Merlin's Furlong (Mrs. Bradley)

by Gladys Mitchell

  “ ‘Would it were bedtime and all were well,’ ” muttered Harrison. “Here goes!” He extricated himself from the car, in which they had all taken refuge as soon as the rain began, and climbed up one of the pillars.

  “Come down, you fool!” hissed Waite; but Harrison, regardless of the fact that the light had not yet gone, and that he was easily visible, climbed on. The ascent, to one of his height and (when he chose, as he did now, to call upon it), his sinuous agility, was easy enough. The stone facings and ornamentations of the porch were unexpectedly firm, considering their dilapidated appearance, and he was soon on top of the porch and crouching down to peer in at the broken window. Waite joined him, and they found themselves staring into what seemed to be the library of the house. They peered and listened, but nothing could be either heard or seen.

  “Come on,” breathed Waite; and climbed in. Harrison gingerly followed, and they found themselves in a long, paneled gallery, snuff-brown with ancient books. “You take that end and I’ll take this one,” said Waite. “I really think the house is empty, but if anybody comes, scoot like hell, and don’t break your neck getting down.”

  It was soon clear that unless the diptych was hidden behind books (which, unfortunately for the seekers, was only too patent a possibility) it was not in the long gallery, for, except for the laden shelves and a table with two drawers, both of which proved to be empty, there was nowhere for it to be. Harrison opened the door at his end of the gallery and passed out on to a landing. He descended the wooden staircase and found himself in what were obviously the kitchen regions. He glanced round, and looked in the kitchen dresser, but as it seemed unlikely that the diptych would be there, he retraced his steps and passed along the gallery again to contact Waite and report his preliminary failure.

  He could not find his friend at first, and did not like to call out. Then he met Waite in a small anteroom and hurriedly whispered his remarks. Waite nodded and switched off his torch.

  “We’re on the main staircase here,” he murmured. “I’ll go down, if you like, and you can do the rest of the rooms on this floor.”

  They crept through an archway to the front staircase, a fine affair in oak, carved with garlands. Waite, passing an appreciative hand over the topmost carving, descended to the entrance hall, and Harrison went on, across the top of the stairs and through another archway, into a vast bedroom. A brief search in the unlocked drawers of dressing-table, tall-boy, and wardrobe convinced him that the diptych was not in any of them. He turned his attention to the great four-poster bed. It was unmade and had been slept in, but, although he searched it, and looked behind its hangings and on the floor, there was still no sign of what he sought.

  He gave it up, and tiptoed down the stairs to join Waite. He found him in the entrance hall, and reported that the bedroom was evidently not the hiding place for the treasure.

  “There’s nothing on this floor, either,” said Waite. “That means, I suppose, that we must take out all those damned books in the long gallery. Everywhere else in the house is as bare as your hand, and, by the look of them, I should say that most of the rooms have never been lived in, as that chap said.”

  “The bedroom had,” said Harrison. “Look here, if we’re really going to tackle those confounded books, we’d better get Peter in to help us. It’s clear the house is empty. Let’s tell him to park the car down the drive where it won’t very easily be spotted if anybody does come along, and then get him to climb in as we did.”

  Waite considered this scheme, and then pronounced in its favour. He went to the broken window and softly whistled, but Piper, inside the car, did not hear him, so he climbed out, descended, and gave the new instructions. Piper, bored and chilly, embraced the changed plan with enthusiasm. The pair of them drove off, returned shortly, and Piper followed Waite up the heavily-ornamented porch. Harrison had news.

  “I say,” he said, as soon as they had joined him in the long gallery, “there’s been some mistake. I was fiddling about with a whacking great desk in that small study on the ground floor…”

  “I’d already searched that,” said Waite.

  “Yes, but did you look at that pile of letters in the rack on top?”

  “Just took the lot out and shoved them back. Obvious the diptych wasn’t there.” Waite sounded apologetic, but the ingenuous Harrison did not notice this.

  “I know. Did you look at the envelopes?” he enquired.

  “No. There wasn’t any point.”

  “Wasn’t there, though!” said Harrison, his voice breaking on a note of mirth. “They were all addressed to Havers, and at Merlin’s Castle!”

  “What!”

  “Fact, I assure you. Every bally one. We’ve been and gone and cracked the wrong crib. Those fellows who directed us were perfectly sane. We were in the district of the Castle, not the Furlong, so they naturally concluded that it was the Castle we wanted!”

  There was a second’s pause whilst the other two struggled with their feelings.

  “Talk about robbing Peter to pay Paul! We’ve been trying to rob Peter to pay Peter! Oh, let’s get out of this, or I shall die of congested hysteria!” shouted Piper.

  “The trouble is that the whole countryside seems to be called after Merlin,” remarked Harrison. “Anyway, what do we do next?”

  “Perfectly simple,” said Waite, recovering his usual manner. “Let’s have a look at these books. If I know old Havers, everything will be in some kind of orderly confusion. What we want is something topographical of about the early nineteenth century, I imagine. You know, something long-winded and high-flown which deals with the alleged history of the neighborhood. As David suggests, there must be two houses, both called Merlin’s something. One is Merlin’s Furlong, which is the one we’re after, and the other is this one, Merlin’s Castle. Well, the Furlong can’t be very far away, and I think that if we can find a map or some directions in one of those topographical dust-traps we can do the job tonight as we’d planned.”

  “Agreed,” said Piper. Harrison said that he was hungry.

  “Yes,” said Waite. “What about sticking old Havers for a meal? He can’t object to that when we are giving up all this time and taking all this trouble on his behalf. You two go down and forage, whilst I inspect some of these tomes.”

  By the time Harrison and Piper had unearthed tinned food, some biscuits, and a decanter half-full of port, he told them that he had found what he wanted. He produced a calf-bound volume and proceeded to read aloud from it.

  “Thirteen miles?” repeated Piper, through a mouthful of Russian salad and cold baked beans. “Do it on our heads when we’ve finished this grub. Which direction from here?”

  “Over the hill and straight on, apparently. It doesn’t sound as though one can miss it. Gobble up, dears. We’re going to have our bit of fun after all.”

  Only the morbid-minded, Cassandra-like Harrison was anxious to remain any longer in Merlin’s Castle. He rinsed the plates under the scullery tap and left the empty tins stacked neatly upon the draining board, taking as long as he could in spite of the complaints of the others. Waite, in particular, grumbled, and stood between him and the door which led into an ancient coach-house adjacent to the stone-flagged scullery.

  At last they returned to the car and drove away sedately, as though they were honoured guests who had stayed rather late after dinner.

  At the end of the weed-grown path, Piper, who had the wheel, turned to the left, drove uphill, and followed the road, in spite of Waite’s protests that he had missed the turning. At four miles they were ascending another long hill between high and ragged hedges which the headlamps turned into a jungle of black and green. Suddenly before them loomed the stem and dreadful fastness of Merlin’s Fort.

  “Well, I’m dashed! The other side of it!” cried Harrison. At crossroads a signpost informed them with incurious exactitude: MONOLITH 3¼. RUNT 2½. GATES 5¾. TO MERLIN’S FURLONG ONLY.

  “Sort of crossroads where suicides used to be bur
ied,” said Piper. “I want to go home to my mum! Talk about the road to Merlin’s Fort being unsuitable for motors! This one looks worse to me!”

  “Yes, but, as I told you, you shouldn’t have taken it,” said Waite. For so phlegmatic a man he sounded agitated. The sensitive Harrison glanced at him, looked away, and made no remark.

  “Funny about our mistake,” said Piper chattily.

  “Keep your eye on the road and look out for signposts,” said Waite.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Merlin’s Jest

  “Nor need you on mine honour, have to do

  With any scruple.”

  —Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

  That the road was unsuitable for motors was very soon apparent. Humps, bumps, dips, and deep ruts presented such a bar to progress that at three miles an hour the car still seemed to be about to shed her back axle.

  Suddenly the road stopped at a pair of double gates. These were shut fast, but were not locked, and the united efforts of Waite and Harrison (for Piper was still driving) at last contrived to separate them sufficiently to allow the car to pass through.

  Unlike that at Merlin’s Castle, this drive was a very short one, and less than fifty yards brought the car to an imposing fifteenth-century gatehouse. Its archway was unbarred, and, once through it, the three young men found themselves confronting the high twin towers of a castellated manor house whose wide front door, picked out by the headlights of the car, looked formidable and forbidding.

  “Switch off,” said Waite from the back seat behind the driver. Piper obliged, and the car remained in darkness and in silence. “No lights anywhere in the house,” added Waite at last. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  The entrance doors to Merlin’s Furlong gave at a touch. Behind them was an archway containing two more doors, one on the right and one on the left of the entrance.

  “All collegiate, so far,” muttered Waite; and was justified in this assertion, for, shown by the light of torches discreetly shaded, it was soon evident that the archway debouched on to a quadrangle of considerable size around which were grouped the main buildings.

  “So what?” demanded Harrison in a whisper.

  “Separate, and seek an entrance,” responded Waite. “And the devil take the hindmost. I’ll try those doors to the towers.”

  “I vote we stick together,” suggested Piper. “It’s going to be sticky if one of us gets caught and the others don’t know where he is.”

  This point of view was universally adopted, even the impatient Waite perceiving its value; so, cautiously, they tried the door of the tower on the right. It opened. Behind it was a flight of rough stone steps which, after a short, sharp, straight ascent, brought them to a very small stone landing and the threshold of a nail-studded wooden door. This had an iron handle which turned with a sound of heavy clanking, and admitted them to a turret chamber containing an ancient Tudor bed with appropriate, although moth-eaten, hangings, a large cupboard, two cane-seated chairs with the seats worn right through, and a small square of carpet fastened down with screws.

  The rest of the tower was not more productive, but the staircase had become a spiral which seemed to go on for ever. On the fourth floor, Waite, who was in the lead, stepped out into the air and only just saved himself from being precipitated from a broken pinnacle to the ground.

  “Nightmare Castle,” he remarked as, unperturbed, he stepped back on to the top of the broken stone staircase. “I don’t think there’s much doing here. I suggest we leave the twin tower until the end, and concentrate upon the main buildings.”

  They descended, and crossed the quadrangle-more properly, Piper suggested, the courtyard. Opposite the gatehouse archway was the great banqueting hall, and this was approached by a flight of seven steps which led to another nail-studded door. This was immovable, so Waite led the way to the eastward. Here their torches disclosed curtained windows, but none was open.

  “I think we’ve had it,” said Harrison hopefully.

  “Not by a long chalk,” said Waite. But, after further cautious exploration, even his stout-hearted faith began to falter. The embattled towers, and (as Harrison observed), the gorgeous pinnacles, offered no means of entry whatever.

  “We’ll have to break something,” said Waite.

  “Let’s try the tower again first,” suggested Piper. “I spotted a little door in that Tudor bedroom. It might lead into a passage and connect with the house.”

  Somewhat dispiritedly his companions followed him. Waite did not believe that the little door would prove useful, for he thought that it would certainly be locked, and Harrison devoutly hoped it would be, but had an instinctive feeling it would not.

  “Woe, woe,” he muttered, for the small round-headed door burst open at Piper’s strong push and disclosed a shallow recess which led to a passage, and the passage, in its turn, led to a suite of rooms on the north side of the courtyard. These rooms were furnished, and corresponded to the curtained suite which the young men had seen from outside.

  “Now,” said Waite, “we’d better separate. David, you go on as far as the end of this landing, and work back towards me. I’ll begin here and work towards you. We must keep in touch. Peter, you go back to the car and make sure of our retreat. We may have to come out in a hurry. If anybody finds anything, or gets caught, yell like blazes. Surely both Merlin’s Castle and Merlin’s Furlong can’t be completely uninhabited!”

  Piper went down the stone staircase and back to the car, and the other two, stepping delicately, began their careful search for the purloined diptych. They met in the middle of the corridor at last, but with nothing to show for their trouble.

  “That’s that,” said Waite, impatiently. “Oh, well, we must just carry on. I think I’ll go on to the banqueting hall while you have a look at these rooms along this next corridor. Begin with this first one, and we’ll work towards one another again.”

  “All right,” agreed Harrison, much happier now that he felt certain the house was empty. But the house was not quite empty. He put his head in at the second doorway, listened for the sound of breathing, heard nothing, and switched on his torch. In ten seconds he was out in the corridor, stumbling along towards the banqueting hall.

  “Polly! Polly!” he yelled. “Where are you?”

  “Don’t panic,” said Waite, appearing at the end of the corridor. “What on earth’s the matter?”

  “Murder!” said Harrison. “I went into a bedroom, and the chap in there has had his head smashed in.”

  “Good Lord! That’s torn it! Where?” They hurried along together.

  “The second room I went into. What the devil shall we do? The house must be empty, except for—him!”

  “We’d better make sure. Let’s yell.”

  They shouted to such effect that there came a thunderous knocking from below.

  “Ghosts of Macbeth and the porter!” muttered Harrison. “That’ll be Peter, I trust. He heard us shout.”

  He went to the front door, but the bolts were rusted home and he could not budge them. He shouted, “Find the tower, Peter! This won’t open!” Then he and Waite went back along the gallery to contact Piper at the top of the first flight of steps.

  “What’s up?” he asked when he had joined them. Harrison told him.

  “Along here, and it’s rather a mess,” he said.

  Sprawled across a four-poster bed was the dead body of a man. He was wearing a dressing-gown over ancient stovepipe black trousers. He was lying on his face, and even the color of his hair could scarcely be determined owing to the mess of dried blood which covered his skull.

  The three young men stood in silence. Then Harrison asked:

  “What shall we do? We’d better not touch him. I mean…there’s not much doubt.”

  “No doubt at all,” said Waite drily. “It means the police, of course, and then we are in a jam.”

  “Two of us had better stay here while the third one goes,” suggested Piper.

  “Y
ou go, then,” said Waite. “You look an innocent sort of bloke, which I don’t, and it would really be better for David not to go, as he found the body. The police always suspect the first person who gives information of a murder.”

  Piper stood staring at the body. He asked, “How long, do you think…?”

  “I don’t know. Not since we’ve been in the house. The blood is quite dry, not just coagulated. Pop off, then, and do your best. Gentlemanly bewilderment, but otherwise the truth, I suggest. ‘I cannot tell a lie, father. It was the cat.’ That’s the line to take, I rather fancy.” Waite’s tone was light, but he talked through his teeth.

  “I’ll do what I can,” said Piper. “Where will you be when I get back?”

  “In the bedroom with this. It will look more natural, as we claim to be innocent parties. We were out on a toot, remember, and intended nothing but a rag. And don’t mention we made a mistake and went to Merlin’s Castle.”

  “Right. So long, then.” He went off, and the other two walked out of the dead man’s room to the top of the stairs, where, from a window they opened, they could hear the car drive away.

  “Now what?” asked Harrison. “Because this is going to be sticky. Whatever tale Peter tells, we’re in the soup. And, anyway, who is the dead bloke?”

  “I don’t know any more than you do. But I’ve got a nasty feeling that it’s old Aumbry, whom Havers wanted to kill. Anyway, whoever he is, I agree there’s bound to be a stink. After all, we did break in, and we did intend to get the diptych. And, by the powers,” he added suddenly, “I’m hanged if I don’t have another look for it! It will be something to do while Peter’s gone. I’m not going back into that bedroom until I hear the police.”

  Harrison attempted to dissuade him, and suddenly broke off thankfully to say:

  “Anyway, you’re too late! I can hear the car, I think.”

  “I shouldn’t have thought Peter would get back as soon as this,” objected Waite.