Grey Mask

by Patricia Wentworth

  “Yes, she told me. So that was it?”

  Mr. Standing nodded.

  “As you know, you upset my plans by taking her to a new address next day. It took me all day to find her. This morning Jaffray and I followed her in the car, and I sent Jaffray into Harridge’s with a note for her. She came at once, and I brought her here. A conversation which I myself overheard last night between Pullen and William Cole convinced me that I could not risk waiting any longer. The two men were arrested this morning. James Hale, I am sorry to say, got out of the country. My nephew has thrown himself upon my mercy. I believe him to be a mere tool. The man I want-the man who’s at the back of everything, the coldblooded ruffian who gave orders to have my daughter ‘removed’, in other words murdered-Millar, I’m no nearer knowing who he really is than I was when I began.”

  “He isn’t Hale?”

  “No, he’s not Hale-though I believe that Hale knows who he is. I don’t believe any of the others do, and-Hale’s out of the country.”

  The door opened and Margot came in with a doubtful air.

  “You didn’t call-but you’ve been simply ages.”

  CHAPTER XLI

  Charles came back to feelings of extreme discomfort. He opened his eyes and saw light coming down from above. There was something dark on either side of him; the light came down between two dark walls. The right side of his head felt just as it had felt when he was nine years old and had run into the corner of the dining-room cupboard. He blinked at the light and tried to move. He couldn’t.

  He had an instant of intense fear, and then realized with relief that the reason he couldn’t move was that his hands and feet were tied. At the same moment a horrible choking feeling was explained by the presence of a gag.

  He was lying on his back with his knees drawn up. A thick wad of something filled his mouth. He stared up at the light, and his head began to clear. The dark wall on the right was the study wall; the dark wall on the left was the back of Freddy Pelham’s sofa. He was lying on the ground between the sofa and the wall with his hands tied in front of him and his ankles strapped together. There was a most abominable gag in his mouth.

  These things, which belonged to the immediate moment, presented themselves with increasing definiteness. What on earth had happened? His unconsciousness hung like a black curtain between him and the events which had preceded it. He could hear Freddy Pelham moving in the room. He crossed the floor and threw back the lid of a box. Then he crossed the floor again. Now he moved a chair, and there was a rustling of papers.

  Charles knew that it was Freddy who was moving to and fro in the room. He could remember coming up the iron stair from the garden and seeing Freddy pull the blind aside and open the door to let him in. What on earth had happened after that? Something about Margaret. Something about Grey Mask. Quite suddenly he had a swift, unnaturally brilliant picture of the study as it looked from the door-not the door into the garden but the other door that led out on to the staircase. He saw the room, and he saw Freddy Pelham with an automatic in his hand and cool, cold murder in his eyes. He saw Freddy’s finger move. That was the picture, everything in it very hard and bright and clear. It kept coming and going, and as it came and went, he began to remember.

  He had got as far as the door; he had turned; he had seen Freddy; he had ducked, and Freddy had fired. The shot must have grazed the right side of his head and knocked him out. Freddy had trussed him up and shoved him away behind the sofa. He had done this because Margaret was coming. At this point his mind became quite clear. He heard Freddy Pelham get up and come towards him. The sofa was moved some inches. Freddy leaned over the back of it and looked down at him.

  Freddy? Freddy Pelham? Charles stared at a stranger with Freddy Pelham’s features and Freddy Pelham’s clothes. This was not the Freddy whom he or anyone else had known- the foolish, amiable Freddy whom one laughed at and was fond of, and who bored one so terribly with his reminiscences. Hard merciless eyes looked coldly down at Charles; a cruel mouth relaxed into a smile; a clearer, harder voice than Freddy’s spoke:

  “So you’re not dead? It’s a pity-for you.”

  Charles glared. At the sight of Freddy’s smile such a hot rage boiled up in him that he felt as if he would burst.

  Freddy nodded.

  “You’re beginning to realize what a dam-fool you’ve made of yourself. Amusing-isn’t it? Just think of all the times you’ve laughed at me behind my back and been nice to me in a pleasant condescending way for Margaret’s sake. And just think what a howling fool you were making of yourself all the time. It’s really rather a pity that I can’t take the gag out and hear what you’ve got to say about it. Perhaps later on, in a more secluded spot-I’m afraid it won’t do here, but I really should like to hear what you’ve got to say. I’m afraid you’re not very comfortable; but that can’t be helped.”

  He held the back of the sofa and began to laugh, rocking gently to and fro. “My dear Charles, you’ve no idea what a fool you look! I’m really delighted that you’re not seriously hurt. In case you’re worrying about it, do let me beg you not to be fussed about your wound. It’s really a mere nothing-a graze. You can’t think how pleased I am, because there are things that I’m really going to enjoy saying to you. I’ve always disliked you a good deal. You had the impudence to admire Esther, for one thing, and to combine it with a scarcely veiled contempt for myself. When I broke off your engagement to Margaret, I was really combining business with pleasure. I hope you realize how entirely you owe the pleasure of being publicly jilted on the eve of your wedding day to me.”

  Charles had mastered the blind rage which betrayed itself. He kept his eyes on Freddy in a stare of contempt.

  “Margaret told you that she saw part of a letter of mine. Naturally I couldn’t risk her marrying you and telling you what she had seen. As a matter of fact, I don’t know how much she did see-but none of it was fit for publication. I don’t think I’ve ever been so careless before or since-I shouldn’t have lasted so long if I had. I’ve had twenty years of it and you’re the very first person who has ever guessed that I was Grey Mask.”

  The name fell like a spark into the vague gaseous imaginings that had been coming and going in Charles’ mind. There was a flare which illumined all the dark places. By its light Charles read his death warrant. The only person who had ever guessed the identity of Grey Mask would not be given the chance of passing the secret on. Something of this knowledge must have shown in his eyes, for Freddy laughed.

  “You’ve got it, have you? Think it over for a bit.”

  He disappeared, crossed to the window, and almost immediately returned.

  “Margaret is coming up the garden. Now please realize this-if you make the slightest sound, if you attract her attention in any way, I shall shoot-not you, but her. Don’t imagine for a moment that this is bluff. If it comes in the way of business, I don’t care who I remove. But as a matter of fact, I dislike Margaret almost as much as I dislike you, and if you provide me with the excuse, I shall be charmed. Make as much noise as you please. You can kick the leg of the sofa, I expect, if you try.” He leant over and flicked Charles on the cheek.

  The next instant there came a tapping on the window. The sofa was pushed back into its place, and Freddy Pelham’s footsteps receded.

  Charles lay quite still. Freddy meant what he said. He had not the slightest doubt of that-not the very slightest. He lay perfectly still, and heard the French window open; Margaret’s voice; Freddy’s voice-the old half-hesitating voice;

  “Now this is very nice of you, my dear-very nice indeed. I meant to come round, but time’s getting short, getting terribly short-first thing to-morrow morning, you know, and I don’t feel as if I should ever be packed in time-I’m not good at it, you know, not at all good at it-never was, never will be-what?”

  “Can I help?”

  The sound of Margaret’s voice, tired, soft, kind, hurt Charles so much that he could hardly bear it. He could only see those two dark walls a
nd the light coming down between them; but he knew in his heart how Margaret looked when she said that-she was pale, she had dark shadows under her eyes; she looked beautifully and kindly at the little mocking devil who would be charmed to have an excuse for removing her.

  Margaret spoke again:

  “Freddy, you look bothered, and I’m afraid I’ve come to bother you more. But I must.”

  “Anything I can do, my dear.”

  “Freddy, I’m in dreadful trouble about Greta.”

  “About Greta? There, my dear, don’t distress yourself. What’s she been doing?”

  “Freddy-she’s disappeared!”

  “Oh, come! Disappeared? You mean she’s gone out with some young fellow and not come back yet. Give her time-what?”

  “No, no, it’s not that. She disappeared in broad daylight from Harridge’s. The commissionaire saw her get into a strange car and go off. Archie’s wild with anxiety.”

  Freddy laughed, the old rather foolish laugh which was so familiar.

  “Master Archie’s in love. He’s jealous because Miss Greta has gone off for the day with someone else.”

  “Freddy, it isn’t that. Look here, Freddy, you may have guessed-I don’t know whether you have or not. Greta is Margot Standing.”

  Freddy’s exclamation of astonishment sounded so natural that Charles started.

  “No! Not really!”

  “Freddy”-Margaret’s voice sank low and troubled- “Freddy! Margot Standing-Grey Mask-did you know there was anything?”

  Freddy said, “Hush!” on a shocked breath.

  “Did you? Freddy, did you now that they wanted her removed? Freddy, I’m so dreadfully frightened.”

  Margaret had sunk across the corner of the table now and caught at Freddy’s hand.

  “You told me it was political. I believed you until the other day.”

  “My dear.”

  “Freddy-I believed you.” She looked up at him through a mist of tears. “Freddy, Charles was in his house the day you were ill and sent me to the meeting there. He-heard things. He heard things about Margot. He heard them say she must be removed if her mother’s marriage certificate were found-they talked about a street accident. He heard them. If he hadn’t seen me he would have called in the police then and there. I wish-I wish he had, for I’m desperately afraid about Margot.”

  “Now my dear.” Freddy was patting her hand. She pulled it away with a jerk.

  “I think they’ve got hold of her. You’ll help-won’t you?” Charles could hear how her voice shook. “Freddy, she’s only a child really-just a pretty baby. You liked her. You can help if you will, because you know where to find him.” The last word came with a gasp.

  Freddy Pelham had turned away. He put his hands over his eyes and did not speak.

  “Freddy, you did like her. You’ll help.”

  “What can I do?”

  “You can go to them.”

  “No, no.”

  “You must go to them, or else”-her voice fell and steadied-“I must go to the police.”

  Charles heard a sudden sharp exclamation-protest, terror; then Margaret, very steady:

  “If there’s no other way, I must.”

  Freddy spoke, terror rushing into panic.

  “Don’t be a fool! Charles likes her-do you want him to like her? Aren’t you-fond of him yourself? Let her go. What does it matter to you? Do you want him to fall in love with her? Are you going to ruin yourself and me-and me, to give Charles an heiress? Is that what you’re going to do?”

  “Don’t!”

  “If it’s ruin for me, you’re in it too. Don’t forget that!”

  Charles knew the mockery of that shaking craven voice.

  “Yes-I know. But I can’t let that child be hurt.” A strange passion came into her voice. “I ought to have done it before-I sec that now. But I didn’t know the risk she was running-I didn’t-not till the other night. Freddy, that bus-it wasn’t an accident. She was pushed. Freddy, who pushed her?”

  With every word she spoke Charles Moray’s agony of apprehension was heightened. He was helpless, voiceless, dead already; and he had to see Margaret draw nearer step by step to the pit into which he himself had fallen. That she was lost from the moment she mentioned the police, he was persuaded; and to listen whilst Freddy played with her, used her to torture him, was the last indignity of pain.

  “Who pushed her?”

  He heard Margaret say that, and then silence fell-a long, cold silence. He did not see Freddy Pelham’s hand drop down upon his knee. He did not see the mockery that looked out of Freddy Pelham’s eyes.

  Margaret saw these things. Only a yard away from her there sat someone whom she had never known, someone whose eyes gave her an unbelievable answer to the question she had asked. The silence went on. Margaret’s very heart was cold with it. She began slowly to believe that unbelievable answer; she began to believe the other things which the silence and those horrible eyes were telling her. She would have been very glad to faint, but her mind was clear and steady; it was her heart that was numb with pain.

  After a very long time Charles heard her say “Oh!” The sound broke something, for immediately Freddy Pelham laughed.

  “So you’ve answered your very naïve question for yourself. As your friend Archie would say, you’ve got it in one. I was aware that Miss Greta Wilson was Margot Standing. And when she so obligingly prattled at my dinner table about a certificate she found, I thought myself justified in taking a slight personal risk when an exceptionally favourable opportunity presented itself. I reached behind you and at the critical moment I pushed her. If you hadn’t interfered, she would have been very neatly disposed of.”

  Margaret sprang to her feet.

  “You’re mad! You don’t know what you’re saying!”

  “People are always mad when they run counter to the established order. I’ve been very successfully mad for twenty years. I have had very few failures, and not one disaster. I am, in fact, a successful madman.” His tone was coldly amused.

  “Who are you?” said Margaret. Even her voice shrank.

  Charles could guess at the horror in her eyes. He could guess at Freddy’s smile.

  “Don’t you know?”

  “No.” It was just a breath.

  Freddy Pelham put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small automatic pistol.

  “I’m afraid you will have to pay the penalty for knowing that I am Grey Mask,” he said.

  CHAPTER XLII

  The room was silent. Charles could hear nothing, see nothing. He strained, and heard only the horrid beat of his own pulses.

  Margaret’s hands had fallen on the back of the chair by which she stood. It was a heavy mahogany chair with an old-fashioned horse-hair seat. Her hands closed on the smooth mahogany in the hard grip that felt nothing. The pillars of her house had fallen. She stood in the disaster and held blindly to the nearest thing that offered support. The shock was too great for crying out; it struck her dumb. She saw the pistol and the cruelty in Freddy’s eyes. She hoped he would shoot quickly. It was too horrible. She hoped he would shoot quickly.

  He did not shoot. He balanced the pistol in his hand and laughed.

  “I’m glad you didn’t scream. Marvellous self-control! If you had screamed, I should have had to shoot you at once-and that would have been a pity. I should like”-his voice slipped back into the hesitating voice that she had always known-“I should really like now to have a little talk with you first, my dear-a comfortable talk-what?”

  Margaret drew a long, deep, shuddering breath, and he laughed again.

  “Not any louder than that please.” It was Grey Mask speaking. “I don’t want to have to put an end to our little party just as we’re all really beginning to enjoy ourselves- but I’m forgetting you’re not aware that it is a party. They say three isn’t company; but it does so depend on the three. Doesn’t it? Now you and I and Charles-”

  Margaret said “Oh!” It was a quick involuntary cry
.

  Freddy Pelham took her by the shoulder. She had not known that there could be so much strength in his fingers.

  “You haven’t said how d’you do to Charles,” he said. “Come along and have a look at him. He’s been having a most entertaining time, and so have I. It’s time you had a share in the fun. Let go of that chair!” This last was a sharp command with a sort of snarling fury behind it that was quite sudden and very daunting.

  Then in an instant, as Margaret’s rigid fingers still held on to the mahogany rail, he struck her across the knuckles with the little pistol. The blow cut the skin.

  Charles heard her gasp and catch her breath. The next moment the sofa was pulled aside. Freddy was grinning at him, and Margaret looking, looking with her bruised hands at her breast and sheer heartbreak in her eyes. She said “Charles” and again “Charles” very faintly; and then “Is he-” and long, long pause before her failing voice said, “dead?”

  “Not yet,” said Freddy.

  Margaret cried out and wrenched away from him.

  “Steady now-steady! If you make a noise, I shall have to shoot him here-and now. You can look, but you mustn’t touch. He’s a lovely sight-isn’t he? You needn’t be alarmed by the blood on the side of his head-it’s a mere scratch and won’t interfere in the least with his enjoyment of the next few days. I’m not going to hurt either of you, you know, unless you positively oblige me to-I’m only going to leave you in a comfortable dry cellar where you may, or may not, be found when the ninety-nine year lease of this house has fallen in, in-let me see, it is seventy or seventy-one years’ time from now-I’m really not quite sure.”