sjustwhatIdon’twantyoutodo.Gotoayoungerman.”
Heextricatedhimselfwithdexterityfromthegratefulhouseholdandhailingataxisankintoitwithasighofrelief.
Eventhecharmofadewyseventeenseemeddoubtful.
Itcouldnotreallycomparewithareallywell-stockedlibraryoncriminology.
ThetaxiturnedintoQueenAnne’sClose.
Hiscul-de-sac.
EightMR.EASTWOOD’SADVENTURE
“Mr.Eastwood’sAdventure”wasfirstpublishedas“TheMysteryoftheSecondCucumber”inTheNovelMagazine,August1924.Italsoappearedlateras“TheMysteryoftheSpanishShawl.”
Mr.Eastwoodlookedattheceiling.Thenhelookeddownatthefloor.Fromthefloorhisgazetravelledslowlyuptheright-handwall.Then,withasuddensterneffort,hefocusedhisgazeoncemoreuponthetypewriterbeforehim.
Thevirginwhiteofthesheetofpaperwasdefacedbyatitlewrittenincapitalletters.
“THEMYSTERYOFTHESECONDCUCUMBER,”soitran.Apleasingtitle.AnthonyEastwoodfeltthatanyonereadingthattitlewouldbeatonceintriguedandarrestedbyit.“TheMysteryoftheSecondCucumber,”theywouldsay.“Whatcanthatbeabout?Acucumber?Thesecondcucumber?Imustcertainlyreadthatstory.”Andtheywouldbethrilledandcharmedbytheconsummateeasewithwhichthismasterofdetectivefictionhadwovenanexcitingplotroundthissimplevegetable.
Thatwasallverywell.AnthonyEastwoodknewaswellasanyonewhatthestoryoughttobelike—thebotherwasthatsomehoworotherhecouldn’tgetonwithit.Thetwoessentialsforastorywereatitleandaplot—therestwasmerespadework,sometimesthetitleledtoaplotallbyitself,asitwere,andthenallwasplainsailing—butinthiscasethetitlecontinuedtoadornthetopofthepage,andnotthevestigeofaplotwasforthcoming.
AgainAnthonyEastwood’sgazesoughtinspirationfromtheceiling,thefloor,andthewallpaper,andstillnothingmaterialized.
“IshallcalltheheroineSonia,”saidAnthony,tourgehimselfon.“SoniaorpossiblyDolores—sheshallhaveaskinofivorypallor—thekindthat’snotduetoillhealth,andeyeslikefathomlesspools.TheheroshallbecalledGeorge,orpossiblyJohn—somethingshortandBritish.Thenthegardener—Isupposetherewillhavetobeagardener,we’vegottodragthatbeastlycucumberinsomehoworother—thegardenermightbeScottish,andamusinglypessimisticabouttheearlyfrost.”
Thismethodsometimesworked,butitdidn’tseemtobegoingtothismorning.AlthoughAnthonycouldseeSoniaandGeorgeandthecomicgardenerquiteclearly,theydidn’tshowanywillingnesstobeactiveanddothings.
“Icouldmakeitabanana,ofcourse,”thoughtAnthonydesperately.“Oralettuce,oraBrusselssprout—Brusselssprout,now,howaboutthat?ReallyacryptogramforBrussels—stolenbearerbonds—sinisterBelgianBaron.”
Foramomentagleamoflightseemedtoshow,butitdieddownagain.TheBelgianBaronwouldn’tmaterialize,andAnthonysuddenlyrememberedthatearlyfrostsandcucumberswereincompatible,whichseemedtoputthelidontheamusingremarksoftheScottishgardener.
“Oh!Damn!”saidMr.Eastwood.
HeroseandseizedtheDailyMail.Itwasjustpossiblethatsomeoneorotherhadbeendonetodeathinsuchawayastolendinspirationtoaperspiringauthor.Butthenewsthismorningwasmainlypoliticalandforeign.Mr.Eastwoodcastdownthepaperindisgust.
Next,seizinganovelfromthetable,heclosedhiseyesanddabbedhisfingerdownononeofthepages.ThewordthusindicatedbyFatewas“sheep.”Immediately,withstartlingbrilliance,awholestoryunrolleditselfinMr.Eastwood’sbrain.Lovelygirl—loverkilledinthewar,herbrainunhinged,tendssheepontheScottishmountains—mysticmeetingwithdeadlover,finaleffectofsheepandmoonlightlikeAcademypicturewithgirllyingdeadinthesnow,andtwotrailsoffootsteps….
Itwasabeautifulstory.Anthonycameoutofitsconceptionwithasighandasadshakeofthehead.Heknewonlytoowelltheeditorinquestiondidnotwantthatkindofstory—beautifulthoughitmightbe.Thekindofstoryhewanted,andinsistedonhaving(andincidentallypaidhandsomelyforgetting),wasallaboutmysteriousdarkwomen,stabbedtotheheart,ayoungherounjustlysuspected,andthesuddenunravellingofthemysteryandfixingoftheguiltontheleastlikelyperson,bythemeansofwhollyinadequateclues—infact,“themysteryofthesecondcucumber.”
“Although,”reflectedAnthony,“tentoone,he’llalterthetitleandcallitsomethingrotten,like‘MurderMostFoul’withoutsomuchasaskingme!Oh,cursethattelephone.”
Hestrodeangrilytoit,andtookdownthereceiver.Twicealreadyinthelasthourhehadbeensummonedtoit—onceforawrongnumber,andoncetoberopedinfordinnerbyaskittishsocietydamewhomhehatedbitterly,butwhohadbeentoopertinacioustodefeat.
“Hallo!”hegrowledintothereceiver
Awoman’svoiceansweredhim,asoftcaressingvoicewithatraceofforeignaccent.
“Isthatyou,beloved?”itsaidsoftly.
“Well—er—Idon’tknow,”saidMr.Eastwoodcautiously.“Who’sspeaking?”
“ItisI.Carmen.Listen,beloved.Iampursued—indanger—youmustcomeatonce.Itislifeordeathnow.”
“Ibegyourpardon,”saidMr.Eastwoodpolitely.“I’mafraidyou’vegotthewrong—”
Shebrokeinbeforehecouldcompletethesentence.
“MadredeDios!Theyarecoming.IftheyfindoutwhatIamdoing,theywillkillme.Donotfailme.Comeatonce.Itisdeathformeifyoudon’tcome.Youknow,320KirkStreet.Thewordiscucumber…Hush….”
Heheardthefaintclickasshehungupthereceiverattheotherend.
“Well,I’mdamned,”saidMr.Eastwood,verymuchastonished.
Hecrossedovertohistobaccojar,andfilledhispipecarefully.
“Isuppose,”hemused,“thatthatwassomecuriouseffectofmysubsconciousself.Shecan’thavesaidcucumber.Thewholethingisveryextraordinary.Didshesaycucumber,ordidn’tshe?”
Hestrolledupanddown,irresolutely.
“320KirkStreet.Iwonderwhatit’sallabout?She’llbeexpectingtheothermantoturnup.IwishIcouldhaveexplained.320KirkStreet.Thewordiscucumber—oh,impossible,absurd—hallucinationofabusybrain.”
Heglancedmalevolentlyatthetypewriter.
“Whatgoodareyou,Ishouldliketoknow?I’vebeenlookingatyouallthemorning,andalotofgoodit’sdoneme.Anauthorshouldgethisplotfromlife—fromlife,doyouhear?I’mgoingouttogetonenow.”
Heclappedahatonhishead,gazedaffectionatelyathispricelesscollectionofoldenamels,andlefttheflat.
KirkStreet,asmostLondonersknow,isalong,stragglingthoroughfare,chieflydevotedtoantiqueshops,whereallkindsofspuriousgoodsareofferedatfancyprices.Therearealsooldbrassshops,glassshops,decayedsecondhandshopsandsecondhandclothesdealers.
No.320wasdevotedtothesaleofoldglass.Glasswareofallkindsfilledittooverflowing.ItwasnecessaryforAnthonytomovegingerlyasheadvancedupacentreaisleflankedbywineglassesandwithlustresandchandeliersswayingandtwinklingoverhishead.Averyoldladywassittingatthebackoftheshop.Shehadabuddingmoustachethatmanyanundergraduatemighthaveenvied,andatruculentmanner.
ShelookedatAnthonyandsaid,“Well?”inaforbiddingvoice.
Anthonywasayoungmansomewhateasilydiscomposed.Heimmediatelyinquiredthepriceofsomehockglasses.
“Forty-fiveshillingsforhalfadozen.”
“Oh,really,”saidAnthony.“Rathernice,aren’tthey?Howmucharethesethings?”
“Beautiful,theyare,oldWaterford.Letyouhavethepairforeighteenguineas.”
Mr.Eastwoodfeltthathewaslayinguptroubleforhimself.Inanotherminutehewouldbebuyingsomething,hypnotizedbythisfierceoldwoman’seye.Andyethecouldnotbringhimselftoleavetheshop.
“Whataboutthat?”heasked,andpointedtoachandelier.
“Thirty-fiveguineas.”
“Ah!”saidMr.Eastwoodregretfully.“That’srathermorethanIcanafford.”
“Whatdoyouwant?”askedtheoldlady.“Somethingforaweddingpresent?”
“That’sit,”saidAnthony,snatchingattheexplanation.“Butthey’reverydifficulttosuit.”
“Ah,well,”saidthelady,risingwithanairofdetermination.“Anicepieceofoldglasscomesamisstonobody.I’vegotacoupleofolddecantershere—andthere’sanicelittleliqueurset,justthethingforabride—”
ForthenexttenminutesAnthonyenduredagonies.Theladyhadhimfirmlyinhand.Everyconceivablespecimenoftheglassmaker’sartwasparadedbeforehiseyes.Hebecamedesperate.
“Beautiful,beautiful,”heexclaimedinaperfunctorymanner,asheputdownalargegobletthatwasbeingforcedonhisattention.Thenblurtedouthurriedly,“Isay,areyouonthetelephonehere?”
“No,we’renot.There’sacallofficeatthepostofficejustopposite.Now,whatdoyousay,thegoblet—orthesefineoldrummers?”
Notbeingawoman,Anthonywasquiteunversedinthegentleartofgettingoutofashopwithoutbuyinganything.
“I’dbetterhavetheliqueurset,”hesaidgloomily.
Itseemedthesmallestthing.Hewasterrifiedofbeinglandedwiththechandelier.
Withbitternessinhishearthepaidforhispurchase.Andthen,astheoldladywaswrappinguptheparcel,couragesuddenlyreturnedtohim.Afterall,shewouldonlythinkhimeccentric,and,anyway,whatthedevildiditmatterwhatshethought?
“Cucumber,”hesaid,clearlyandfirmly.
Theoldcronepausedabruptlyinherwrappingoperations.
“Eh?Whatdidyousay?”
“Nothing,”liedAnthonydefiantly.
“Oh!Ithoughtyousaidcucumber.”
“SoIdid,”saidAnthonydefiantly.
“Well,”saidtheoldlady.“Whyeverdidn’tyousaythatbefore?Wastingmytime.Throughthatdoorthereandupstairs.She’swaitingforyou.”
Asthoughinadream,Anthonypassedthroughthedoorindicated,andclimbedsomeextremelydirtystairs.Atthetopofthemadoorstoodajardisplayingatinysittingroom.
Sittingonachair,hereyesfixedonthedoor,andanexpressionofeagerexpectancyonherface,wasagirl.
Suchagirl!ShereallyhadtheivorypallorthatAnthonyhadsooftenwrittenabout.Andhereyes!Sucheyes!ShewasnotEnglish,thatcouldbeseenataglance.Shehadaforeignexoticqualitywhichshoweditselfeveninthecostlysimplicityofherdress.
Anthonypausedinthedoorway,somewhatabashed.Themomentofexplanationsseemedtohavearrived.Butwithacryofdelightthegirlroseandflewintohisarms.
“Youhavecome,”shecried.“Youhavecome.Oh,thesaintsandtheHolyMadonnabepraised.”
Anthony,neveronetomissopportunities,echoedherfervently.Shedrewawayatlast,andlookedupinhisfacewithacharmingshyness.
“Ishouldneverhaveknownyou,”shedeclared.“IndeedIshouldnot.”
“Wouldn’tyou?”saidAnthonyfeebly.
“No,evenyoureyesseemdifferent—andyouaretentimeshandsomerthanIeverthoughtyouwouldbe.”
“AmI?”
TohimselfAnthonywassaying,“Keepcalm,myboy,keepcalm.Thesituationisdevelopingverynicely,butdon’tloseyourhead.”
“Imaykissyouagain,yes?”
“Ofcourseyoucan,”saidAnthonyheartily.“Asoftenasyoulike.”
Therewasaverypleasantinterlude.
“IwonderwhothedevilIam?”thoughtAnthony.“Ihopetogoodnesstherealfellowwon’tturnup.Whataperfectdarlingsheis.”
Suddenlythegirldrewawayfromhim,andamomentaryterrorshowedinherface.
“Youwerenotfollowedhere?”
“Lord,no.”
“Ah,buttheyareverycunning.YoudonotknowthemaswellasIdo.Boris,heisafiend.”
“I’llsoonsettleBorisforyou.”
“Youarealion—yes,butalion.Asforthem,theyarecanaille—allofthem.Listen,Ihaveit!Theywouldhavekilledmehadtheyknown.Iwasafraid—Ididnotknowwhattodo,andthenIthoughtofyou…Hush,whatwasthat?”
Itwasasoundintheshopbelow.Motioningtohimtoremainwherehewas,shetiptoedoutontothestairs.Shereturnedwithawhitefaceandstaringeyes
“MadredeDios!Itisthepolice.Theyarecominguphere.Youhaveaknife?Arevolver?Which?”
“Mydeargirl,youdon’texpectmeseriouslytomurderapoliceman?”
“Oh,butyouaremad—mad!Theywilltakeyouawayandhangyoubytheneckuntilyou’redead.”
“They’llwhat?”saidMr.Eastwood,withaveryunpleasantfeelinggoingupanddownhisspine.
Stepssoundedonthestair.
“Heretheycome,”whisperedthegirl.“Denyeverything.Itistheonlyhope.”
“That’seasyenough,”admittedMr.Eastwood,sottovoce.
Inanotherminutetwomenhadenteredtheroom.Theywereinplainclothes,buttheyhadanofficialbearingthatspokeoflongtraining.Thesmallerofthetwo,alittledarkmanwithquietgreyeyes,wasthespokesman.
“Iarrestyou,ConradFleckman,”hesaid,“forthemurderofAnnaRosenburg.Anythingyousaywillbeusedinevidenceagainstyou.Hereismywarrantandyouwilldowelltocomequietly.”
Ahalf-strangledscreamburstfromthegirl’slips.Anthonysteppedforwardwithacomposedsmile.
“Youaremakingamistake,officer,”hesaidpleasantly.“MynameisAnthonyEastwood.”
Thetwodetectivesseemedcompletelyunimpressedbyhisstatement.
“We’llseeaboutthatlater,”saidoneofthem,theonewhohadnotspokenbefore.“Inthemeantime,youcomealongwithus.”
“Conrad,”wailedthegirl.“Conrad,donotletthemtakeyou.”
Anthonylookedatthedetectives.
“Youwillpermitme,Iamsure,tosaygood-byetothisyounglady?”
Withmoredecencyoffeelingthanhehadexpected,thetwomenmovedtowardsthedoor.Anthonydrewthegirlintothecornerbythewindow,andspoketoherinarapidundertone.
“Listentome.WhatIsaidwastrue.IamnotConradFleckman.Whenyourangupthismorning,theymusthavegivenyouthewrongnumber.MynameisAnthonyEastwood.Icameinanswertoyourappealbecause—well,Icame.”
Shestaredathimincredulously.
“YouarenotConradFleckman?”
“No.”
“Oh!”shecried,withadeepaccentofdistress.“AndIkissedyou!”
“That’sallright,”Mr.Eastwoodassuredher.“TheearlyChristiansmadeapracticeofthatsortofthing.Jollysensible.Nowlookhere,I’lltooloffwiththesepeople.Ishallsoonprovemyidentity.Inthemeantime,theywon’tworryyou,andyoucanwarnthispreciousConradofyours.Afterwards—”
“Yes?”
“Well—justthis.MytelephonenumberisNorth-western1743—andmindtheydon’tgiveyouthewrongone.”
Shegavehimanenchantingglance,halftears,halfasmile.
“Ishallnotforget—indeed,Ishallnotforget.”
“That’sallrightthen.Good-bye.Isay—”
“Yes?”
“TalkingoftheearlyChristians—oncemorewouldn’tmatter,wouldit?”
Sheflungherarmsroundhisneck.Herlipsjusttouchedhis.
“Idolikeyou—yes,Idolikeyou.Youwillrememberthat,whateverhappens,won’tyou?”
Anthonydisengagedhimselfreluctantlyandapproachedhiscaptors.
“Iamreadytocomewithyou.Youdon’twanttodetainthisyounglady,Isuppose?”
“No,sir,thatwillbequiteallright,”saidthesmallmancivilly.
“Decentfellows,theseScotlandYardmen,”thoughtAnthonytohimself,ashefollowedthemdownthenarrowstairway
Therewasnosignoftheoldwomanintheshop,butAnthonycaughtaheavybreathingfromadoorattherear,andguessedthatshestoodbehindit,cautiouslyobservingevents.
OnceoutinthedinginessofKirkStreet,Anthonydrewalongbreath,andaddressedthesmallerofthetwomen.
“Nowthen,inspector—youareaninspector,Isuppose?”
“Yes,sir.Detective-InspectorVerrall.ThisisDetective-SergeantCarter.”
“Well,InspectorVerrall,thetimehascometotalksense—andtolistentoittoo.I’mnotConradWhat’s-his-name.MynameisAnthonyEastwood,asItoldyou,andIamawriterbyprofession.Ifyouwillaccompanymetomyflat,IthinkthatIshallbeabletosatisfyyouofmyidentity.”
Somethinginthematter-of-factwayAnthonyspokeseemedtoimpressthedetectives.ForthefirsttimeanexpressionofdoubtpassedoverVerrall’sface.
Carter,apparently,washardertoconvince.
“Idaresay,”hesneered.“Butyou’llremembertheyoungladywascallingyou‘Conrad’allright.”
“Ah!that’sanothermatter.Idon’tmindadmittingtoyouboththatfor—er—reasonsofmyown,IwaspassingmyselfoffuponthatladyasapersoncalledConrad.Aprivatematter,youunderstand.”
“Likelystory,isn’tit?”observedCarter.“No,sir,youcomealongwithus.Hailthattaxi,Joe.”
Apassingtaxiwasstopped,andthethreemengotinside.Anthonymadealastattempt,addressinghimselftoVerrallasthemoreeasilyconvincedofthetwo
“Lookhere,mydearinspector,whatharmisitgoingtodoyoutocomealongtomyflatandseeifI’mspeakingthetruth?Youcankeepthetaxiifyoulike—there’sagenerousoffer!Itwon’tmakefiveminutes’differenceeitherway.”
Verralllookedathimsearchingly.
“I’lldoit,”hesaidsuddenly.“Strangeasitappears,Ibelieveyou’respeakingthetruth.Wedon’twanttomakefoolsofourselvesatthestationbyarrestingthewrongman.What’stheaddress?”
“Forty-eightBrandenburgMansions.”
Verrallleantoutandshoutedtheaddresstothetaxidriver.Allthreesatinsilenceuntiltheyarrivedattheirdestination,whenCartersprangout,andVerrallmotionedtoAnthonytofollowhim.
“Noneedforanyunpleasantness,”heexplained,ashe,too,descended.“We’llgoinfriendlylike,asthoughMr.Eastwoodwasbringingacoupleofpalshome.”
Anthonyfeltextremelygratefulforthesuggestion,andhisopinionoftheCriminalInvestigationDepartmentroseeveryminute.
InthehallwaytheywerefortunateenoughtomeetRogers,theporter.Anthonystopped.
“Ah!Goodevening,Rogers,”heremarkedcasually.
“Goodevening,Mr.Eastwood,”repliedtheporterrespectfully.
HewasattachedtoAnthony,whosetanexampleofliberalitynotalwaysfollowedbyhisneighbours.
Anthonypausedwithhisfootonthebottomstepofthestairs.
“Bytheway,Rogers,”hesaidcasually.“HowlonghaveIbeenlivinghere?Iwasjusthavingalittlediscussionaboutitwiththesefriendsofmine.”
“Letmesee,sir,itmustbegettingonforcloseonfouryearsnow.”
“JustwhatIthought.”
Anthonyflungaglanceoftriumphatthetwodetectives.Cartergrunted,butVerrallwassmilingbroadly.
“Good,butnotgoodenough,sir,”heremarked.“Shallwegoup?”
Anthonyopenedthedooroftheflatwithhislatchkey.HewasthankfultorememberthatSeamark,hisman,wasout.Thefewerwitnessesofthiscatastrophethebetter.
Thetypewriterwasashehadleftit.Carterstrodeacrosstothetableandreadtheheadlineonthepaper.
“THEMYSTERYOFTHESECONDCUCUMBER”
heannouncedinagloomyvoice.
“Astoryofmine,”explainedAnthonynonchalantly.
“That’sanothergoodpoint,sir,”saidVerrall,noddinghishead,hiseyestwinkling.“Bytheway,sir,whatwasitabout?Whatwasthemysteryofthesecondcucumber?”
“Ah,thereyouhaveme,”saidAnthony.“It’sthatsecondcucumberthat’sbeenatthebottomofallthistrouble.”
Carterwaslookingathimintently.Suddenlyheshookhisheadandtappedhisforeheadsignificantly.
“Balmy,pooryoungfellow,”hemurmuredinanaudibleaside.
“Now,gentlemen,”saidMr.Eastwoodbriskly.“Tobusiness.Herearelettersaddressedtome,mybankbook,communicationsfromeditors.Whatmoredoyouwant?”
VerrallexaminedthepapersthatAnthonythrustuponhim.
“Speakingformyself,sir,”hesaidrespectfully,“Iwantnothingmore.I’mquiteconvinced.ButIcan’ttaketheresponsibilityofreleasingyouuponmyself.Yousee,althoughitseemspositivethatyouhavebeenresidinghereasMr.Eastwoodforsomeyears,yetitispossiblethatConradFleckmanandAnthonyEastwoodareoneandthesameperson.Imustmakeathoroughsearchoftheflat,takeyourfingerprints,andtelephonetoheadquarters.”
“Thatseemsacomprehensiveprogramme,”remarkedAnthony.“Icanassureyouthatyou’rewelcometoanyguiltysecretsofmineyoumaylayyourhandson.”
Theinspectorgrinned.Foradetective,hewasasingularlyhumanperson.
“Willyougointothelittleendroom,sir,withCarter,whilstI’mgettingbusy?”
“Allright,”saidAnthonyunwillingly.“Isupposeitcouldn’tbetheotherwayabout,couldit?”
“Meaning?”
“ThatyouandIandacoupleofwhiskiesandsodasshouldoccupytheendroomwhilstourfriend,theSergeant,doestheheavysearching.”
“Ifyoupreferit,sir?”
“Idopreferit.”
TheyleftCarterinvestigatingthecontentsofthedeskwithbusinesslikedexterity.Astheypassedoutoftheroom,theyheardhimtakedownthetelephoneandcallupScotlandYard.
“Thisisn’tsobad,”saidAnthony,settlinghimselfwithawhiskyandsodabyhisside,havinghospitablyattendedtothewantsofInspectorVerrall.“ShallIdrinkfirst,justtoshowyouthatthewhiskyisn’tpoisoned?”
Theinspectorsmiled.
“Veryirregular,allthis,”heremarked.“Butweknowathingortwoinourprofession.Irealizedrightfromthestartthatwe’dmadeamistake.Butofcourseonehadtoobservealltheusualforms.Youcan’tgetawayfromredtape,canyou,sir?”
“Isupposenot,”saidAnthonyregretfully.“Thesergeantdoesn’tseemverymateyyet,though,doeshe?”
“Ah,he’safineman,Detective-SergeantCarter.Youwouldn’tfinditeasytoputanythingoveronhim.”
“I’venoticedthat,”saidAnthony.
“Bytheway,inspector,”headded,“isthereanyobjectiontomyhearingsomethingaboutmyself?”
“Inwhatway,sir?”
“Comenow,don’tyourealizethatI’mdevouredbycuriousity?WhowasAnnaRosenburg,andwhydidImurderher?”
“You’llreadallaboutitinthenewspaperstomorrow,sir.”
“TomorrowImaybeMyselfwithYesterday’stenthousandyears,”quotedAnthony.“Ireallythinkyoumightsatisfymyperfectlylegitimatecuriosity,inspector.Castasideyourofficialreticence,andtellmeall.”
“It’squiteirregular,sir.”
“Mydearinspector,whenwearebecomingsuchfastfriends?”
“Well,sir,AnnaRosenburgwasaGerman-JewesswholivedatHampstead.Withnovisiblemeansoflivelihood,shegrewyearlyricherandricher.”
“I’mjusttheopposite,”commentedAnthony.“IhaveavisiblemeansoflivelihoodandIgetyearlypoorerandpoorer.PerhapsIshoulddobetterifIlivedinHampstead.I’vealwaysheardHampsteadisverybracing.”
“Atonetime,”continuedVerrall,“shewasasecondhandclothesdealer—”
“Thatexplainsit,”interruptedAnthony.“Iremembersellingmyuniformafterthewar—notkhaki,theotherstuff.Thewholeflatwasfullofredtrousersandgoldlace,spreadouttobestadvantage.AfatmaninachecksuitarrivedinaRolls-Roycewithafactotumcompletewithbag.Hebidonepoundtenforthelot.IntheendIthrewinahuntingcoatandsomeZeissglassestomakeupthetwopounds,atagivensignalthefactotumopenedthebagandshovelledthegoodsinside,andthefatmantenderedmeaten-poundnoteandaskedmeforchange.”
“Abouttenyearsago,”continuedtheinspector,“therewereseveralSpanishpoliticalrefugeesinLondon—amongstthemacertainDonFernandoFerrarezwithhisyoungwifeandchild.Theywereverypoor,andthewifewasill.AnnaRosenburgvisitedtheplacewheretheywerelodgingandaskediftheyhadanythingtosell.DonFernandowasout,andhiswifedecidedtopartwithaverywonderfulSpanishshawl,embroideredinamarvellousmanner,whichhadbeenoneofherhusband’slastpresentstoherbeforeflyingfromSpain.WhenDonFernandoreturned,heflewintoaterriblerageonhearingtheshawlhadbeensold,andtriedvainlytorecoverit.Whenheatlastsucceededinfindingthesecondhandclotheswomaninquestion,shedeclaredthatshehadresoldtheshawltoawomanwhosenameshedidnotknow.DonFernandowasindespair.Twomonthslaterhewasstabbedinthestreetanddiedasaresultofhiswounds.Fromthattimeonward,AnnaRosenburgseemedsuspiciouslyflushofmoney.Inthetenyearsthatfollowed,herhousewasburglednolessthaneighttimes.Fouroftheattemptswerefrustratedandnothingwastaken,ontheotherfouroccasions,anembroideredshawlofsomekindwasamongstthebooty.”
Theinspectorpaused,andthenwentoninobediencetoanurgentgesturefromAnthony.
“Aweekago,CarmenFerrarez,theyoungdaughterofDonFernando,arrivedinthiscountryfromaconventinFrance.HerfirstactionwastoseekoutAnnaRosenburgatHampstead.Theresheisreportedtohavehadaviolentscenewiththeoldwoman,andherwordsatleavingwereoverheardbyoneoftheservants.
“‘Youhaveitstill,’shecried.‘Alltheseyearsyouhavegrownrichonit—butIsaytoyousolemnlythatintheenditwillbringyoubadluck.Youhavenomoralrighttoit,andthedaywillcomewhenyouwillwishyouhadneverseentheShawloftheThousandFlowers.’”
“Threedaysafterthat,CarmenFerrarezdisappearedmysteriouslyfromthehotelwhereshewasstaying.Inherroomwasfoundanameandaddress—thenameofConradFleckman,andalsoanotefromamanpurportingtobeanantiquedealeraskingifsheweredisposedtopartwithacertainembroideredshawlwhichhebelievedshehadinherpossession.Theaddressgivenonthenotewasafalseone.
“Itisclearthattheshawlisthecentreofthewholemystery.YesterdaymorningConradFleckmancalleduponAnnaRosenburg.Shewasshutupwithhimforanhourormore,andwhenheleftshewasobligedtogotobed,sowhiteandshakenwasshebytheinterview.Butshegaveordersthatifhecametoseeheragainhewasalwaystobeadmitted.Lastnightshegotupandwentoutaboutnineo’clock,anddidnotreturn.ShewasfoundthismorninginthehouseoccupiedbyConradFleckman,stabbedthroughtheheart.Onthefloorbesideherwas—whatdoyouthink?”
“Theshawl?”breathedAnthony.“TheShawlofaThousandFlowers.”
“Somethingfarmoregruesomethanthat.Somethingwhichexplainedthewholemysteriousbusinessoftheshawlandmadeitshiddenvalueclear…Excuseme,Ifancythat’sthechief—”
Therehadindeedbeenaringatthebell.Anthonycontainedhisimpatienceasbesthecouldandwaitedfortheinspectortoreturn.Hewasprettywellateaseabouthisownpositionnow.Assoonastheytookthefingerprintstheywouldrealisetheirmistake.
Andthen,perhaps,Carmenwouldringup
TheShawlofaThousandFlowers!Whatastrangestory—justthekindofstorytomakeanappropriatesettingforthegirl’sexquisitedarkbeauty.
CarmenFerrarez….
Hejerkedhimselfbackfromdaydreaming.Whatatimethatinspectorfellowwas.Heroseandpulledthedooropen.Theflatwasstrangelysilent.Couldtheyhavegone?Surelynotwithoutawordtohim.
Hestrodeoutintothenextroom.Itwasempty—sowasthesittingroom.Strangelyempty!Ithadabaredishevelledappearance.Goodheavens!Hisenamels—thesilver!
Herushedwildlythroughtheflat.Itwasthesametaleeverywhere.Theplacehadbeendenuded.Everysinglethingofvalue,andAnthonyhadaveryprettycollector’stasteinsmallthings,hadbeentaken.
WithagroanAnthonystaggeredtoachair,hisheadinhishands.Hewasarousedbytheringingofthefrontdoorbell.HeopenedittoconfrontRogers.
“You’llexcuseme,sir,”saidRogers.“Butthegentlemenfanciedyoumightbewantingsomething.”
“Thegentlemen?”
“Thosetwofriendsofyours,sir.IhelpedthemwiththepackingasbestIcould.VeryfortunatelyIhappenedtohavethemtwogoodcasesinthebasement.”Hiseyesdroppedtothefloor.“I’vesweptupthestrawasbestIcould,sir.”
“Youpackedthethingsinhere?”groanedAnthony.
“Yes,sir.Wasthatnotyourwishes,sir?Itwasthetallgentlemantoldmetodo,sir,andseeingasyouwerebusytalkingtotheothergentlemaninthelittleendroom,Ididn’tliketodisturbyou.”
“Iwasn’ttalkingtohim,”saidAnthony.“Hewastalkingtome—cursehim.”
Rogerscoughed.
“I’msureI’mverysorryforthenecessity,sir,”hemurmured.
“Necessity?”
“Ofpartingwithyourlittletreasures,sir.”
“Eh?Oh,yes.Ha,ha!”Hegaveamirthlesslaugh.“They’vedrivenoffbynow,Isuppose.Those—thosefriendsofmine,Imean?”
“Oh,yes,sir,sometimeago.Iputthecasesonthetaxiandthetallgentlemanwentupstairsagain,andthentheybothcamerunningdownanddroveoffatonce…Excuseme,sir,butisanythingwrong,sir?”
Rogersmightwellask.ThehollowgroanwhichAnthonyemittedwouldhavearousedsurmiseanywhere.
“Everythingiswrong,thankyou,Rogers.ButIseeclearlythatyouwerenottoblame.Leaveme,Iwouldcommuneawhilewithmytelephone.”
FiveminuteslatersawAnthonypouringhistaleintotheearsofInspectorDriver,whosatoppositetohim,notebookinhand.Anunsympatheticman,InspectorDriver,andnot(Anthonyreflected)nearlysolikearealinspector!Distinctlystagey,infact.AnotherstrikingexampleofthesuperiorityofArtoverNature.
Anthonyreachedtheendofhistale.Theinspectorshutuphisnotebook.
“Well?”saidAnthonyanxiously.
“Clearaspaint,”saidtheinspector.“It’sthePattersongang.They’vedonealotofsmartworklately.Bigfairman,smalldarkman,andthegirl.”
“Thegirl?”
“Yes,darkandmightygoodlooking.Actsasadecoyusually.”
“A—aSpanishgirl?”
“Shemightcallherselfthat.ShewasborninHampstead.”
“Isaiditwasabracingplace,”murmuredAnthony.
“Yes,it’sclearenough,”saidtheinspector,risingtodepart.“Shegotyouonthephoneandpitchedyouatale—sheguessedyou’dcomealongallright.ThenshegoesalongtooldMotherGibson’swhoisn’taboveacceptingatipfortheuseofherroomforthemasfindsitawkwardtomeetinpublic—lovers,youunderstand,nothingcriminal.Youfallforitallright,theygetyoubackhere,andwhileoneofthempitchesyouatale,theothergetsawaywiththeswag.It’sthePattersonsallright—justtheirtouch.”
“Andmythings?”saidAnthonyanxiously.
“We’lldowhatwecan,sir.ButthePattersonsareuncommonsharp.”
“Theyseemtobe,”saidAnthonybitterly.
Theinspectordeparted,andscarcelyhadhegonebeforetherecamearingatthedoor.Anthonyopenedit.Asmallboystoodthere,holdingapackage.
“Parcelforyou,sir.”
Anthonytookitwithsomesurprise.Hewasnotexpectingaparcelofanykind.Returningtothesittingroomwithit,hecutthestring.
Itwastheliqueurset!
“Damn!”saidAnthony.
Thenhenoticedthatatthebottomofoneoftheglassestherewasatinyartificialrose.HismindflewbacktotheupperroominKirkStreet.
“Idolikeyou—yes,Idolikeyou.Youwillrememberthatwhateverhappens,won’tyou?”
Thatwaswhatshehadsaid.Whateverhappens…Didshemean—
Anthonytookholdofhimselfsternly.
“Thiswon’tdo,”headmonishedhimself.
Hiseyefellonthetypewriter,andhesatdownwitharesoluteface.
THEMYSTERYOFTHESECONDCUCUMBER
Hisfacegrewdreamyagain.TheShawlofaThousandFlowers.Whatwasitthatwasfoundonthefloorbesidethedeadbody?Thegruesomethingthatexplainedthewholemystery?
Nothing,ofcourse,sinceitwasonlyatrumped-uptaletoholdhisattention,andthetellerhadusedtheoldArabianNights’trickofbreakingoffatthemostinterestingpoint.Butcouldn’ttherebeagruesomethingthatexplainedthewholemystery?couldn’ttherenow?Ifonegaveone’smindtoit?
Anthonytorethesheetofpaperfromhistypewriterandsubstitutedanother.Hetypedaheadline:
THEMYSTERYOFTHESPANISHSHAWL
Hesurveyeditforamomentortwoinsilence.
Thenhebegantotyperapidly….
NinePHILOMELCOTTAGE
“PhilomelCottage”wasfirstpublishedinGrandMagazine,November1924.
Good-bye,darling.”
“Good-bye,sweetheart.”
AlixMartinstoodleaningoverthesmallrusticgate,watchingtheretreatingfigureofherhusbandashewalkeddowntheroadinthedirectionofthevillage.
Presentlyheturnedabendandwaslosttosight,butAlixstillstayedinthesameposition,absentmindedlysmoothingalockoftherichbrownhairwhichhadblownacrossherface,hereyesfarawayanddreamy.
AlixMartinwasnotbeautiful,noreven,strictlyspeaking,pretty.Butherface,thefaceofawomannolongerinherfirstyouth,wasirradiatedandsofteneduntilherformercolleaguesoftheoldofficedayswouldhardlyhaverecognizedher.MissAlexKinghadbeenatrimbusinesslikeyoungwoman,efficient,slightlybrusqueinmanner,obviouslycapableandmatter-of-fact.
Alixhadgraduatedinahardschool.Forfifteenyears,fromtheageofeighteenuntilshewasthirty-three,shehadkeptherself(andforsevenyearsofthetimeaninvalidmother)byherworkasashorthandtypist.Itwasthestruggleforexistencewhichhadhardenedthesoftlinesofhergirlishface.
True,therehadbeenromance—ofakind—DickWindyford,afellowclerk.Verymuchofawomanatheart,Alixhadalwaysknownwithoutseemingtoknowthathecared.Outwardlytheyhadbeenfriends,nothingmore.OutofhisslendersalaryDickhadbeenhardputtoittoprovidefortheschoolingofayoungerbrother.Forthemomenthecouldnotthink
Andthensuddenlydeliverancefromdailytoilhadcometothegirlinthemostunexpectedmanner.Adistantcousinhaddied,leavinghermoneytoAlix—afewthousandpounds,enoughtobringinacoupleofhundredayear.ToAlixitwasfreedom,life,independence.NowsheandDickneedwaitnolonger.
ButDickreactedunexpectedly.HehadneverdirectlyspokenofhislovetoAlix;nowheseemedlessinclinedtodosothanever.Heavoidedher,becamemoroseandgloomy.Alixwasquicktorealizethetruth.Shehadbecomeawomanofmeans.DelicacyandpridestoodinthewayofDick’saskinghertobehiswife.
Shelikedhimnonetheworseforit,andwasindeeddeliberatingastowhethersheherselfmightnottakethefirststep,whenforthesecondtimetheunexpecteddescendeduponher.
ShemetGeraldMartinatafriend’shouse.Hefellviolentlyinlovewithherandwithinaweektheywereengaged.Alix,whohadalwaysconsideredherself“notthefalling-in-lovekind,”wassweptcleanoffherfeet.
Unwittinglyshehadfoundthewaytoarouseherformerlover.DickWindyfordhadcometoherstammeringwithrageandanger.
“Theman’saperfectstrangertoyou!Youknownothingabouthim!”
“IknowthatIlovehim.”
“Howcanyouknow—inaweek?”
“Itdoesn’ttakeeveryoneelevenyearstofindoutthatthey’reinlovewithagirl,”criedAlixangrily.
Hisfacewentwhite.
“I’vecaredforyoueversinceImetyou.Ithoughtthatyoucaredalso.”
Alixwastruthful.
“Ithoughtsotoo,”sheadmitted.“ButthatwasbecauseIdidn’tknowwhatlovewas.”
ThenDickhadburstoutagain.Prayers,entreaties,eventhreats—threatsagainstthemanwhohadsupplantedhim.ItwasamazingtoAlixtoseethevolcanothatexistedbeneaththereservedexteriorofthemanshehadthoughtsheknewsowell.
Herthoughtswentbacktothatinterviewnow,onthissunnymorning,assheleantonthegateofthecottage.Shehadbeenmarriedamonth,andshewasidyllicallyhappy.Yet,inthemomentaryabsenceofthehusbandwhowaseverythingtoher,atingeofanxietyinvadedherperfecthappiness.AndthecauseofthatanxietywasDickWindyford.
Threetimessincehermarriageshehaddreamedthesamedream.Theenvironmentdiffered,butthemainfactswerealwaysthesame.ShesawherhusbandlyingdeadandDickWindyfordstandingoverhim,andsheknewclearlyanddistinctlythathiswasthehandwhichhaddealtthefatalblow.
Buthorriblethoughthatwas,therewassomethingmorehorriblestill—horrible,thatwas,onawakening,forinthedreamitseemedperfectlynaturalandinevitable.She,AlixMartin,wasgladthatherhusbandwasdead;shestretchedoutgratefulhandstothemurderer,sometimesshethankedhim.Thedreamalwaysendedthesameway,withherselfclaspedinDickWindyford’sarms.
Shehadsaidnothingofthisdreamtoherhusband,butsecretlyithadperturbedhermorethanshelikedtoadmit.Wasitawarning—awarningagainstDickWindyford?
Alixwasrousedfromherthoughtsbythesharpringingofthetelephonebellfromwithinthehouse.Sheenteredthecottageandpickedupthereceiver.Suddenlysheswayed,andputoutahandagainstthewall.
“Whodidyousaywasspeaking?”
“Why,Alix,what’sthematterwithyourvoice?Iwouldn’thaveknownit.It’sDick.”
“Oh!”saidAlix.“Oh!Where—whereareyou?”
“AttheTraveller’sArms—that’stherightname,isn’tit?Ordon’tyouevenknowoftheexistenceofyourvillagepub?I’monmyholiday—doingabitoffishinghere.Anyobjectiontomylookingyoutwogoodpeopleupthiseveningafterdinner?”
“No,”saidAlixsharply.“Youmustn’tcome.”
Therewasapause,andthenDick’svoice,withasubtlealterationinit,spokeagain.
“Ibegyourpardon,”hesaidformally.“OfcourseIwon’tbotheryou—”
Alixbrokeinhastily.Hemustthinkherbehaviourtooextraordinary.Itwasextraordinary.Hernervesmustbealltopieces.
“Ionlymeantthatwewere—engagedtonight,”sheexplained,tryingtomakehervoicesoundasnaturalaspossible.“Won’tyou—won’tyoucometodinnertomorrownight?”
ButDickevidentlynoticedthelackofcordialityinhertone.
“Thanksverymuch,”hesaid,inthesameformalvoice,“butImaybemovingonanytime.Dependsifapalofmineturnsupornot.Good-bye,Alix.”Hepaused,andthenaddedhastily,inadifferenttone:“Bestoflucktoyou,mydear.”
Alixhungupthereceiverwithafeelingofrelief.
“Hemustn’tcomehere,”sherepeatedtoherself.“Hemustn’tcomehere.Oh,whatafoolIam!Toimaginemyselfintoastatelikethis.Allthesame,I’mgladhe’snotcoming.”
Shecaughtuparusticrushhatfromatable,andpassedoutintothegardenagain,pausingtolookupatthenamecarvedovertheporch:PhilomelCottage.
“Isn’titaveryfancifulname?”shehadsaidtoGeraldoncebeforetheyweremarried.Hehadlaughed.
“YoulittleCockney,”hehadsaid,affectionately.“Idon’tbelieveyouhaveeverheardanightingale.I’mgladyouhaven’t.Nightingalesshouldsingonlyforlovers.We’llhearthemtogetheronasummer’seveningoutsideourownhome.”
Andattheremembranceofhowtheyhadindeedheardthem,Alix,standinginthedoorwayofherhome,blushedhappily.
ItwasGeraldwhohadfoundPhilomelCottage.HehadcometoAlixburstingwithexcitement.Hehadfoundtheveryspotforthem—unique—agem—thechanceofalifetime.AndwhenAlixhadseenitshetoowascaptivated.Itwastruethatthesituationwasratherlonely—theyweretwomilesfromthenearestvillage—butthecottageitselfwassoexquisitewithitsold-worldappearance,anditssolidcomfortofbathrooms,hot-watersystem,electriclight,andtelephone,thatshefellavictimtoitscharmimmediately.Andthenahitchoccurred.Theowner,arichmanwhohadmadeithiswhim,declinedtoletit.Hewouldonlysell.
GeraldMartin,thoughpossessedofagoodincome,wasunabletotouchhiscapital.Hecouldraiseatmostathousandpounds.Theownerwasaskingthree.ButAlix,whohadsetherheartontheplace,cametotherescue.Herowncapitalwaseasilyrealized,beinginbearerbonds.Shewouldcontributehalfofittothepurchaseofthehome.SoPhilomelCottagebecametheirveryown,andneverforaminutehadAlixregrettedthechoice.Itwastruethatservantsdidnotappreciatetheruralsolitude—indeed,atthemomenttheyhadnoneatall—butAlix,whohadbeenstarvedofdomesticlife,thoroughlyenjoyedcookingdaintylittlemealsandlookingafterthehouse.
Thegarden,whichwasmagnificentlystockedwithflowers,wasattendedbyanoldmanfromthevillagewhocametwiceaweek.
Assheroundedthecornerofthehouse,Alixwassurprisedtoseetheoldgardenerinquestionbusyovertheflowerbeds.ShewassurprisedbecausehisdaysforworkwereMondaysandFridays,andtodaywasWednesday.
“Why,George,whatareyoudoinghere?”sheasked,asshecametowardshim.
Theoldmanstraightenedupwithachuckle,touchingthebrimofanagedcap.
“Ithoughtashowyou’dbesurprised,ma’am.But’tisthisway.TherebeafêteovertoSquire’sonFriday,andIseztomyself,Isez,neitherMr.Martinnoryethisgoodladywon’ttakeitamissifIcomesforonceonaWednesdayinsteadofaFriday.”
“That’squiteallright,”saidAlix.“Ihopeyou’llenjoyyourselfatthefête.”
“Ireckonto,”saidGeorgesimply.“It’safinethingtobeabletoeatyourfillandknowallthetimeasit’snotyouasispayingforit.Squireallushasapropersit-downteafor’istenants.ThenIthoughttoo,ma’am,asImightaswellseeyoubeforeyougoesawaysoastolearnyourwishesfortheborders.Youhavenoideawhenyou’llbeback,ma’am,Isuppose?”
“ButI’mnotgoingaway.”
Georgestared.
“Bain’tyougoingtoLunnontomorrow?”
“No.Whatputsuchanideaintoyourhead?”
Georgejerkedhisheadoverhisshoulder.
“MetMaisterdowntovillageyesterday.HetoldmeyouwasbothgoingawaytoLunnontomorrow,anditwasuncertainwhenyou’dbebackagain.”
“Nonsense,”saidAlix,laughing.“Youmusthavemisunderstoodhim.”
Allthesame,shewonderedexactlywhatitcouldhavebeenthatGeraldhadsaidtoleadtheoldmanintosuchacuriousmistake.GoingtoLondon?SheneverwantedtogotoLondonagain.
“IhateLondon,”shesaidsuddenlyandharshly.
“Ah!”saidGeorgeplacidly.“Imusthavebeenmistooksomehow,andyethesaiditplainenough,itseemedtome.I’mgladyou’restoppingonhere.Idon’tholdwithallthisgallivantingabout,andIdon’tthinknothingofLunnon.I’veneverneededtogothere.Toomanymotycars—that’sthetroublenowadays.Oncepeoplehavegotamotycar,blessediftheycanstaystillanywheres.Mr.Ames,wotusedtohavethishouse—nicepeacefulsortofgentlemanhewasuntilheboughtoneofthemthings.Hadn’thaditamonthbeforeheputupthiscottageforsale.Atidylothe’dspentonittoo,withtapsinallthebedrooms,andtheelectriclightandall.‘You’llneverseeyourmoneyback,’Iseztohim.‘But,’heseztome,‘I’llgeteverypennyoftwothousandpoundsforthishouse.’And,sureenough,hedid.”
“Hegotthreethousand,”saidAlix,smiling.
“Twothousand,”repeatedGeorge.“Thesumhewasaskingwastalkedofatthetime.”
“Itreallywasthreethousand,”saidAlix.
“Ladiesneverunderstandfigures,”saidGeorge,unconvinced.“You’llnottellmethatMr.Ameshadthefacetostanduptoyouandsaythreethousandbrazenlikeinaloudvoice?”
“Hedidn’tsayittome,”saidAlix;“hesaidittomyhusband.”
Georgestoopedagaintohisflowerbed.
“Thepricewastwothousand,”hesaidobstinately.
Alixdidnottroubletoarguewithhim.Movingtooneofthefartherbeds,shebegantopickanarmfulofflowers.
Asshemovedwithherfragrantposytowardsthehouse,Alixnoticedasmalldarkgreenobjectpeepingfrombetweensomeleavesinoneofthebeds.Shestoopedandpickeditup,recognizingitforherhusband’spocketdiary.
Sheopenedit,scanningtheentrieswithsomeamusement.AlmostfromthebeginningoftheirmarriedlifeshehadrealizedthattheimpulsiveandemotionalGeraldhadtheuncharacteristicvirtuesofneatnessandmethod.Hewasextremelyfussyaboutmealsbeingpunctual,andalwaysplannedhisdayaheadwiththeaccuracyofatimetable.
Lookingthroughthediary,shewasamusedtonoticetheentryonthedateofMay14th:“MarryAlixSt.Peter’s2:30.”
“Thebigsilly,”murmuredAlixtoherself,turningthepages.Suddenlyshestopped.
“‘Wednesday,June18th’—why,that’stoday.”
InthespaceforthatdaywaswritteninGerald’sneat,precisehand:“9p.m.”Nothingelse.WhathadGeraldplannedtodoat9p.m.?Alixwondered.Shesmiledtoherselfassherealizedthathadthisbeenastory,likethoseshehadsooftenread,thediarywoulddoubtlesshavefurnishedherwithsomesensationalrevelation.Itwouldhavehadinitforcertainthenameofanotherwoman.Sheflutteredthebackpagesidly.Thereweredates,appointments,crypticreferencestobusinessdeals,butonlyonewoman’sname—herown.
Yetassheslippedthebookintoherpocketandwentonwithherflowerstothehouse,shewasawareofavagueuneasiness.ThosewordsofDickWindyford’srecurredtoheralmostasthoughhehadbeenatherelbowrepeatingthem:“Theman’saperfectstrangertoyou.Youknownothingabouthim.”
Itwastrue.Whatdidsheknowabouthim?Afterall,Geraldwasforty.Infortyyearstheremusthavebeenwomeninhislife….
Alixshookherselfimpatiently.Shemustnotgivewaytothesethoughts.Shehadafarmoreinstantpreoccupationtodealwith.Shouldshe,orshouldshenot,tellherhusbandthatDickWindyfordhadrungherup?
TherewasthepossibilitytobeconsideredthatGeraldmighthavealreadyrunacrosshiminthevillage.Butinthatcasehewouldbesuretomentionittoherimmediatelyuponhisreturn,andmatterswouldbetakenoutofherhands.Otherwise—what?Alixwasawareofadistinctdesiretosaynothingaboutit.
Ifshetoldhim,hewassuretosuggestaskingDickWindyfordtoPhilomelCottage.ThenshewouldhavetoexplainthatDickhadproposedhimself,andthatshehadmadeanexcusetopreventhiscoming.Andwhenheaskedherwhyshehaddoneso,whatcouldshesay?Tellhimherdream?Buthewouldonlylaugh—orworse,seethatsheattachedanimportancetoitwhichhedidnot.
Intheend,rathershamefacedly,Alixdecidedtosaynothing.Itwasthefirstsecretshehadeverkeptfromherhusband,andtheconsciousnessofitmadeherfeelillatease.
WhensheheardGeraldreturningfromthevillageshortlybeforelunch,shehurriedintothekitchenandpretendedtobebusywiththecookingsoastohideherconfusion.
ItwasevidentatoncethatGeraldhadseennothingofDickWindyford.Alixfeltatoncerelievedandembarrassed.Shewasdefinitelycommittednowtoapolicyofconcealment.
Itwasnotuntilaftertheirsimpleeveningmeal,whentheyweresittingintheoak-benchedlivingroomwiththewindowsthrownopentoletinthesweetnightairscentedwiththeperfumeofthemauveandwhitestocksoutside,thatAlixrememberedthepocketdiary.
“Here’ssomethingyou’vebeenwateringtheflowerswith,”shesaid,andthrewitintohislap.
“Droppeditintheborder,didI?”
“Yes;Iknowallyoursecretsnow.”
“Notguilty,”saidGerald,shakinghishead.
“Whataboutyourassignationatnineo’clocktonight?”
“Oh!that—”heseemedtakenabackforamoment,thenhesmiledasthoughsomethingaffordedhimparticularamusement.“It’sanassignationwithaparticularlynicegirl,Alix.She’sgotbrownhairandblueeyes,andshe’sverylikeyou.”
“Idon’tunderstand,”saidAlix,withmockseverity.“You’reevadingthepoint.”
“No,I’mnot.Asamatteroffact,that’sareminderthatI’mgoingtodevelopsomenegativestonight,andIwantyoutohelpme.”
GeraldMartinwasanenthusiasticphotographer.Hehadasomewhatold-fashionedcamera,butwithanexcellentlens,andhedevelopedhisownplatesinasmallcellarwhichhehadhadfittedupasadarkroom.
“Anditmustbedoneatnineo’clockprecisely,”saidAlixteasingly.
Geraldlookedalittlevexed.
“Mydeargirl,”hesaid,withashadeoftestinessinhismanner,“oneshouldalwaysplanathingforadefinitetime.Thenonegetsthroughone’sworkproperly.”
Alixsatforaminuteortwoinsilence,watchingherhusbandashelayinhischairsmoking,hisdarkheadflungbackandtheclear-cutlinesofhisclean-shavenfaceshowingupagainstthesombrebackground.Andsuddenly,fromsomeunknownsource,awaveofpanicsurgedoverher,sothatshecriedoutbeforeshecouldstopherself,“Oh,Gerald,IwishIknewmoreaboutyou!”
Herhusbandturnedanastonishedfaceuponher.
“But,mydearAlix,youdoknowallaboutme.I’vetoldyouofmyboyhoodinNorthumberland,ofmylifeinSouthAfrica,andtheselasttenyearsinCanadawhichhavebroughtmesuccess.”
“Oh!business!”saidAlixscornfully.
Geraldlaughedsuddenly.
“Iknowwhatyoumean—loveaffairs.Youwomenareallthesame.Nothinginterestsyoubutthepersonalelement.”
Alixfeltherthroatgodry,asshemutteredindistinctly:“Well,buttheremusthavebeen—loveaffairs.Imean—ifIonlyknew—”
Therewassilenceagainforaminuteortwo.GeraldMartinwasfrowning,alookofindecisiononhisface.Whenhespokeitwasgravely,withoutatraceofhisformerbanteringmanner.
“Doyouthinkitwise,Alix—this—Bluebeard’schamberbusiness?Therehavebeenwomeninmylife;yes,Idon’tdenyit.Youwouldn’tbelievemeifIdeniedit.ButIcansweartoyoutruthfullythatnotoneofthemmeantanythingtome.”
Therewasaringofsincerityinhisvoicewhichcomfortedthelisteningwife.
“Satisfied,Alix?”heasked,withasmile.Thenhelookedatherwithashadeofcuriosity.
“Whathasturnedyourmindontotheseunpleasantsubjects,tonightofallnights?”
Alixgotup,andbegantowalkaboutrestlessly.
“Oh,Idon’tknow,”shesaid.“I’vebeennervyallday.”
“That’sodd,”saidGerald,inalowvoice,asthoughspeakingtohimself.“That’sveryodd.”
“Whyititodd?”
“Oh,mydeargirl,don’tflashoutatmeso.Ionlysaiditwasodd,because,asarule,you’resosweetandserene.”
Alixforcedasmile.
“Everything’sconspiredtoannoymetoday,”sheconfessed.“EvenoldGeorgehadgotsomeridiculousideaintohisheadthatweweregoingawaytoLondon.Hesaidyouhadtoldhimso.”
“Wheredidyouseehim?”askedGeraldsharply.
“HecametoworktodayinsteadofFriday.”
“Damnedoldfool,”saidGeraldangrily.
Alixstaredinsurprise.Herhusband’sfacewasconvulsedwithrage.Shehadneverseenhimsoangry.SeeingherastonishmentGeraldmadeanefforttoregaincontrolofhimself.
“Well,heisadamnedoldfool,”heprotested.
“Whatcanyouhavesaidtomakehimthinkthat?”
“I?Ineversaidanything.Atleast—oh,yes,Iremember;Imadesomeweakjokeaboutbeing‘offtoLondoninthemorning,’andIsupposehetookitseriously.Orelsehedidn’thearproperly.Youundeceivedhim,ofcourse?”
Hewaitedanxiouslyforherreply.
“Ofcourse,buthe’sthesortofoldmanwhoifoncehegetsanideainhishead—well,itisn’tsoeasytogetitoutagain.”
ThenshetoldhimofGeorge’sinsistenceonthesumaskedforthecottage.
Geraldwassilentforaminuteortwo,thenhesaidslowly:
“Ameswaswillingtotaketwothousandincashandtheremainingthousandonmortgage.That’stheoriginofthatmistake,Ifancy.”
“Verylikely,”agreedAlix.
Thenshelookedupattheclock,andpointedtoitwithamischievousfinger.
“Weoughttobegettingdowntoit,Gerald.Fiveminutesbehindschedule.”
AverypeculiarsmilecameoverGeraldMartin’sface.
“I’vechangedmymind,”hesaidquietly;“Ishan’tdoanyphotographytonight.”
Awoman’smindisacuriousthing.WhenshewenttobedthatWednesdaynightAlix’smindwascontentedandatrest.Hermomentarilyassailedhappinessreasserteditself,triumphantasofyore.
Butbytheeveningofthefollowingdaysherealizedthatsomesubtleforceswereatworkunderminingit.DickWindyfordhadnotrungupagain,neverthelessshefeltwhatshesupposedtobehisinfluenceatwork.Againandagainthosewordsofhisrecurredtoher:“Theman’saperfectstranger.Youknownothingabouthim.”Andwiththemcamethememoryofherhusband’sface,photographedclearlyonherbrain,ashesaid,“Doyouthinkitwise,Alix,this—Bluebeard’schamberbusiness?”Whyhadhesaidthat?
Therehadbeenwarninginthem—ahintofmenace.Itwasasthoughhehadsaidineffect:“Youhadbetternotpryintomylife,Alix.Youmaygetanastyshockifyoudo.”
ByFridaymorningAlixhadconvincedherselfthattherehadbeenawomaninGerald’slife—aBluebeard’schamberthathehadsedulouslysoughttoconcealfromher.Herjealousy,slowtoawaken,wasnowrampant.
Wasitawomanhehadbeengoingtomeetthatnightat9p.m.?Washisstoryofphotographstodevelopalieinventeduponthespurofthemoment?
Threedaysagoshewouldhaveswornthatsheknewherhusbandthroughandthrough.Nowitseemedtoherthathewasastrangerofwhomsheknewnothing.SherememberedhisunreasonableangeragainstoldGeorge,soatvariancewithhisusualgood-temperedmanner.Asmallthing,perhaps,butitshowedherthatshedidnotreallyknowthemanwhowasherhusband.
TherewereseverallittlethingsrequiredonFridayfromthevillage.IntheafternoonAlixsuggestedthatsheshouldgoforthemwhilstGeraldremainedinthegarden;butsomewhattohersurpriseheopposedthisplanvehemently,andinsistedongoinghimselfwhilstsheremainedathome.Alixwasforcedtogivewaytohim,buthisinsistencesurprisedandalarmedher.Whywashesoanxioustopreventhergoingtothevillage?
Suddenlyanexplanationsuggesteditselftoherwhichmadethewholethingclear.Wasitnotpossiblethat,whilstsayingnothingtoher,GeraldhadindeedcomeacrossDickWindyford?Herownjealousy,entirelydormantatthetimeoftheirmarriage,hadonlydevelopedafterwards.MightitnotbethesamewithGerald?MighthenotbeanxioustopreventherseeingDickWindyfordagain?Thisexplanationwassoconsistentwiththefacts,andsocomfortingtoAlix’sperturbedmind,thatsheembracediteagerly.
Yetwhenteatimehadcomeandpassedshewasrestlessandillatease.ShewasstrugglingwithatemptationthathadassailedhereversinceGerald’sdeparture.Finally,pacifyingherconsciencewiththeassurancethattheroomdidneedathoroughtidying,shewentupstairstoherhusband’sdressingroom.Shetookadusterwithhertokeepupthepretenceofhousewifery.
“IfIwereonlysure,”sherepeatedtoherself.“IfIcouldonlybesure.”
Invainshetoldherselfthatanythingcompromisingwouldhavebeendestroyedagesago.Againstthatshearguedthatmendosometimeskeepthemostdamningpieceofevidencethroughanexaggeratedsentimentality.
IntheendAlixsuccumbed.Hercheeksburningwiththeshameofheraction,shehuntedbreathlesslythroughpacketsoflettersanddocuments,turnedoutthedrawers,evenwentthroughthepocketsofherhusband’sclothes.Onlytwodrawerseludedher;thelowerdrawerofthechestofdrawersandthesmallright-handdrawerofthewritingdeskwerebothlocked.ButAlixwasbynowlosttoallshame.Inoneofthesedrawersshewasconvincedthatshewouldfindevidenceofthisimaginarywomanofthepastwhoobsessedher.
SherememberedthatGeraldhadlefthiskeyslyingcarelesslyonthesideboarddownstairs.Shefetchedthemandtriedthemonebyone.Thethirdkeyfittedthewritingtabledrawer.Alixpulleditopeneagerly.Therewasachequebookandawalletwellstuffedwithnotes,andatthebackofthedrawerapacketofletterstiedupwithapieceoftape
Herbreathcomingunevenly,Alixuntiedthetape.Thenadeepburningblushoverspreadherface,andshedroppedthelettersbackintothedrawer,closingandrelockingit.Fortheletterswereherown,writtentoGeraldMartinbeforeshemarriedhim.
Sheturnednowtothechestofdrawers,morewithawishtofeelthatshehadleftnothingundonethanfromanyexpectationoffindingwhatshesought.
ToherannoyancenoneofthekeysonGerald’sbunchfittedthedrawerinquestion.Nottobedefeated,Alixwentintotheotherroomsandbroughtbackaselectionofkeyswithher.Tohersatisfactionthekeyofthespareroomwardrobealsofittedthechestofdrawers.Sheunlockedthedrawerandpulleditopen.Buttherewasnothinginitbutarollofnewspaperclippingsalreadydirtyanddiscolouredwithage.
Alixbreathedasighofrelief.Nevertheless,sheglancedattheclippings,curioustoknowwhatsubjecthadinterestedGeraldsomuchthathehadtakenthetroubletokeepthedustyroll.TheywerenearlyallAmericanpapers,datedsomesevenyearsago,anddealingwiththetrialofthenotoriousswindlerandbigamist,CharlesLemaitre.Lemaitrehadbeensuspectedofdoingawaywithhiswomenvictims.Askeletonhadbeenfoundbeneaththefloorofoneofthehouseshehadrented,andmostofthewomenhehad“married”hadneverbeenheardofagain.
Hehaddefendedhimselffromthechargeswithconsummateskill,aidedbysomeofthebestlegaltalentintheUnitedStates.TheScottishverdictof“NotProven”mightperhapshavestatedthecasebest.Initsabsence,hewasfoundNotGuiltyonthecapitalcharge,thoughsentencedtoalongtermofimprisonmentontheotherchargespreferredagainsthim.
Alixrememberedtheexcitementcausedbythecaseatthetime,andalsothesensationarousedbytheescapeofLemaitresomethreeyearslater.Hehadneverbeenrecaptured.ThepersonalityofthemanandhisextraordinarypoweroverwomenhadbeendiscussedatgreatlengthintheEnglishpapersatthetime,togetherwithanaccountofhisexcitabilityincourt,hispassionateprotestations,andhisoccasionalsuddenphysicalcollapses,duetothefactthathehadaweakheart,thoughtheignorantaccreditedittohisdramaticpowers.
TherewasapictureofhiminoneoftheclippingsAlixheld,andshestudieditwithsomeinterest—along-bearded,scholarly-lookinggentleman.
Whowasitthefaceremindedherof?Suddenly,withashock,sherealizedthatitwasGeraldhimself.Theeyesandbrowboreastrongresemblancetohis.Perhapshehadkeptthecuttingforthatreason.Hereyeswentontotheparagraphbesidethepicture.Certaindates,itseemed,hadbeenenteredintheaccused’spocketbook,anditwascontendedthattheseweredateswhenhehaddoneawaywithhisvictims.Thenawomangaveevidenceandidentifiedtheprisonerpositivelybythefactthathehadamoleonhisleftwrist,justbelowthepalmofthehand.
Alixdroppedthepapersandswayedasshestood.Onhisleftwrist,justbelowthepalm,herhusbandhadasmallscar…
Theroomwhirledroundher.Afterwardsitstruckherasstrangethatsheshouldhaveleapedatoncetosuchabsolutecertainty.GeraldMartinwasCharlesLemaitre!Sheknewit,andaccepteditinaflash.Disjointedfragmentswhirledthroughherbrain,likepiecesofajigsawpuzzlefittingintoplace.
Themoneypaidforthehouse—hermoney—hermoneyonly;thebearerbondsshehadentrustedtohiskeeping.Evenherdreamappearedinitstruesignificance.Deepdowninher,hersubconsciousselfhadalwaysfearedGeraldMartinandwishedtoescapefromhim.AnditwastoDickWindyfordthisselfofhershadlookedforhelp.That,too,waswhyshe
Ahalfcryescapedherassherememberedsomething.Wednesday,9p.m.Thecellar,withtheflagstonesthatweresoeasilyraised!Oncebeforehehadburiedoneofhisvictimsinacellar.IthadbeenallplannedforWednesdaynight.Buttowriteitdownbeforehandinthatmethodicalmanner—insanity!No,itwaslogical.Geraldalwaysmadeamemorandumofhisengagements;murderwastohimabusinesspropositionlikeanyother.
Butwhathadsavedher?Whatcouldpossiblyhavesavedher?Hadherelentedatthelastminute?No.Inaflashtheanswercametoher—oldGeorge.
Sheunderstoodnowherhusband’suncontrollableanger.DoubtlesshehadpavedthewaybytellingeveryonehemetthattheyweregoingtoLondonthenextday.ThenGeorgehadcometoworkunexpectedly,hadmentionedLondontoher,andshehadcontradictedthestory.Tooriskytodoawaywithherthatnight,witholdGeorgerepeatingthatconversation.Butwhatanescape!Ifshehadnothappenedtomentionthattrivialmatter—Alixshuddered.
Andthenshestayedmotionlessasthoughfrozentostone.Shehadheardthecreakofthegateintotheroad.Herhusbandhadreturned.
ForamomentAlixstayedasthoughpetrified,thenshecreptontiptoetothewindow,lookingoutfrombehindtheshelterofthecurtain.
Yes,itwasherhusband.Hewassmilingtohimselfandhummingalittletune.Inhishandheheldanobjectwhichalmostmadetheterrifiedgirl’sheartstopbeating.Itwasabrand-newspade.
Alixleapedtoaknowledgebornofinstinct.Itwastobetonight…
Buttherewasstillachance.Gerald,humminghislittletune,wentroundtothebackofthehouse.
Withouthesitatingamoment,sherandownthestairsandoutofthecottage.Butjustassheemergedfromthedoor,herhusbandcameroundtheothersideofthehouse.
“Hallo,”hesaid,“whereareyourunningofftoinsuchahurry?”
Alixstrovedesperatelytoappearcalmandasusual.Herchancewasgoneforthemoment,butifshewascarefulnottoarousehissuspicions,itwouldcomeagainlater.Evennow,perhaps….
“Iwasgoingtowalktotheendofthelaneandback,”shesaidinavoicethatsoundedweakanduncertaininherownears.
“Right,”saidGerald.“I’llcomewithyou.”
“No—please,Gerald.I’m—nervy,headachy—I’drathergoalone.”
Helookedatherattentively.Shefanciedamomentarysuspiciongleamedinhiseye.
“What’sthematterwithyou,Alix?You’repale—trembling.”
“Nothing.”Sheforcedherselftobebrusque—smiling.“I’vegotaheadache,that’sall.Awalkwilldomegood.”
“Well,it’snogoodyoursayingyoudon’twantme,”declaredGerald,withhiseasylaugh.“I’mcoming,whetheryouwantmeornot.”
Shedarednotprotestfurther.Ifhesuspectedthatsheknew….
Withaneffortshemanagedtoregainsomethingofhernormalmanner.Yetshehadanuneasyfeelingthathelookedathersidewayseverynowandthen,asthoughnotquitesatisfied.Shefeltthathissuspicionswerenotcompletelyallayed.
Whentheyreturnedtothehouseheinsistedonherlyingdown,andbroughtsomeeau-de-Colognetobathehertemples.Hewas,asever,thedevotedhusband.Alixfeltherselfashelplessasthoughboundhandandfootinatrap.
Notforaminutewouldheleaveheralone.Hewentwithherintothekitchenandhelpedhertobringinthesimplecolddishesshehadalreadyprepared.Supperwasamealthatchokedher,yetsheforcedherselftoeat,andeventoappeargayandnatural.Sheknewnowthatshewasfightingforherlife.Shewasalonewiththisman,milesfromhelp,absolutelyathismercy.Heronlychancewassotolullhissuspicionsthathewouldleaveheraloneforafewmoments—longenoughforhertogettothetelephoneinthehallandsummonassistance.Thatwasheronlyhopenow.
Amomentaryhopeflashedoverherassherememberedhowhehadabandonedhisplanbefore.SupposeshetoldhimthatDickWindyfordwascominguptoseethemthatevening?
Thewordstrembledonherlips—thensherejectedthemhastily.Thismanwouldnotbebaulkedasecondtime.Therewasadetermination,anelation,underneathhiscalmbearingthatsickenedher.Shewouldonlyprecipitatethecrime.Hewouldmurderherthereandthen,andcalmlyringupDickWindyfordwithataleofhavingbeensuddenlycalledaway.Oh!ifonlyDickWindyfordwerecomingtothehousethisevening!IfDick..
Asuddenideaflashedintohermind.Shelookedsharplysidewaysatherhusbandasthoughshefearedthathemightreadhermind.Withtheformingofaplan,hercouragewasreinforced.Shebecamesocompletelynaturalinmannerthatshemarvelledatherself.
Shemadethecoffeeandtookitouttotheporchwheretheyoftensatonfineevenings.
“Bytheway,”saidGeraldsuddenly,“we’lldothosephotographslater.”
Alixfeltashiverrunthroughher,butsherepliednonchalantly,“Can’tyoumanagealone?I’mrathertiredtonight.”
“Itwon’ttakelong.”Hesmiledtohimself.“AndIcanpromiseyouyouwon’tbetiredafterwards.”
Thewordsseemedtoamusehim.Alixshuddered.Noworneverwasthetimetocarryoutherplan.
Sherosetoherfeet.
“I’mjustgoingtotelephonetothebutcher,”sheannouncednonchalantly.“Don’tyoubothertomove.”
“Tothebutcher?Atthistimeofnight?”
“Hisshop’sshut,ofcourse,silly.Buthe’sinhishouseallright.Andtomorrow’sSaturday,andIwanthimtobringmesomevealcutletsearly,beforesomeoneelsegrabsthemoffhim.Theolddearwilldoanythingforme.”
Shepassedquicklyintothehouse,closingthedoorbehindher.SheheardGeraldsay,“Don’tshutthedoor,”andwasquickwithherlightreply,“Itkeepsthemothsout.Ihatemoths.AreyouafraidI’mgoingtomakelovetothebutcher,silly?”
Onceinside,shesnatcheddownthetelephonereceiverandgavethenumberoftheTraveller’sArms.Shewasputthroughatonce.
“Mr.Windyford?Ishestillthere?CanIspeaktohim?”
Thenherheartgaveasickeningthump.Thedoorwaspushedopenandherhusbandcameintothehall.
“Dogoaway,Gerald,”shesaidpettishly.“IhateanyonelisteningwhenI’mtelephoning.”
Hemerelylaughedandthrewhimselfintoachair.
“Sureitreallyisthebutcheryou’retelephoningto?”hequizzed.
Alixwasindespair.Herplanhadfailed.InaminuteDickWindyfordwouldcometothephone.Shouldsheriskallandcryoutanappealforhelp?
Andthen,asshenervouslydepressedandreleasedthelittlekeyinthereceivershewasholding,whichpermitsthevoicetobeheardornotheardattheotherend,anotherplanflashedintoherhead.
“Itwillbedifficult,”shethoughttoherself.“Itmeanskeepingmyhead,andthinkingoftherightwords,andnotfalteringforamoment,butIbelieveIcoulddoit.Imustdoit.”
AndatthatminutesheheardDickWindyford’svoiceattheotherendofthephone.
Alixdrewadeepbreath.Thenshedepressedthekeyfirmlyandspoke.
“Mrs.Martinspeaking—fromPhilomelCottage.Pleasecome(shereleasedthekey)tomorrowmorningwithsixnicevealcutlets(shedepressedthekeyagain).It’sveryimportant(shereleasedthekey).Thankyousomuch,Mr.Hexworthy:youwon’tmindmyringingyouupsolate.Ihope,butthosevealcutletsarereallyamatterof(shedepressedthekeyagain)lifeordeath(shereleasedit).Verywell—tomorrowmorning(shedepressedit)assoonaspossible.”
Shereplacedthereceiveronthehookandturnedtofaceherhusband,breathinghard.
“Sothat’showyoutalktoyourbutcher,isit?”saidGerald.
“It’sthefemininetouch,”saidAlixlightly.
Shewassimmeringwithexcitement.Hehadsuspectednothing.Dick,evenifhedidn’tunderstand,wouldcome.
Shepassedintothesittingroomandswitchedontheelectriclight.Geraldfollowedher.
“Youseemveryfullofspiritsnow?”hesaid,watchinghercuriously.
“Yes,”saidAlix.“Myheadache’sgone.”
Shesatdowninherusualseatandsmiledatherhusbandashesankintohisownchairoppositeher.Shewassaved.Itwasonlyfiveandtwentypasteight.Longbeforenineo’clockDickwouldhavearrived.
“Ididn’tthinkmuchofthatcoffeeyougaveme,”complainedGerald.“Ittastedverybitter.”
“It’sanewkindIwastrying.Wewon’thaveitagainifyoudon’tlikeit,dear.”
Alixtookupapieceofneedleworkandbegantostitch.Geraldreadafewpagesofhisbook.Thenheglancedupattheclockandtossedthebookaway.
“Halfpasteight.Timetogodowntothecellarandstartwork.”
ThesewingslippedfromAlix’sfingers
“Oh,notyet.Letuswaituntilnineo’clock.”
“No,mygirl—halfpasteight.That’sthetimeIfixed.You’llbeabletogettobedalltheearlier.”
“ButI’dratherwaituntilnine.”
“YouknowwhenIfixatimeIalwayssticktoit.Comealong,Alix.I’mnotgoingtowaitaminutelonger.”
Alixlookedupathim,andinspiteofherselfshefeltawaveofterrorslideoverher.Themaskhadbeenlifted.Gerald’shandsweretwitching,hiseyeswereshiningwithexcitement,hewascontinuallypassinghistongueoverhisdrylips.Henolongercaredtoconcealhisexcitement.
Alixthought,“It’strue—hecan’twait—he’slikeamadman.”
Hestrodeovertoher,andjerkedherontoherfeetwithahandonhershoulder.
“Comeon,mygirl—orI’llcarryyouthere.”
Histonewasgay,buttherewasanundisguisedferocitybehinditthatappalledher.Withasupremeeffortshejerkedherselffreeandclungcoweringagainstthewall.Shewaspowerless.Shecouldn’tgetaway—shecouldn’tdoanything—andhewascomingtowardsher.
“Now,Alix—”
“No—no.”
Shescreamed,herhandsheldoutimpotentlytowardhimoff.
“Gerald—stop—I’vegotsomethingtotellyou,somethingtoconfess—”
Hedidstop.
“Toconfess?”hesaidcuriously.
“Yes,toconfess.”Shehadusedthewordsatrandom,butshewentondesperately,seekingtoholdhisarrestedattention.
Alookofcontemptsweptoverhisface.
“Aformerlover,Isuppose,”hesneered.
“No,”saidAlix.“Somethingelse.You’dcallit,Iexpect—yes,you’dcallitacrime.”
Andatonceshesawthatshehadstrucktherightnote.Againhisattentionwasarrested,held.Seeingthat,hernervecamebacktoher.Shefeltmistressofthesituationoncemore.
“Youhadbettersitdownagain,”shesaidquietly.
Sheherselfcrossedtheroomtoheroldchairandsatdown.Sheevenstoopedandpickedupherneedlework.Butbehindhercalmnessshewasthinkingandinventingfeverishly:forthestorysheinventedmustholdhisinterestuntilhelparrived.
“Itoldyou,”shesaidslowly,“thatIhadbeenashorthandtypistforfifteenyears.Thatwasnotentirelytrue.Thereweretwointervals.ThefirstoccurredwhenIwastwenty-two.Icameacrossaman,anelderlymanwithalittleproperty.Hefellinlovewithmeandaskedmetomarryhim.Iaccepted.Weweremarried.”Shepaused.“Iinducedhimtoinsurehislifeinmyfavour.”
Shesawasuddenkeeninterestspringupinherhusband’sface,andwentonwithrenewedassurance:
“DuringthewarIworkedforatimeinahospitaldispensary.ThereIhadthehandlingofallkindsofraredrugsandpoisons.”
Shepausedreflectively.Hewaskeenlyinterestednow,notadoubtofit.Themurdererisboundtohaveaninterestinmurder.Shehadgambledonthat,andsucceeded.Shestoleaglanceattheclock.Itwasfiveandtwentytonine.
“Thereisonepoison—itisalittlewhitepowder.Apinchofitmeansdeath.Youknowsomethingaboutpoisonsperhaps?”
Sheputthequestioninsometrepidation.Ifhedid,shewouldhavetobecareful.
“No,”saidGerald:“Iknowverylittleaboutthem.”
Shedrewabreathofrelief.
“Youhaveheardofhyoscine,ofcourse?Thisisadrugthatactsmuchthesameway,butisabsolutelyuntraceable.Anydoctorwouldgiveacertificateofheartfailure.Istoleasmallquantityofthisdrugandkeptitbyme.”
Shepaused,marshallingherforces.
“Goon,”saidGerald.
“No.I’mafraid.Ican’ttellyou.Anothertime.”
“Now,”hesaidimpatiently.“Iwanttohear.”
“Wehadbeenmarriedamonth.Iwasverygoodtomyelderlyhusband,verykindanddevoted.Hespokeinpraiseofmetoalltheneighbours.EveryoneknewwhatadevotedwifeIwas.Ialwaysmadehiscoffeemyselfeveryevening.Oneevening,whenwewerealonetogether,Iputapinchofthedeadlyalkaloidinhiscup—”
Alixpaused,andcarefullyrethreadedherneedle.She,whohadneveractedinherlife,rivalledthegreatestactressintheworldatthismoment.Shewasactuallylivingthepartofthecold-bloodedpoisoner.
“Itwasverypeaceful.Isatwatchinghim.Oncehegaspedalittleandaskedforair.Iopenedthewindow.Thenhesaidhecouldnotmovefromhischair.Presentlyhedied.”
Shestopped,smiling.Itwasaquartertonine.Surelytheywouldcomesoon.
“Howmuch,”saidGerald,“wastheinsurancemoney?”
“Abouttwothousandpounds.Ispeculatedwithit,andlostit.Iwentbacktomyofficework.ButInevermeanttoremaintherelong.ThenImetanotherman.Ihadstucktomymaidennameattheoffice.Hedidn’tknowIhadbeenmarriedbefore.Hewasayoungerman,rathergood-looking,andquitewell-off.WeweremarriedquietlyinSussex.Hedidn’twanttoinsurehislife,butofcoursehemadeawillinmyfavour.Helikedmetomakehiscoffeemyselfjustasmyfirsthusbandhaddone.”
Alixsmiledreflectively,andaddedsimply,“Imakeverygoodcoffee.”
Thenshewenton:
“Ihadseveralfriendsinthevillagewherewewereliving.Theywereverysorryforme,withmyhusbanddyingsuddenlyofheartfailureoneeveningafterdinner.Ididn’tquitelikethedoctor.Idon’tthinkhesuspectedme,buthewascertainlyverysurprisedatmyhusband’ssuddendeath.Idon’tquiteknowwhyIdriftedbacktotheofficeagain.Habit,Isuppose.Mysecondhusbandleftaboutfourthousandpounds.Ididn’tspeculatewithitthistime;Iinvestedit.Then,yousee—”
Butshewasinterrupted.GeraldMartin,hisfacesuffusedwithblood,half-choking,waspointingashakingforefingerather.
“Thecoffee—myGod!thecoffee!”
Shestaredathim.
“Iunderstandnowwhyitwasbitter.Youdevil!You’vebeenuptoyourtricksagain.”
Hishandsgrippedthearmsofhischair.Hewasreadytospringuponher.
“You’vepoisonedme.”
Alixhadretreatedfromhimtothefireplace.Now,terrified,sheopenedherlipstodeny—andthenpaused.Inanotherminutehewouldspringuponher.Shesummonedallherstrength.Hereyesheldhissteadily,compellingly.
“Yes,”shesaid.“Ipoisonedyou.Alreadythepoisonisworking.Attheminuteyoucan’tmovefromyourchair—youcan’tmove—”
Ifshecouldkeephimthere—evenafewminutes….
Ah!whatwasthat?Footstepsontheroad.Thecreakofthegate.Thenfootstepsonthepathoutside.Theouterdooropening.
“Youcan’tmove,”shesaidagain.
ThensheslippedpasthimandfledheadlongfromtheroomtofallfaintingintoDickWindyford’sarms.
“MyGod!Alix,”hecried.
Thenheturnedtothemanwithhim,atallstalwartfigureinpoliceman’suniform.
“Goandseewhat’sbeenhappeninginthatroom.”
HelaidAlixcarefullydownonacouchandbentoverher.
“Mylittlegirl,”hemurmured.“Mypoorlittlegirl.Whathavetheybeendoingtoyou?”
Hereyelidsflutteredandherlipsjustmurmuredhisname.
Dickwasarousedbythepoliceman’stouchinghimonthearm.
“There’snothinginthatroom,sir,butamansittinginachair.Looksasthoughhe’dhadsomekindofbadfright,and—”
“Yes?”
“Well,sir,he’s—dead.”
TheywerestartledbyhearingAlix’svoice.Shespokeasthoughinsomekindofdream,hereyesstillclosed.
“Andpresently,”shesaid,almostasthoughshewerequotingfromsomething,“hedied—”
TenACCIDENT
“Accident”wasfirstpublishedas“TheUncrossedPath”inTheSundayDispatch,22September1929.
AndItellyouthis—it’sthesamewoman—notadoubtofit!”
CaptainHaydocklookedintotheeager,vehementfaceofhisfriendandsighed.HewishedEvanswouldnotbesopositiveandsojubilant.Inthecourseofacareerspentatsea,theoldseacaptainhadlearnedtoleavethingsthatdidnotconcernhimwellalone.Hisfriend,Evans,lateC.I.D.Inspector,hadadifferentphilosophyoflife.“Actingoninformationreceived—”hadbeenhismottoinearlydays,andhehadimproveduponittotheextentoffindingouthisowninformation.InspectorEvanshadbeenaverysmart,wide-awakeofficer,andhadjustlyearnedthepromotionwhichhadbeenhis.Evennow,whenhehadretiredfromtheforce,andhadsettleddowninthecountrycottageofhisdreams,hisprofessionalinstinctwasstillactive.
“Don’toftenforgetaface,”hereiteratedcomplacently.“Mrs.Anthony—yes,it’sMrs.Anthonyrightenough.WhenyousaidMrs.Merrowdene—Iknewheratonce.”
CaptainHaydockstirreduneasily.TheMerrowdeneswerehisnearestneighbours,barringEvanshimself,andthisidentifyingofMrs.Merrowdenewithaformerheroineofacausecélèbredistressedhim.
“It’salongtimeago,”hesaidratherweakly.
“Nineyears,”saidEvans,accuratelyasever.“Nineyearsandthreemonths.Yourememberthecase?”
“Inavaguesortofway.”
“Anthonyturnedouttobeanarseniceater,”saidEvans,“sotheyacquittedher.”
“Well,whyshouldn’tthey?”
“Noreasonintheworld.Onlyverdicttheycouldgiveontheevidence.Absolutelycorrect.”
“Thenthat’sallright,”saidHaydock.“AndIdon’tseewhatwe’rebotheringabout.”
“Who’sbothering?”
“Ithoughtyouwere.”
“Notatall.”
“Thething’soveranddonewith,”summedupthecaptain.“IfMrs.Merrowdeneatonetimeofherlifewasunfortunateenoughtobetriedandacquittedformurder—”
“It’snotusuallyconsideredunfortunatetobeacquitted,”putinEvans.
“YouknowwhatImean,”saidCaptainHaydockirritably.“Ifthepoorladyhasbeenthroughthatharrowingexperience,it’snobusinessofourstorakeitup,isit?”
Evansdidnotanswer.
“Comenow,Evans.Theladywasinnocent—you’vejustsaidso.”
“Ididn’tsayshewasinnocent.Isaidshewasacquitted.”
“It’sthesamething.”
“Notalways.”
CaptainHaydock,whohadcommencedtotaphispipeoutagainstthesideofhischair,stopped,andsatupwithaveryalertexpression.
“Hallo—allo—allo,”hesaid.“Thewind’sinthatquarter,isit?Youthinkshewasn’tinnocent?”
“Iwouldn’tsaythat.Ijust—don’tknow.Anthonywasinthehabitoftakingarsenic.Hiswifegotitforhim.Oneday,bymistake,hetakesfartoomuch.Wasthemistakehisorhiswife’s?Nobodycouldtell,andthejuryveryproperlygaveherthebenefitofthedoubt.That’sallquiterightandI’mnotfindingfaultwithit.Allthesame—I’dliketoknow.”
CaptainHaydocktransferredhisattentiontohispipeoncemore.
“Well,”hesaidcomfortably.“It’snoneofourbusiness.”
“I’mnotsosure….”
“Butsurely—”
“Listentomeaminute.Thisman,Merrowdene—inhislaboratorythisevening,fiddlingroundwithtests—youremember—”
“Yes.HementionedMarsh’stestforarsenic.Saidyouwouldknowallaboutit—itwasinyourline—andchuckled.Hewouldn’thavesaidthatifhe’dthoughtforonemoment—”
Evansinterruptedhim.
“Youmeanhewouldn’thavesaidthatifheknew.They’vebeenmarriedhowlong—sixyearsyoutoldme?IbetyouanythinghehasnoideahiswifeistheoncenotoriousMrs.Anthony.”
“Andhewillcertainlynotknowitfromme,”saidCaptainHaydockstiffly.
Evanspaidnoattention,butwenton:
“Youinterruptedmejustnow.AfterMarsh’stest,Merrowdeneheatedasubstanceinatesttube,themetallicresiduehedissolvedinwaterandthenprecipitateditbyaddingsilvernitrate.Thatwasatestforchlorates.Aneatunassuminglittletest.ButIchancedtoreadthesewordsinabookthatstoodopenonthetable:
H2SO4decomposeschlorateswithevolutionofCL4O2.Ifheated,violentexplosionsoccur;themixtureoughtthereforetobekeptcoolandonlyverysmallquantitiesused.”
Haydockstaredathisfriend.
“Well,whataboutit?”
“Justthis.Inmyprofessionwe’vegotteststoo—testsformurder.There’saddingupthefacts—weighingthem,dissectingtheresiduewhenyou’veallowedforprejudiceandthegeneralinaccuracyofwitnesses.Butthere’sanothertestofmurder—onethatisfairlyaccurate,butrather—dangerous!Amurdererisseldomcontentwithonecrime.Givehimtime,andalackofsuspicion,andhe’llcommitanother.Youcatchaman—hashemurderedhiswifeorhasn’the?—perhapsthecaseisn’tveryblackagainsthim.Lookintohispast—ifyoufindthathe’shadseveralwives—andthatthey’vealldiedshallwesay—rathercuriously?—thenyouknow!I’mnotspeakinglegally,youunderstand.I’mspeakingofmoralcertainty.Onceyouknow,youcangoaheadlookingforevidence.”
“Well?”
“I’mcomingtothepoint.That’sallrightifthereisapasttolookinto.Butsupposeyoucatchyourmurdererathisorherfirstcrime?Thenthattestwillbeonefromwhichyougetnoreaction.Butsupposetheprisoneracquitted—startinglifeunderanothername.Willorwillnotthemurdererrepeatthecrime?”
“That’sahorribleidea!”
“Doyoustillsayit’snoneofourbusiness?”
“Yes,Ido.You’venoreasontothinkthatMrs.Merrowdeneisanythingbutaperfectlyinnocentwoman.”
Theex-inspectorwassilentforamoment.Thenhesaidslowly:
“Itoldyouthatwelookedintoherpastandfoundnothing.That’snotquitetrue.Therewasastepfather.Asagirlofeighteenshehadafancyforsomeyoungman—andherstepfatherexertedhisauthoritytokeepthemapart.Sheandherstepfatherwentforawalkalongaratherdangerouspartofthecliff.Therewasanaccident—thestepfatherwenttooneartheedge—itgaveway,andhewentoverandwaskilled.”
“Youdon’tthink—”
“Itwasanaccident.Accident!Anthony’soverdoseofarsenicwasanaccident.She’dneverhavebeentriedifithadn’ttranspiredthattherewasanotherman—hesheeredoff,bytheway.Lookedasthoughheweren’tsatisfiedevenifthejurywere.Itellyou,Haydock,wherethatwomanisconcernedI’mafraidofanother—accident!”
Theoldcaptainshruggedhisshoulders.
“It’sbeennineyearssincethataffair.Whyshouldtherebeanother‘accident,’asyoucallit,now?”
“Ididn’tsaynow.Isaidsomedayorother.Ifthenecessarymotivearose.”
CaptainHaydockshruggedhisshoulders.
“Well,Idon’tknowhowyou’regoingtoguardagainstthat.”
“NeitherdoI,”saidEvansruefully.
“Ishouldleavewellalone,”saidCaptainHaydock.“Nogoodevercameofbuttingintootherpeople’saffairs.”
Butthatadvicewasnotpalatabletotheex-inspector.Hewasamanofpatiencebutdetermination.Takingleaveofhisfriend,hesauntereddowntothevillage,revolvinginhismindthepossibilitiesofsomekindofsuccessfulaction
Turningintothepostofficetobuysomestamps,heranintotheobjectofhissolicitude,GeorgeMerrowdene.Theex-chemistryprofessorwasasmalldreamy-lookingman,gentleandkindlyinmanner,andusuallycompletelyabsentminded.Herecognizedtheotherandgreetedhimamicably,stoopingtorecoverthelettersthattheimpacthadcausedhimtodropontheground.Evansstoopedalsoand,morerapidinhismovementsthantheother,securedthemfirst,handingthembacktotheirownerwithanapology.
Heglanceddownatthemindoingso,andtheaddressonthetopmostsuddenlyawakenedallhissuspicionsanew.Itborethenameofawell-knowninsurancefirm.
Instantlyhismindwasmadeup.TheguilelessGeorgeMerrowdenehardlyrealizedhowitcameaboutthatheandtheex-inspectorwerestrollingdownthevillagetogether,andstilllesscouldhehavesaidhowitcameaboutthattheconversationshouldcomeroundtothesubjectoflifeinsurance.
Evanshadnodifficultyinattaininghisobject.Merrowdeneofhisownaccordvolunteeredtheinformationthathehadjustinsuredhislifeforhiswife’sbenefit,andaskedEvans’sopinionofthecompanyinquestion.
“Imadesomeratherunwiseinvestments,”heexplained.“Asaresultmyincomehasdiminished.Ifanythingweretohappentome,mywifewouldbeleftverybadlyoff.Thisinsurancewillputthingsright.”
“Shedidn’tobjecttotheidea?”inquiredEvanscasually.“Someladiesdo,youknow.Feelit’sunlucky—thatsortofthing.”
“Oh,Margaretisverypractical,”saidMerrowdene,smiling.“Notatallsuperstitious.Infact,Ibelieveitwasherideaoriginally.Shedidn’tlikemybeingsoworried.”
Evanshadgottheinformationhewanted.Helefttheothershortlyafterwards,andhislipsweresetinagrimline.ThelateMr.Anthonyhadinsuredhislifeinhiswife’sfavourafewweeksbeforehisdeath.
Accustomedtorelyonhisinstincts,hewasperfectlysureinhisownmind.Buthowtoactwasanothermatter.Hewanted,nottoarrestacriminalred-handed,buttopreventacrimebeingcommitted,andthatwasaverydifferentandaverymuchmoredifficultthing.
Alldayhewasverythoughtful.TherewasaPrimroseLeagueFêtethatafternoonheldinthegroundsofthelocalsquire,andhewenttoit,indulginginthepennydip,guessingtheweightofapig,andshyingatcoconutsallwiththesamelookofabstractedconcentrationonhisface.Heevenindulgedinhalfacrown’sworthofZara,theCrystalGazer,smilingalittletohimselfashedidso,rememberinghisownactivitiesagainstfortune-tellersinhisofficialdays.
Hedidnotpayverymuchheedtohersingsongdroningvoice—tilltheendofasentenceheldhisattention.
“…Andyouwillveryshortly—veryshortlyindeed—beengagedonamatteroflifeordeath…Lifeordeathtooneperson.”
“Eh—what’sthat?”heaskedabruptly
“Adecision—youhaveadecisiontomake.Youmustbeverycareful—very,verycareful…Ifyouweretomakeamistake—thesmallestmistake—”
“Yes?”
Thefortune-tellershivered.InspectorEvansknewitwasallnonsense,buthewasneverthelessimpressed.
“Iwarnyou—youmustnotmakeamistake.Ifyoudo,Iseetheresultclearly—adeath….”
Odd,damnedodd.Adeath.Fancyherlightinguponthat!
“IfImakeamistakeadeathwillresult?Isthatit?”
“Yes.”
“Inthatcase,”saidEvans,risingtohisfeetandhandingoverhalfacrown,“Imustn’tmakeamistake,eh?”
Hespokelightlyenough,butashewentoutofthetent,hisjawsetdeterminedly.Easytosay—notsoeasytobesureofdoing.Hemustn’tmakeaslip.Alife,avulnerablehumanlifedependedonit.
Andtherewasnoonetohelphim.HelookedacrossatthefigureofhisfriendHaydockinthedistance.Nohelpthere.“Leavethingsalone,”wasHaydock’smotto.Andthatwouldn’tdohere.
Haydockwastalkingtoawoman.ShemovedawayfromhimandcametowardsEvansandtheinspectorrecognizedher.ItwasMrs.Merrowdene.Onanimpulseheputhimselfdeliberatelyinherpath.
Mrs.Merrowdenewasratherafine-lookingwoman.Shehadabroadserenebrow,verybeautifulbrowneyes,andaplacidexpression.ShehadthelookofanItalianmadonnawhichsheheightenedbypartingherhairinthemiddleandloopingitoverherears.Shehadadeeprathersleepyvoice.
ShesmiledupatEvans,acontentedwelcomingsmile.
“Ithoughtitwasyou,Mrs.Anthony—ImeanMrs.Merrowdene,”hesaidglibly
Hemadetheslipdeliberately,watchingherwithoutseemingtodoso.Hesawhereyeswiden,heardthequickintakeofherbreath.Buthereyesdidnotfalter.Shegazedathimsteadilyandproudly.
“Iwaslookingformyhusband,”shesaidquietly.“Haveyouseenhimanywhereabout?”
“HewasoverinthatdirectionwhenIlastsawhim.”
Theywentsidebysideinthedirectionindicated,chattingquietlyandpleasantly.Theinspectorfelthisadmirationmounting.Whatawoman!Whatself-command.Whatwonderfulpoise.Aremarkablewoman—andaverydangerousone.Hefeltsure—averydangerousone.
Hestillfeltveryuneasy,thoughhewassatisfiedwithhisinitialstep.Hehadletherknowthatherecognizedher.Thatwouldputheronherguard.Shewouldnotdareattemptanythingrash.TherewasthequestionofMerrowdene.Ifhecouldbewarned….
Theyfoundthelittlemanabsentlycontemplatingachinadollwhichhadfallentohisshareinthepennydip.Hiswifesuggestedgoinghomeandheagreedeagerly.Mrs.Merrowdeneturnedtotheinspector:
“Won’tyoucomebackwithusandhaveaquietcupoftea,Mr.Evans?”
Wasthereafaintnoteofchallengeinhervoice?Hethoughttherewas.
“Thankyou,Mrs.Merrowdene.Ishouldliketoverymuch.”
Theywalkedthere,talkingtogetherofpleasantordinarythings.Thesunshone,abreezeblewgently,everythingaroundthemwaspleasantandordinary.
Theirmaidwasoutatthefête,Mrs.Merrowdeneexplained,whentheyarrivedatthecharmingold-worldcottage.Shewentintoherroomtoremoveherhat,returningtosetoutteaandboilthekettleonalittlesilverlamp.Fromashelfnearthefireplaceshetookthreesmallbowlsandsaucers.
“WehavesomeveryspecialChinesetea,”sheexplained.“AndwealwaysdrinkitintheChinesemanner—outofbowls,notcups.”
Shebrokeoff,peeredintoabowlandexchangeditforanotherwithanexclamationofannoyance.
“George—it’stoobadofyou.You’vebeentakingthesebowlsagain.”
“I’msorry,dear,”saidtheprofessorapologetically.“They’resuchaconvenientsize.TheonesIorderedhaven’tcome.”
“Oneofthesedaysyou’llpoisonusall,”saidhiswifewithahalflaugh.“Maryfindstheminthelaboratoryandbringsthembackhere,andnevertroublestowashthemoutunlessthey’veanythingverynoticeableinthem.Why,youwereusingoneofthemforpotassiumcyanidetheotherday.Really,George,it’sfrightfullydangerous.”
Merrowdenelookedalittleirritated.
“Mary’snobusinesstoremovethingsfromthelaboratory.She’snottotouchanythingthere.”
“Butweoftenleaveourteacupsthereaftertea.Howisshetoknow?Bereasonable,dear.”
Theprofessorwentintohislaboratory,murmuringtohimself,andwithasmileMrs.Merrowdenepouredboilingwaterontheteaandblewouttheflameofthelittlesilverlamp.
Evanswaspuzzled.Yetaglimmeringoflightpenetratedtohim.Forsomereasonorother,Mrs.Merrowdenewasshowingherhand.Wasthistobethe“accident?”Wasshespeakingofallthissoasdeliberatelytoprepareheralibibeforehand?Sothatwhen,oneday,the“accident”happened,hewouldbeforcedtogiveevidenceinherfavour.Stupidofher,ifso,becausebeforethat—
Suddenlyhedrewinhisbreath.Shehadpouredtheteaintothethreebowls.Oneshesetbeforehim,onebeforeherself,theothersheplacedonalittletablebythefirenearthechairherhusbandusuallysatin,anditwasassheplacedthislastoneonthetablethatalittlestrangesmilecurvedroundherlips.Itwasthesmilethatdidit.
Heknew!
Aremarkablewoman—adangerouswoman.Nowaiting—nopreparation.Thisafternoon—thisveryafternoon—withhimhereaswitness.Theboldnessofittookhisbreathaway.
Itwasclever—itwasdamnablyclever.Hewouldbeabletoprovenothing.Shecountedonhisnotsuspecting—simplybecauseitwas“sosoon.”Awomanoflightningrapidityofthoughtandaction
Hedrewadeepbreathandleanedforward.
“Mrs.Merrowdene,I’mamanofqueerwhims.Willyoubeverykindandindulgemeinoneofthem?”
Shelookedinquiringbutunsuspicious.
Herose,tookthebowlfrominfrontofherandcrossedtothelittletablewherehesubstituteditfortheother.Thisotherhebroughtbackandplacedinfrontofher.
“Iwanttoseeyoudrinkthis.”
Hereyesmethis.Theyweresteady,unfathomable.Thecolourslowlydrainedfromherface.
Shestretchedoutherhand,raisedthecup.Heheldhisbreath.Supposingallalonghehadmadeamistake.
Sheraisedittoherlips—atthelastmoment,withashudder,sheleantforwardandquicklypoureditintoapotcontainingafern.Thenshesatbackandgazedathimdefiantly.
Hedrewalongsighofrelief,andsatdownagain.
“Well?”shesaid.
Hervoicehadaltered.Itwasslightlymocking—defiant.
Heansweredhersoberlyandquietly:
“Youareaverycleverwoman,Mrs.Merrowdene.Ithinkyouunderstandme.Theremustbeno—repetition.YouknowwhatImean?”
“Iknowwhatyoumean.”
Hervoicewaseven,devoidofexpression.Henoddedhishead,satisfied.Shewasacleverwoman,andshedidn’twanttobehanged.
“Toyourlonglifeandtothatofyourhusband,”hesaidsignificantly,andraisedhisteatohislips.
Thenhisfacechanged.Itcontortedhorribly…hetriedtorise—tocryout…Hisbodystiffened—hisfacewentpurple.Hefellbacksprawlingoverhischair—hislimbsconvulsed.
Mrs.Merrowdeneleanedforward,watchinghim.Alittlesmilecrossedherlips.Shespoketohim—verysoftlyandgently.
“Youmadeamistake,Mr.Evans.YouthoughtIwantedtokillGeorge…Howstupidofyou—howverystupid.”
Shesatthereaminutelongerlookingatthedeadman,thethirdmanwhohadthreatenedtocrossherpathandseparateherfromthemansheloved.
Hersmilebroadened.Shelookedmorethaneverlikeamadonna.Thensheraisedhervoiceandcalled:
“George,George!…Oh,docomehere!I’mafraidthere’sbeenthemostdreadfulaccident…PoorMr.Evans….”
ElevenTHESECONDGONG
“TheSecondGong”wasfirstpublishedintheUSAinLadies’HomeJournal,June1932,andtheninStrandMagazine,July1932.Itwaslaterexpandedinto“DeadMan’sMirror”forthebookMurderintheMews(Collins,March1937).
JoanAshbycameoutofherbedroomandstoodamomentonthelandingoutsideherdoor.Shewashalfturningasiftogobackintotheroomwhen,belowherfeetasitseemed,agongboomedout.
ImmediatelyJoanstartedforwardalmostatarun.Sogreatwasherhurrythatatthetopofthebigstaircaseshecollidedwithayoungmanarrivingfromtheoppositedirection.
“Hullo,Joan!Whythewildhurry?”
“Sorry,Harry.Ididn’tseeyou.”
“SoIgathered,”saidHarryDalehousedryly.“ButasIsay,whythewildhaste?”
“Itwasthegong.”
“Iknow.Butit’sonlythefirstgong.”
“No,it’sthesecond.”
“First.”
“Second.”
Thusarguingtheyhadbeendescendingthestairs.Theywerenowinthehall,wherethebutler,havingreplacedthegongstick,wasadvancingtowardthematagraveanddignifiedpace.
“Itisthesecond,”persistedJoan.“Iknowitis.Well,foronething,lookatthetime.”
HarryDalehouseglancedupatthegrandfatherclock.
“Justtwelveminutespasteight,”heremarked.“Joan,Ibelieveyou’reright,butIneverheardthefirstone.Digby,”headdressedthebutler,“isthisthefirstgongorthesecond?”
“Thefirst,sir.”
“Attwelveminutespasteight?Digby,somebodywillgetthesackforthis.”
Afaintsmileshowedforaminuteonthebutler’sface.
“Dinnerisbeingservedtenminuteslatertonight,sir.Themaster’sorders.”
“Incredible!”criedHarryDalehouse.“Tut,tut!Uponmyword,thingsarecomingtoaprettypass!Wonderswillnevercease.Whatailsmyrevereduncle?”
“Theseveno’clocktrain,sir,washalfanhourlate,andas—”Thebutlerbrokeoff,asasoundlikethecrackofawhipwasheard.
“Whatonearth—”saidHarry.“Why,thatsoundedexactlylikeashot.”
Adark,handsomemanofthirty-fivecameoutofthedrawingroomontheirleft
“Whatwasthat?”heasked.“Itsoundedexactlylikeashot.”
“Itmusthavebeenacarbackfiring,sir,”saidthebutler.“Theroadrunsquiteclosetothehousethissideandtheupstairswindowsareopen.”
“Perhaps,”saidJoandoubtfully.“Butthatwouldbeoverthere.”Shewavedahandtotheright.“AndIthoughtthenoisecamefromhere.”Shepointedtotheleft.
Thedarkmanshookhishead.
“Idon’tthinkso.Iwasinthedrawingroom.IcameoutherebecauseIthoughtthenoisecamefromthisdirection.”Henoddedhisheadinfrontofhiminthedirectionofthegongandthefrontdoor.
“East,west,andsouth,eh?”saidtheirrepressibleHarry.“Well,I’llmakeitcomplete,Keene.Northforme.Ithoughtitcamefrombehindus.Anysolutionsoffered?”
“Well,there’salwaysmurder,”saidGeoffreyKeene,smiling.“Ibegyourpardon,MissAshby.”
“Onlyashiver,”saidJoan.“It’snothing.Awhat-do-you-call-itwalkingovermygrave.”
“Agoodthought—murder,”saidHarry.“But,alas!Nogroans,noblood.Ifearthesolutionisapoacherafterarabbit.”
“Seemstame,butIsupposethat’sit,”agreedtheother.“Butitsoundedsonear.However,let’scomeintothedrawingroom.”
“Thankgoodness,we’renotlate,”saidJoanfervently.“Iwassimplyharingitdownthestairsthinkingthatwasthesecondgong.”
Alllaughing,theywentintothebigdrawingroom.
LytchamClosewasoneofthemostfamousoldhousesinEngland.Itsowner,HubertLytchamRoche,wasthelastofalongline,andhismoredistantrelativeswereapttoremarkthat“OldHubert,youknow,reallyoughttobecertified.Madasahatter,pooroldbird.”
Allowingfortheexaggerationnaturaltofriendsandrelatives,sometruthremained.HubertLytchamRochewascertainlyeccentric.Thoughaveryfinemusician,hewasamanofungovernabletemperandhadanalmostabnormalsenseofhisownimportance.Peoplestayinginthehousehadtorespecthisprejudicesorelsetheywereneveraskedagain.
Onesuchprejudicewashismusic.Ifheplayedtohisguests,asheoftendidintheevening,absolutesilencemustobtain.Awhisperedcomment,arustleofadress,amovementeven—andhewouldturnroundscowlingfiercely,andgood-byetotheunluckyguest’schancesofbeingaskedagain.
Anotherpointwasabsolutepunctualityforthecrowningmealoftheday.Breakfastwasimmaterial—youmightcomedownatnoonifyouwished.Lunchalso—asimplemealofcoldmeatsandstewedfruit.Butdinnerwasarite,afestival,preparedbyacordonbleuwhomhehadtemptedfromabighotelbythepaymentofafabuloussalary.
Afirstgongwassoundedatfiveminutespasteight.Ataquarterpasteightasecondgongwasheard,andimmediatelyafterthedoorwasflungopen,dinnerannouncedtotheassembledguests,andasolemnprocessionwendeditswaytothediningroom.Anyonewhohadthetemeritytobelateforthesecondgongwashenceforthexcommunicated—andLytchamCloseshuttotheunluckydinerforever.
HencetheanxietyofJoanAshby,andalsotheastonishmentofHarryDalehouse,athearingthatthesacredfunctionwastobedelayedtenminutesonthisparticularevening.Thoughnotveryintimatewithhisuncle,hehadbeentoLytchamCloseoftenenoughtoknowwhataveryunusualoccurrencethatwas.
GeoffreyKeene,whowasLytchamRoche’ssecretary,wasalsoverymuchsurprised.
“Extraordinary,”hecommented.“I’veneverknownsuchathingtohappen.Areyousure?”
“Digbysaidso.”
“Hesaidsomethingaboutatrain,”saidJoanAshby.“AtleastIthinkso.”
“Queer,”saidKeenethoughtfully.“Weshallhearallaboutitinduecourse,Isuppose.Butit’sveryodd.”
Bothmenweresilentforamomentortwo,watchingthegirl.JoanAshbywasacharmingcreature,blue-eyedandgolden-haired,withanimpishglance.ThiswasherfirstvisittoLytchamCloseandherinvitationwasatHarry’sprompting.
ThedooropenedandDianaCleves,theLytchamRoches’adopteddaughter,cameintotheroom.
TherewasadaredevilgraceaboutDiana,awitcheryinherdarkeyesandhermockingtongue.NearlyallmenfellforDianaandsheenjoyedherconquests.Astrangecreature,withheralluringsuggestionofwarmthandhercompletecoldness.
“BeatentheOldManforonce,”sheremarked.“Firsttimeforweekshehasn’tbeenherefirst,lookingathiswatchandtrampingupanddownlikeatigeratfeedingtime.”
Theyoungmenhadsprungforward.Shesmiledentrancinglyatthemboth—thenturnedtoHarry.GeoffreyKeene’sdarkcheekflushedashedroppedback.
Herecoveredhimself,however,amomentlaterasMrs.LytchamRochecamein.Shewasatall,darkwoman,naturallyvagueinmanner,wearingfloatingdraperiesofanindeterminateshadeofgreen.Withherwasamiddle-agedmanwithabeaklikenoseandadeterminedchin—GregoryBarling.Hewasasomewhatprominentfigureinthefinancialworldand,well-bredonhismother’sside,hehadforsomeyearsbeenanintimatefriendofHubertLytchamRoche.
Boom!
Thegongresoundedimposingly.Asitdiedaway,thedoorwasflungopenandDigbyannounced:
“Dinnerisserved.”
Then,well-trainedservantthoughhewas,alookofcompleteastonishmentflashedoverhisimpassiveface.Forthefirsttimeinhismemory,hismasterwasnotintheroom!
Thathisastonishmentwassharedbyeverybodywasevident.Mrs.LytchamRochegavealittleuncertainlaugh.
“Mostamazing.Really—Idon’tknowwhattodo.”
Everybodywastakenaback.ThewholetraditionofLytchamClosewasundermined.Whatcouldhavehappened?Conversationceased.Therewasastrainedsenseofwaiting.
Atlastthedooropenedoncemore;asighofreliefwentroundonlytemperedbyaslightanxietyastohowtotreatthesituation.Nothingmustbesaidtoemphasizethefactthatthehosthadhimselftransgressedthestringentruleofthehouse.
ButthenewcomerwasnotLytchamRoche.Insteadofthebig,bearded,viking-likefigure,thereadvancedintothelongdrawingroomaverysmallman,palpablyaforeigner,withanegg-shapedhead,aflamboyantmoustache,andmostirreproachableeveningclothes.
Hiseyestwinkling,thenewcomeradvancedtowardMrs.LytchamRoche.
“Myapologies,madame,”hesaid.“Iam,Ifear,afewminuteslate.”
“Oh,notatall!”murmuredMrs.LytchamRochevaguely.“Notatall,Mr.—”Shepaused.
“Poirot,madame.HerculePoirot.”
Heheardbehindhimaverysoft“Oh”—agaspratherthananarticulateword—awoman’sejaculation.Perhapshewasflattered.
“YouknewIwascoming?”hemurmuredgently.“N’est-cepas,madame?Yourhusbandtoldyou.”
“Oh—oh,yes,”saidMrs.LytchamRoche,hermannerunconvincingintheextreme.“Imean,Isupposeso.Iamsoterriblyunpractical,M.Poirot.Ineverrememberanything.ButfortunatelyDigbyseestoeverything.”
“Mytrain,Ifear,waslate,”saidM.Poirot.“Anaccidentonthelineinfrontofus.”
“Oh,”criedJoan,“sothat’swhydinnerwasputoff.”
Hiseyecamequicklyroundtoher—amostuncannilydiscerningeye.
“Thatissomethingoutoftheusual—eh?”
“Ireallycan’tthink—”beganMrs.LytchamRoche,andthenstopped.“Imean,”shewentonconfusedly,“it’ssoodd.Hubertnever—”
Poirot’seyessweptrapidlyroundthegroup.
“M.LytchamRocheisnotdownyet?”
“No,andit’ssoextraordinary—”ShelookedappealinglyatGeoffreyKeene.
“Mr.LytchamRocheisthesoulofpunctuality,”explainedKeene.“Hehasnotbeenlatefordinnerfor—well,Idon’tknowthathewaseverlatebefore.”
Toastrangerthesituationmusthavebeenludicrous—theperturbedfacesandthegeneralconsternation.
“Iknow,”saidMrs.LytchamRochewiththeairofonesolvingaproblem.“IshallringforDigby.”
Shesuitedtheactiontotheword.
Thebutlercamepromptly.
“Digby,”saidMrs.LytchamRoche,“yourmaster.Ishe—”
Aswascustomarywithher,shedidnotfinishhersentence.Itwasclearthatthebutlerdidnotexpecthertodoso.Herepliedpromptlyandwithunderstanding.
“Mr.LytchamRochecamedownatfiveminutestoeightandwentintothestudy,madam.”
“Oh!”Shepaused.“Youdon’tthink—Imean—heheardthegong?”
“Ithinkhemusthave—thegongisimmediatelyoutsidethestudydoor.”
“Yes,ofcourse,ofcourse,”saidMrs.LytchamRochemorevaguelythanever.
“ShallIinformhim,madam,thatdinnerisready?”
“Oh,thankyou,Digby.Yes,Ithink—yes,yes,Ishould.”
“Idon’tknow,”saidMrs.LytchamRochetoherguestsasthebutlerwithdrew,“whatIwoulddowithoutDigby!”
Apausefollowed.
ThenDigbyreenteredtheroom.Hisbreathwascomingalittlefasterthanisconsideredgoodforminabutler.
“Excuseme,madam—thestudydoorislocked.”
ItwasthenthatM.HerculePoirottookcommandofthesituation.
“Ithink,”hesaid,“thatwehadbettergotothestudy.”
Heledthewayandeveryonefollowed.Hisassumptionofauthorityseemedperfectlynatural,hewasnolongerarathercomic-lookingguest.Hewasapersonalityandmasterofthesituation.
Heledthewayoutintothehall,pastthestaircase,pastthegreatclock,pasttherecessinwhichstoodthegong.Exactlyoppositethatrecesswasacloseddoor.
Hetappedonit,firstgently,thenwithincreasingviolence.Buttherewasnoreply.Verynimblyhedroppedtohiskneesandappliedhiseyetothekeyhole.Heroseandlookedround.
“Messieurs,”hesaid,“wemustbreakopenthisdoor.Immediately!”
Asbeforenoonequestionedhisauthority.GeoffreyKeeneandGregoryBarlingwerethetwobiggestmen.TheyattackedthedoorunderPoirot’sdirections.Itwasnoeasymatter.ThedoorsofLytchamCloseweresolidaffairs—nomodernjerry-buildinghere.Itresistedtheattackvaliantly,butatlastitgavebeforetheunitedattackofthemenandcrashedinward.
Thehousepartyhesitatedinthedoorway.Theysawwhattheyhadsubconsciouslyfearedtosee.Facingthemwasthewindow.Ontheleft,betweenthedoorandthewindow,wasabigwritingtable.Sitting,notatthetable,butsidewaystoit,wasaman—abigman—slouchedforwardinthechair.Hisbackwastothemandhisfacetothewindow,buthispositiontoldthetale.Hisrighthandhunglimplydownandbelowit,onthecarpet,wasasmallshiningpistol.
PoirotspokesharplytoGregoryBarling
“TakeMrs.LytchamRocheaway—andtheothertwoladies.”
Theothernoddedcomprehendingly.Helaidahandonhishostess’sarm.Sheshivered.
“Hehasshothimself,”shemurmured.“Horrible!”Withanothershivershepermittedhimtoleadheraway.Thetwogirlsfollowed.
Poirotcameforwardintotheroom,thetwoyoungmenbehindhim.
Hekneltdownbythebody,motioningthemtokeepbackalittle.
Hefoundthebulletholeontherightsideofthehead.Ithadpassedouttheothersideandhadevidentlystruckamirrorhangingontheleft-handwall,sincethiswasshivered.Onthewritingtablewasasheetofpaper,blanksaveforthewordSorryscrawledacrossitinhesitating,shakywriting.
Poirot’seyesdartedbacktothedoor.
“Thekeyisnotinthelock,”hesaid.“Iwonder—”
Hishandslidintothedeadman’spocket.
“Hereitis,”hesaid.“AtleastIthinkso.Havethegoodnesstotryit,monsieur?”
GeoffreyKeenetookitfromhimandtrieditinthelock.
“That’sit,allright.”
“Andthewindow?”
HarryDalehousestrodeacrosstoit.
“Shut.”
“Youpermit?”Veryswiftly,Poirotscrambledtohisfeetandjoinedtheotheratthewindow.ItwasalongFrenchwindow.Poirotopenedit,stoodaminutescrutinizingthegrassjustinfrontofit,thencloseditagain.
“Myfriends,”hesaid,“wemusttelephoneforthepolice.Untiltheyhavecomeandsatisfiedthemselvesthatitistrulysuicidenothingmustbetouched.Deathcanonlyhaveoccurredaboutaquarterofanhourago.”
“Iknow,”saidHarryhoarsely.“Weheardtheshot.”
“Comment?Whatisthatyousay?”
HarryexplainedwiththehelpofGeoffreyKeene.Ashefinishedspeaking,Barlingreappeared.
Poirotrepeatedwhathehadsaidbefore,andwhileKeenewentofftotelephone,PoirotrequestedBarlingtogivehimafewminutes’interview.
Theywentintoasmallmorningroom,leavingDigbyonguardoutsidethestudydoor,whileHarrywentofftofindtheladies.
“Youwere,Iunderstand,anintimatefriendofM.LytchamRoche,”beganPoirot.“ItisforthatreasonthatIaddressmyselftoyouprimarily.Inetiquette,perhaps,Ishouldhavespokenfirsttomadame,butatthemomentIdonotthinkthatispratique.”
Hepaused.
“Iam,seeyou,inadelicatesituation.Iwilllaythefactsplainlybeforeyou.Iam,byprofession,aprivatedetective.”
Thefinanciersmiledalittle.
“Itisnotnecessarytotellmethat,M.Poirot.Yournameis,bynow,ahouseholdword.”
“Monsieuristooamiable,”saidPoirot,bowing.“Letus,then,proceed.Ireceive,atmyLondonaddress,aletterfromthisM.LytchamRoche.Inithesaysthathehasreasontobelievethatheisbeingswindledoflargesumsofmoney.Forfamilyreasons,soheputsit,hedoesnotwishtocallinthepolice,buthedesiresthatIshouldcomedownandlookintothematterforhim.Well,Iagree.Icome.NotquitesosoonasM.LytchamRochewishes—forafterallIhaveotheraffairs,andM.LytchamRoche,heisnotquitetheKingofEngland,thoughheseemstothinkheis.”
Barlinggaveawrysmile.
“Hedidthinkofhimselfthatway.”
“Exactly.Oh,youcomprehend—hislettershowedplainlyenoughthathewaswhatonecallsaneccentric.Hewasnotinsane,buthewasunbalanced,n’est-cepas?”
“Whathe’sjustdoneoughttoshowthat.”
“Oh,monsieur,butsuicideisnotalwaystheactoftheunbalanced.Thecoroner’sjury,theysayso,butthatistosparethefeelingsofthoseleftbehind.”
“Hubertwasnotanormalindividual,”saidBarlingdecisively.“Hewasgiventoungovernablerages,wasamonomaniaconthesubjectoffamilypride,andhadabeeinhisbonnetinmorewaysthanone.Butforallthathewasashrewdman.”
“Precisely.Hewassufficientlyshrewdtodiscoverthathewasbeingrobbed.”
“Doesamancommitsuicidebecausehe’sbeingrobbed?”Barlingasked.
“Asyousay,monsieur.Ridiculous.Andthatbringsmetotheneedforhasteinthematter.Forfamilyreasons—thatwasthephraseheusedinhisletter.Ehbien,monsieur,youareamanoftheworld,youknowthatitisforpreciselythat—familyreasons—thatamandoescommitsuicide.”
“Youmean?”
“Thatitlooks—onthefaceofit—asifcepauvremonsieurhadfoundoutsomethingfurther—andwasunabletofacewhathehadfoundout.Butyouperceive,Ihaveaduty.Iamalreadyemployed—commissioned—Ihaveacceptedthetask.This‘familyreason,’thedeadmandidnotwantittogettothepolice.SoImustactquickly.Imustlearnthetruth.”
“Andwhenyouhavelearnedit?”
“Then—Imustusemydiscretion.ImustdowhatIcan.”
“Isee,”saidBarling.Hesmokedforaminuteortwoinsilence,thenhesaid,“AllthesameI’mafraidIcan’thelpyou.Hubertneverconfidedanythingtome.Iknownothing.”
“Buttellme,monsieur,who,shouldyousay,hadachanceofrobbingthispoorgentleman?”
“Difficulttosay.Ofcourse,there’stheagentfortheestate.He’sanewman.”
“Theagent?”
“Yes.Marshall.CaptainMarshall.Verynicefellow,lostanarminthewar.Hecamehereayearago.ButHubertlikedhim,Iknow,andtrustedhim,too.”
“IfitwereCaptainMarshallwhowasplayinghimfalse,therewouldbenofamilyreasonsforsilence.”
“N-No.”
ThehesitationdidnotescapePoirot.
“Speak,monsieur.Speakplainly,Ibegofyou.”
“Itmaybegossip.”
“Iimploreyou,speak.”
“Verywell,then,Iwill.Didyounoticeaveryattractivelookingyoungwomaninthedrawingroom?”
“Inoticedtwoveryattractivelookingyoungwomen.”
“Oh,yes,MissAshby.Prettylittlething.Herfirstvisit.HarryDalehousegotMrs.LytchamRochetoaskher.No,Imeanadarkgirl—DianaCleves.”
“Inoticedher,”saidPoirot.“Sheisonethatallmenwouldnotice,Ithink.”
“She’salittledevil,”burstoutBarling.“She’splayedfastandloosewitheverymanfortwentymilesround.Someonewillmurderheroneofthesedays.”
Hewipedhisbrowwithahandkerchief,obliviousofthekeeninterestwithwhichtheotherwasregardinghim.
“Andthisyoungladyis—”
“She’sLytchamRoche’sadopteddaughter.Agreatdisappointmentwhenheandhiswifehadnochildren.TheyadoptedDianaCleves—shewassomekindofcousin.Hubertwasdevotedtoher,simplyworshippedher.”
“Doubtlesshewoulddisliketheideaofhermarrying?”suggestedPoirot.
“Notifshemarriedtherightperson.”
“Andtherightpersonwas—you,monsieur?”
Barlingstartedandflushed.
“Ineversaid—”
“Mais,non,mais,non!Yousaidnothing.Butitwasso,wasitnot?”
“Ifellinlovewithher—yes.LytchamRochewaspleasedaboutit.Itfittedinwithhisideasforher.”
“Andmademoiselleherself?”
“Itoldyou—she’sthedevilincarnate.”
“Icomprehend.Shehasherownideasofamusement,isitnotso?ButCaptainMarshall,wheredoeshecomein?”
“Well,she’sbeenseeingalotofhim.Peopletalked.NotthatIthinkthere’sanythinginit.Anotherscalp,that’sall.”
Poirotnodded.
“Butsupposingthattherehadbeensomethinginit—well,then,itmightexplainwhyM.LytchamRochewantedtoproceedcautiously.”
“Youdounderstand,don’tyou,thatthere’snoearthlyreasonforsuspectingMarshallofdefalcation.”
“Oh,parfaitement,parfaitement!Itmightbeanaffairofaforgedchequewithsomeoneinthehouseholdinvolved.ThisyoungMr.Dalehouse,whoishe?”
“Anephew.”
“Hewillinherit,yes?”
“He’sasister’sson.Ofcoursehemighttakethename—there’snotaLytchamRocheleft.”
“Isee.”
“Theplaceisn’tactuallyentailed,thoughit’salwaysgonefromfathertoson.I’vealwaysimaginedthathe’dleavetheplacetohiswifeforherlifetimeandthenperhapstoDianaifheapprovedofhermarriage.Yousee,herhusbandcouldtakethename.”
“Icomprehend,”saidPoirot.“Youhavebeenmostkindandhelpfultome,monsieur.MayIaskofyouonethingfurther—toexplaintoMadameLytchamRocheallthatIhavetoldyou,andtobegofherthatsheaccordmeaminute?”
Soonerthanhehadthoughtlikely,thedooropenedandMrs.LytchamRocheentered.Shefloatedtoachair.
“Mr.Barlinghasexplainedeverythingtome,”shesaid.“Wemustn’thaveanyscandal,ofcourse.ThoughIdofeelreallyit’sfate,don’tyou?Imeanwiththemirrorandeverything.”
“Comment—themirror?”
“ThemomentIsawit—itseemedasymbol.OfHubert!Acurse,youknow.Ithinkoldfamilieshaveacurseveryoften.Hubertwasalwaysverystrange.Latelyhehasbeenstrangerthanever.”
“Youwillforgivemeforasking,madame,butyouarenotinanywayshortofmoney?”
“Money?Ineverthinkofmoney.”
“Doyouknowwhattheysay,madame?Thosewhoneverthinkofmoneyneedagreatdealofit.”
Heventuredatinylaugh.Shedidnotrespond.Hereyeswerefaraway.
“Ithankyou,madame,”hesaid,andtheinterviewcametoanend.
Poirotrang,andDigbyanswered.
“Ishallrequireyoutoanswerafewquestions,”saidPoirot.“Iamaprivatedetectivesentforbyyourmasterbeforehedied.”
“Adetective!”thebutlergasped.“Why?”
“Youwillpleaseanswermyquestions.Astotheshotnow—”
Helistenedtothebutler’saccount.
“Sotherewerefourofyouinthehall?”
“Yes,sir;Mr.DalehouseandMissAshbyandMr.Keenecamefromthedrawingroom.”
“Whereweretheothers?”
“Theothers,sir?”
“Yes,Mrs.LytchamRoche,MissClevesandMr.Barling.”
“Mrs.LytchamRocheandMr.Barlingcamedownlater,sir.”
“AndMissCleves?”
“IthinkMissCleveswasinthedrawingroom,sir.”
Poirotaskedafewmorequestions,thendismissedthebutlerwiththecommandtorequestMissClevestocometohim.
Shecameimmediately,andhestudiedherattentivelyinviewofBarling’srevelations.Shewascertainlybeautifulinherwhitesatinfrockwiththerosebudontheshoulder.
HeexplainedthecircumstanceswhichhadbroughthimtoLytchamClose,eyeingherveryclosely,butsheshowedonlywhatseemedtobegenuineastonishment,withnosignsofuneasiness.ShespokeofMarshallindifferentlywithtepidapproval.OnlyatmentionofBarlingdidsheapproachanimation.
“Thatman’sacrook,”shesaidsharply.“ItoldtheOldManso,buthewouldn’tlisten—wentonputtingmoneyintohisrottenconcerns.”
“Areyousorry,mademoiselle,thatyour—fatherisdead?”
Shestaredathim.
“Ofcourse.I’mmodern,youknow,M.Poirot.Idon’tindulgeinsobstuff.ButIwasfondoftheOldMan.Though,ofcourse,it’sbestforhim.”
“Bestforhim?”
“Yes.Oneofthesedayshewouldhavehadtobelockedup.Itwasgrowingonhim—thisbeliefthatthelastLytchamRocheofLytchamClosewasomnipotent.”
Poirotnoddedthoughtfully.
“Isee,Isee—yes,decidedsignsofmentaltrouble.Bytheway,youpermitthatIexamineyourlittlebag?Itischarming—allthesesilkrosebuds.WhatwasIsaying?Oh,yes,didyouheartheshot?”
“Oh,yes!ButIthoughtitwasacarorapoacher,orsomething.”
“Youwereinthedrawingroom?”
“No.Iwasoutinthegarden.”
“Isee.Thankyou,mademoiselle.NextIwouldliketoseeM.Keene,isitnot?”
“Geoffrey?I’llsendhimalong.”
Keenecamein,alertandinterested.
“Mr.Barlinghasbeentellingmeofthereasonforyourbeingdownhere.Idon’tknowthatthere’sanythingIcantellyou,butifIcan—”
Poirotinterruptedhim.“Ionlywanttoknowonething,MonsieurKeene.Whatwasitthatyoustoopedandpickedupjustbeforewegottothestudydoorthisevening?”
“I—”Keenehalfsprangupfromhischair,thensubsidedagain.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,”hesaidlightly.
“Oh,Ithinkyoudo,monsieur.Youwerebehindme,Iknow,butafriendofminehesaysIhaveeyesinthebackofmyhead.Youpickedupsomethingandyouputitintherighthandpocketofyourdinnerjacket.”
Therewasapause.IndecisionwaswrittenplainlyonKeene’shandsomeface.Atlasthemadeuphismind.
“Takeyourchoice,M.Poirot,”hesaid,andleaningforwardheturnedhispocketinsideout.Therewasacigaretteholder,ahandkerchief,atinysilkrosebud,andalittlegoldmatchbox.
Amoment’ssilenceandthenKeenesaid,“Asamatteroffactitwasthis.”Hepickedupthematchbox.“Imusthavedroppeditearlierintheevening.”
“Ithinknot,”saidPoirot.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“WhatIsay.I,monsieur,amamanoftidiness,ofmethod,oforder.Amatchboxontheground,Ishouldseeitandpickitup—amatchboxofthissize,assuredlyIshouldseeit!No,monsieur,Ithinkitwassomethingverymuchsmaller—suchasthis,perhaps.”
Hepickedupthelittlesilkrosebud.
“FromMissCleve’sbag,Ithink?”
Therewasamoment’spause,thenKeeneadmitteditwithalaugh.
“Yes,that’sso.She—gaveittomelastnight.”
“Isee,”saidPoirot,andatthemomentthedooropenedandatallfair-hairedmaninaloungesuitstrodeintotheroom.
“Keene—what’sallthis?LytchamRocheshothimself?Man,Ican’tbelieveit.It’sincredible.”
“Letmeintroduceyou,”saidKeene,“toM.HerculePoirot.”Theotherstarted.“Hewilltellyouallaboutit.”Andhelefttheroom,bangingthedoor.
“M.Poirot—”JohnMarshallwasalleagerness“—I’mmostawfullypleasedtomeetyou.Itisabitofluckyourbeingdownhere.LytchamRochenevertoldmeyouwerecoming.I’mamostfrightfuladmirerofyours,sir.”
Adisarmingyoungman,thoughtPoirot—notsoyoung,either,fortherewasgreyhairatthetemplesandlinesintheforehead.Itwasthevoiceandmannerthatgavetheimpressionofboyishness.
“Thepolice—”
“Theyareherenow,sir.Icameupwiththemonhearingthenews.Theydon’tseemparticularlysurprised.Ofcourse,hewasmadasahatter,buteventhen—”
“Eventhenyouaresurprisedathiscommittingsuicide?”
“Frankly,yes.Ishouldn’thavethoughtthat—well,thatLytchamRochecouldhaveimaginedtheworldgettingonwithouthim.”
“Hehashadmoneytroublesoflate,Iunderstand?”
Marshallnodded.
“Hespeculated.WildcatschemesofBarling’s.”
Poirotsaidquietly,“Iwillbeveryfrank.HadyouanyreasontosupposethatMr.LytchamRochesuspectedyouoftamperingwithyouraccounts?”
MarshallstaredatPoirotinakindofludicrousbewilderment.SoludicrouswasitthatPoirotwasforcedtosmile.
“Iseethatyouareutterlytakenaback,CaptainMarshall.”
“Yes,indeed.Theidea’sridiculous.”
“Ah!Anotherquestion.Hedidnotsuspectyouofrobbinghimofhisadopteddaughter?”
“Oh,soyouknowaboutmeandDi?”Helaughedinanembarrassedfashion.
“Itisso,then?”
Marshallnodded.
“Buttheoldmandidn’tknowanythingaboutit.Diwouldn’thavehimtold.Isupposeshewasright.He’dhavegoneuplikea—abasketfulofrockets.Ishouldhavebeenchuckedoutofajob,andthatwouldhavebeenthat.”
“Andinsteadwhatwasyourplan?”
“Well,uponmyword,sir,Ihardlyknow.IleftthingstoDi.Shesaidshe’dfixit.AsamatteroffactIwaslookingoutforajob.IfIcouldhavegotoneIwouldhavechuckedthisup.”
“Andmademoisellewouldhavemarriedyou?ButM.LytchamRochemighthavestoppedherallowance.MademoiselleDianais,Ishouldsay,fondofmoney.”
Marshalllookedratheruncomfortable.
“I’dhavetriedtomakeituptoher,sir.”
GeoffreyKeenecameintotheroom.“Thepolicearejustgoingandwouldliketoseeyou,M.Poirot.”
“Merci.Iwillcome.”
Inthestudywereastalwartinspectorandthepolicesurgeon.
“Mr.Poirot?”saidtheinspector.“We’veheardofyou,sir.I’mInspectorReeves.”
“Youaremostamiable,”saidPoirot,shakinghands.“Youdonotneedmyco-operation,no?”Hegavealittlelaugh
“Notthistime,sir.Allplainsailing.”
“Thecaseisperfectlystraightforward,then?”demandedPoirot.
“Absolutely.Doorandwindowlocked,keyofdoorindeadman’spocket.Mannerverystrangethepastfewdays.Nodoubtaboutit.”
“Everythingquite—natural?”
Thedoctorgrunted.
“Musthavebeensittingatadamnedqueerangleforthebullettohavehitthatmirror.Butsuicide’saqueerbusiness.”
“Youfoundthebullet?”
“Yes,here.”Thedoctorhelditout.“Nearthewallbelowthemirror.PistolwasMr.Roche’sown.Keptitinthedrawerofthedeskalways.Somethingbehinditall,Idaresay,butwhatthatisweshallneverknow.”
Poirotnodded.
Thebodyhadbeencarriedtoabedroom.Thepolicenowtooktheirleave.Poirotstoodatthefrontdoorlookingafterthem.Asoundmadehimturn.HarryDalehousewasclosebehindhim.
“Haveyou,byanychance,astrongflashlight,myfriend?”askedPoirot.
“Yes,I’llgetitforyou.”
WhenhereturnedwithitJoanAshbywaswithhim.
“Youmayaccompanymeifyoulike,”saidPoirotgraciously.
Hesteppedoutofthefrontdoorandturnedtotheright,stoppingbeforethestudywindow.Aboutsixfeetofgrassseparateditfromthepath.Poirotbentdown,playingtheflashlightonthegrass.Hestraightenedhimselfandshookhishead.
“No,”hesaid,“notthere.”
Thenhepausedandslowlyhisfigurestiffened.Oneithersideofthegrasswasadeepflowerborder.Poirot’sattentionwasfocusedontherighthandborder,fullofMichaelmasdaisiesanddahlias.Historchwasdirectedonthefrontofthebed.Distinctonthesoftmouldwerefootprints.
“Fourofthem,”murmuredPoirot.“Twogoingtowardthewindow,twocomingfromit.”
“Agardener,”suggestedJoan.
“Butno,mademoiselle,butno.Employyoureyes.Theseshoesaresmall,dainty,high-heeled,theshoesofawoman.MademoiselleDianamentionedhavingbeenoutinthegarden.Doyouknowifshewentdownstairsbeforeyoudid,mademoiselle?”
Joanshookherhead.
“Ican’tremember.Iwasinsuchahurrybecausethegongwent,andIthoughtI’dheardthefirstone.IdoseemtorememberthatherroomdoorwasopenasIwentpast,butI’mnotsure.Mrs.LytchamRoche’swasshut,Iknow.”
“Isee,”saidPoirot.
SomethinginhisvoicemadeHarrylookupsharply,butPoirotwasmerelyfrowninggentlytohimself.
InthedoorwaytheymetDianaCleves.
“Thepolicehavegone,”shesaid.“It’sall—over.”
Shegaveadeepsigh.
“MayIrequestonelittlewordwithyou,mademoiselle?”
Sheledthewayintothemorningroom,andPoirotfollowed,shuttingthedoor.
“Well?”Shelookedalittlesurprised
“Onelittlequestion,mademoiselle.Wereyoutonightatanytimeintheflowerborderoutsidethestudywindow?”
“Yes.”Shenodded.“Aboutseveno’clockandagainjustbeforedinner.”
“Idonotunderstand,”hesaid.
“Ican’tseethatthereisanythingto‘understand,’asyoucallit,”shesaidcoldly.“IwaspickingMichaelmasdaisies—forthetable.Ialwaysdotheflowers.Thatwasaboutseveno’clock.”
“Andafterward—later?”
“Oh,that!AsamatteroffactIdroppedaspotofhairoilonmydress—justontheshoulderhere.ItwasjustasIwasreadytocomedown.Ididn’twanttochangethedress.IrememberedI’dseenalateroseinbudintheborder.Iranoutandpickeditandpinneditin.See—”Shecameclosetohimandliftedtheheadoftherose.Poirotsawtheminutegreasespot.Sheremainedclosetohim,hershoulderalmostbrushinghis.
“Andwhattimewasthis?”
“Oh,abouttenminutespasteight,Isuppose.”
“Youdidnot—trythewindow?”
“IbelieveIdid.Yes,Ithoughtitwouldbequickertogointhatway.Butitwasfastened.”
“Isee.”Poirotdrewadeepbreath.“Andtheshot,”hesaid,“wherewereyouwhenyouheardthat?Stillintheflowerborder?”
“Oh,no;itwastwoorthreeminuteslater,justbeforeIcameinbythesidedoor.”
“Doyouknowwhatthisis,mademoiselle?”
Onthepalmofhishandheheldoutthetinysilkrosebud.Sheexamineditcoolly.
“Itlookslikearosebudoffmylittleeveningbag.Wheredidyoufindit?”
“ItwasinMr.Keene’spocket,”saidPoirotdryly.“Didyougiveittohim,mademoiselle?”
“DidhetellyouIgaveittohim?”
Poirotsmiled.
“Whendidyougiveittohim,mademoiselle?”
“Lastnight.”
“Didhewarnyoutosaythat,mademoiselle?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”sheaskedangrily
ButPoirotdidnotanswer.Hestrodeoutoftheroomandintothedrawingroom.Barling,Keene,andMarshallwerethere.Hewentstraightuptothem.
“Messieurs,”hesaidbrusquely,“willyoufollowmetothestudy?”
HepassedoutintothehallandaddressedJoanandHarry.
“You,too,Iprayofyou.Andwillsomebodyrequestmadametocome?Ithankyou.Ah!AndhereistheexcellentDigby.Digby,alittlequestion,averyimportantlittlequestion.DidMissClevesarrangesomeMichaelmasdaisiesbeforedinner?”
Thebutlerlookedbewildered.
“Yes,sir,shedid.”
“Youaresure?”
“Quitesure,sir.”
“Trèsbien.Now—come,allofyou.”
Insidethestudyhefacedthem.
“Ihaveaskedyoutocomehereforareason.Thecaseisover,thepolicehavecomeandgone.TheysayMr.LytchamRochehasshothimself.Allisfinished.”Hepaused.“ButI,HerculePoirot,saythatitisnotfinished.”
AsstartledeyesturnedtohimthedooropenedandMrs.LytchamRochefloatedintotheroom.
“Iwassaying,madame,thatthiscaseisnotfinished.Itisamatterofthepsychology.Mr.LytchamRoche,hehadthemaniedegrandeur,hewasaking.Suchamandoesnotkillhimself.No,no,hemaygomad,buthedoesnotkillhimself.Mr.LytchamRochedidnotkillhimself.”Hepaused.“Hewaskilled.”
“Killed?”Marshallgaveashortlaugh.“Aloneinaroomwiththedoorandwindowlocked?”
“Allthesame,”saidPoirotstubbornly,“hewaskilled.”
“Andgotupandlockedthedoororshutthewindowafterward,Isuppose,”saidDianacuttingly.
“Iwillshowyousomething,”saidPoirot,goingtothewindow.HeturnedthehandleoftheFrenchwindowsandthenpulledgently.
“See,theyareopen.NowIclosethem,butwithoutturningthehandle.Nowthewindowisclosedbutnotfastened.Now!”
Hegaveashortjarringblowandthehandleturned,shootingtheboltdownintoitssocket.
“Yousee?”saidPoirotsoftly.“Itisveryloose,thismechanism.Itcouldbedonefromoutsidequiteeasily.”
Heturned,hismannergrim.
“Whenthatshotwasfiredattwelveminutespasteight,therewerefourpeopleinthehall.Fourpeoplehaveanalibi.Whereweretheotherthree?You,madame?Inyourroom.You,MonsieurBarling.Wereyou,too,inyourroom?”
“Iwas.”
“Andyou,mademoiselle,wereinthegarden.Soyouhaveadmitted.”
“Idon’tsee—”beganDiana.
“Wait.”HeturnedtoMrs.LytchamRoche.“Tellme,madame,haveyouanyideaofhowyourhusbandlefthismoney?”
“Hubertreadmehiswill.HesaidIoughttoknow.Heleftmethreethousandayearchargeableontheestate,andthedowerhouseorthetownhouse,whicheverIpreferred.EverythingelsehelefttoDiana,onconditionthatifshemarriedherhusbandmusttakethename.”
“Ah!”
“Butthenhemadeacodicilthing—afewweeksago,thatwas.”
“Yes,madame?”
“HestillleftitalltoDiana,butonconditionthatshemarriedMr.Barling.Ifshemarriedanyoneelse,itwasalltogotohisnephew,HarryDalehouse.”
“Butthecodicilwasonlymadeafewweeksago,”purredPoirot.“Mademoisellemaynothaveknownofthat.”Hesteppedforwardaccusingly.“MademoiselleDiana,youwanttomarryCaptainMarshall,doyounot?OrisitMr.Keene?”
ShewalkedacrosstheroomandputherarmthroughMarshall’ssoundone.
“Goon,”shesaid.
“Iwillputthecaseagainstyou,mademoiselle.YoulovedCaptainMarshall.Youalsolovedmoney.YouradoptedfatherhewouldneverhaveconsentedtoyourmarryingCaptainMarshall,butifhediesyouarefairlysurethatyougeteverything.Soyougoout,youstepovertheflowerbordertothewindowwhichisopen,youhavewithyouthepistolwhichyouhavetakenfromthewritingtabledrawer.Yougouptoyourvictimtalkingamiably.Youfire.Youdropthepistolbyhishand,havingwipeditandthenpressedhisfingersonit.Yougooutagain,shakingthewindowtilltheboltdrops.Youcomeintothehouse.Isthathowithappened?Iamaskingyou,mademoiselle?”
“No,”Dianascreamed.“No—no!”
Helookedather,thenhesmiled.
“No,”hesaid,“itwasnotlikethat.Itmighthavebeenso—itisplausible—itispossible—butitcannothavebeenlikethatfortworeasons.ThefirstreasonisthatyoupickedMichaelmasdaisiesatseveno’clock,thesecondarisesfromsomethingthatmademoiselleheretoldme.”HeturnedtowardJoan,whostaredathiminbewilderment.Henoddedencouragement.
“Butyes,mademoiselle.Youtoldmethatyouhurrieddownstairsbecauseyouthoughtitwasthesecondgongsounding,havingalreadyheardthefirst.”
Heshotarapidglanceroundtheroom.
“Youdonotseewhatthatmeans?”hecried.“Youdonotsee.Look!Look!”Hesprangforwardtothechairwherethevictimhadsat.“Didyounoticehowthebodywas?Notsittingsquaretothedesk—no,sittingsidewaystothedesk,facingthewindow.Isthatanaturalwaytocommitsuicide?Jamais,jamais!Youwriteyourapologia‘sorry’onapieceofpaper—youopenthedrawer,youtakeoutthepistol,youholdittoyourheadandyoufire.Thatisthewayofsuicide.Butnowconsidermurder!Thevictimsitsathisdesk,themurdererstandsbesidehim—talking.Andtalkingstill—fires.Wheredoesthebulletgothen?”Hepaused.“Straightthroughthehead,throughthedoorifitisopen,andso—hitsthegong.
“Ah!youbegintosee?Thatwasthefirstgong—heardonlybymademoiselle,sinceherroomisabove.
“Whatdoesourmurdererdonext?Shutsthedoor,locksit,putsthekeyinthedeadman’spocket,thenturnsthebodysidewaysinthechair,pressesthedeadman’sfingersonthepistolandthendropsitbyhisside,cracksthemirroronthewallasafinalspectaculartouch—inshort,‘arranges’hissuicide.Thenoutthroughthewindow,theboltisshakenhome,themurdererstepsnotonthegrass,wherefootprintsmustshow,butontheflowerbed,wheretheycanbesmoothedoutbehindhim,leavingnotrace.Thenbackintothehouse,andattwelveminutespasteight,whenheisaloneinthedrawingroom,hefiresaservicerevolveroutofthedrawingroomwindowanddashesoutintothehall.Isthathowyoudidit,Mr.GeoffreyKeene?”
Fascinated,thesecretarystaredattheaccusingfiguredrawingnearertohim.Then,withagurglingcry,hefelltotheground.
“IthinkIamanswered,”saidPoirot.“CaptainMarshall,willyouringupthepolice?”Hebentovertheprostrateform.“Ifancyhewillbestillunconsciouswhentheycome.”
“GeoffreyKeene,”murmuredDiana.“Butwhatmotivehadhe?”
“Ifancythatassecretaryhehadcertainopportunities—accounts—cheques.SomethingawakenedMr.LytchamRoche’ssuspicions.Hesentforme.”
“Whyforyou?Whynotforthepolice?”
“Ithink,mademoiselle,youcananswerthatquestion.Monsieursuspectedthattherewassomethingbetweenyouandthatyoungman.TodiverthismindfromCaptainMarshall,youhadflirtedshamelesslywithMr.Keene.Butyes,youneednotdeny!Mr.Keenegetswindofmycomingandactspromptly.Theessenceofhisschemeisthatthecrimemustseemtotakeplaceat8:12,whenhehasanalibi.Hisonedangeristhebullet,whichmustbelyingsomewherenearthegongandwhichhehasnothadtimetoretrieve.Whenweareallonourwaytothestudyhepicksthatup.Atsuchatensemomenthethinksnoonewillnotice.Butme,Inoticeeverything!Iquestionhim.Hereflectsalittleminuteandthenheplaysthecomedy!Heinsinuatesthatwhathepickedupwasthesilkrosebud,heplaysthepartoftheyoungmaninloveshieldingtheladyheloves.Oh,itwasveryclever,andifyouhadnotpickedMichaelmasdaisies—”
“Idon’tunderstandwhattheyhavetodowithit.”
“Youdonot?Listen—therewereonlyfourfootprintsinthebed,butwhenyouwerepickingtheflowersyoumusthavemademanymorethanthat.Soinbetweenyourpickingtheflowersandyourcomingtogettherosebudsomeonemusthavesmoothedoverthebed.Notagardener—nogardenerworksafterseven.Thenitmustbesomeoneguilty—itmustbethemurderer—themurderwascommittedbeforetheshotwasheard.”
“Butwhydidnobodyheartherealshot?”askedHarry.
“Asilencer.Theywillfindthatandtherevolverthrownintotheshrubbery.”
“Whatarisk!”
“Whyarisk?Everyonewasupstairsdressingfordinner.Itwasaverygoodmoment.Thebulletwastheonlycontretemps,andeventhat,ashethought,passedoffwell.”
Poirotpickeditup.“HethrewitunderthemirrorwhenIwasexaminingthewindowwithMr.Dalehouse.”
“Oh!”DianawheeledonMarshall.“Marryme,John,andtakemeaway.”
Barlingcoughed.“MydearDiana,underthetermsofmyfriend’swill—”
“Idon’tcare,”thegirlcried.“Wecandrawpicturesonpavements.”
“There’snoneedtodothat,”saidHarry.“We’llgohalves,Di.I’mnotgoingtobagthingsbecauseUnclehadabeeinhisbonnet.”
Suddenlytherewasacry.Mrs.LytchamRochehadsprungtoherfeet.
“M.Poirot—themirror—he—hemusthavedeliberatelysmashedit.”
“Yes,madame.”
“Oh!”Shestaredathim.“Butitisunluckytobreakamirror.”
“IthasprovedveryunluckyforMr.GeoffreyKeene,”saidPoirotcheerfully.
AbouttheAuthor
AgathaChristieisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Sheistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshort-storycollections,nineteenplays,twomemoirs,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameMaryWestmacott.
ShefirsttriedherhandatdetectivefictionwhileworkinginahospitaldispensaryduringWorldWarI,creatingthenowlegendaryHerculePoirotwithherdebutnovelTheMysteriousAffairatStyles.WithTheMurderintheVicarage,publishedin1930,sheintroducedanotherbelovedsleuth,MissJaneMarple.Additionalseriescharactersincludethehusband-and-wifecrime-fightingteamofTommyandTuppenceBeresford,privateinvestigatorParkerPyne,andScotlandYarddetectivesSuperintendentBattleandInspectorJapp.
ManyofChristie’snovelsandshortstorieswereadaptedintoplays,films,andtelevisionseries.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplayofall,openedin1952andisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.Amongherbest-knownfilmadaptationsareMurderontheOrientExpress(1974)andDeathontheNile(1978),withAlbertFinneyandPeterUstinovplayingHerculePoirot,respectively.OnthesmallscreenPoirothasbeenmostmemorablyportrayedbyDavidSuchet,andMissMarplebyJoanHicksonandsubsequentlyGeraldineMcEwanandJuliaMcKenzie.
ChristiewasfirstmarriedtoArchibaldChristieandthentoarchaeologistSirMaxMallowan,whomsheaccompaniedonexpeditionstocountriesthatwouldalsoserveasthesettingsformanyofhernovels.In1971sheachievedoneofBritain’shighesthonorswhenshewasmadeaDameoftheBritishEmpire.Shediedin1976attheageofeighty-five.Heronehundredandtwentiethanniversarywascelebratedaroundtheworldin2010.
Visitwww.AuthorTracker.comforexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthors.
www.AgathaChristie.com
THEAGATHACHRISTIECOLLECTION
TheManintheBrownSuit
TheSecretofChimneys
TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMr.Quin
TheSittafordMystery
ParkerPyneInvestigates
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
MurderIsEasy
TheRegattaMysteryandOtherStories
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
TheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStories
CrookedHouse
ThreeBlindMiceandOtherStories
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
OrdealbyInnocence
DoubleSinandOtherStories
ThePaleHorse
StaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStories
EndlessNight
PassengertoFrankfurt
TheGoldenBallandOtherStories
TheMousetrapandOtherPlays
TheHarlequinTeaSetandOtherStories
TheHerculePoirotMysteries
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
ThreeActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheA.B.C.Murders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaborsofHercules
TakenattheFlood
TheUnderDogandOtherStories
Mrs.McGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
TheMissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4:50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
TheTommyandTuppenceMysteries
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
AGATHACHRISTIE?THEWITNESSFORTHEPROSECUTIONANDOTHERSTORIES?.Copyright?1948AgathaChristieLimited.Allrightsreserved.
THEWITNESSFORTHEPROSECUTIONANDOTHERSTORIES?1948.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthisebookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled,reverse-engineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinsebooks.
FIRSTWILLIAMMORROWTRADEPAPERBACKPUBLISHED2012.
ISBN978-0-06-209444-5
EpubEdition?AUGUST2012ISBN:9780062244024
1213141516DIX/RRD10987654321
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HarperCollinsCanada
2BloorStreetEast–20thFloor
Toronto,ON,M4W,1A8,Canada
http://www.harpercollins.ca
NewZealand
HarperCollinsPublishers(NewZealand)Limited
P.O.Box1
Auckland,NewZealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
UnitedKingdom
HarperCollinsPublishersLtd.
77-85FulhamPalaceRoad
London,W68JB,UK
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
UnitedStates
HarperCollinsPublishersInc.
10East53rdStreet
NewYork,NY10022
http://www.harpercollins.com
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