by M. M. Kaye
‘To haunt it?’ said Stella with a shiver.
‘Oh Lord, no! I mean, if they’re still alive. They say that murderers always return to the scene of their crime. It has some fatal attraction that draws them back like a trout on a long cast. For all we know they may be here now, in Berlin. Perhaps they walk down this road and peer furtively over the wall in the dusk and picture it all happening again.’
His voice had dropped to a half-whisper and, involuntarily, Miranda looked quickly over her shoulder, as though she thought that someone might even now be peering through the rusty gates.
And there was someone—a shadowy figure, barely distinquishable in the deepening twilight, standing just within the gateway and half-hidden by the straggling laurels.
The next moment it had gone; so swiftly and noiselessly that Miranda wondered for a moment if there had really been anyone there, or if some trick of the fading light had made her imagine it.
‘Harry, stop! I do not like it!’ said Elsa Marson with sudden violence. ‘Let us go away now. This is not a good place.’
‘Yes, let’s!’ said Stella fervently. ‘I couldn’t agree with you more. Come on, or it will be dark before we get home.’
She took Robert’s arm and they turned and walked away across the silent garden and out into the quiet road.
CHAPTER 10
‘Did I tell you that I’m having tea with Mrs Lawrence this afternoon?’ asked Stella, helping herself to cheese: ‘It seems she’s having several of the wives over. Some sort of committee meeting of Welfare, I gather. And we shall be cook-less this evening because Frau Herbach wants to leave early today. I told her we’d have hot soup with a cold supper and she can leave it ready. Friedel can deal with that. It’s your half-day isn’t it, Mademoiselle? What are you going to do?’
‘I shall go me to the British Centre,’ said Mademoiselle. ‘One tells me that they have the books there and many lectures.’
‘How nice,’ said Stella absently. ‘All right, Lottie darling, I’m sure Mademoiselle won’t mind your getting down if you’ve finished. Now don’t be a nuisance this afternoon, there’s a sweetie, because Mademoiselle and I are both going to be out.’
Stella left the house shortly before three o’clock: ‘I have to be there at three,’ she explained, ‘but I shan’t be back late—unless I get arrested for bad driving! Robert left me the car, but as I’ve never had to drive on the right-hand side of the road before I shall proceed at a slow crawl. If you don’t hear of me before eight o’clock you’d better ring up the police and tell them that they’ve got another body on their hands!’
She went out of the front door, banging it behind her, and Miranda, reminded of something, plunged her hand into the pocket of her grey suit. Yes, it was still there; the small square of paper on which Simon Lang had written down his telephone number in the Soviet Garden of Remembrance. Miranda smoothed it out and stared at it for a moment, frowning, and then crumpling it into a small pellet tossed it into the wastepaper basket with the air of one who is mentally saying ‘So there!’
The drawing-room door opened behind her and Norah Leslie walked into the hall.
‘Oh, there you are! I hope you don’t mind me walking in on you like this, but it’s so much shorter to come through the gap in the hedge. I came over to ask if you’d have supper with us this evening. We’re having a few of our subalterns in, and I want some pretty young things to entertain them. Sally Page is coming because Andy has to dine in some Mess, and I’ve got the General’s niece. Now don’t say you won’t come! I’m sure the Melvilles would like an evening to themselves.’
Miranda laughed. ‘I expect they would. Thank you. I’d love to come.’
‘Good. Then that’s fixed. See you at about a quarter to eight. Short frock.’
Mrs Leslie turned and left by the way that she had come, through the open french window in the drawing-room, and Miranda was about to settle down with a book when she was once more interrupted; this time by the ringing of a bell. She put down her book, wondering idly if it was the telephone or the front door, and hoping that Friedel had heard it, when she heard Mademoiselle come out of the cloakroom and lift the receiver.
‘’ullo? Oui! … Ah, Major Melville!… Madame is not here. She takes the tea with Madame Lawrence … Law-rence. The wife of Monsieur le Colonel … That I know not. M’selle Brand is here … Oui … Merci.’
The receiver was replaced and Mademoiselle appeared in the drawing-room, gloved and hatted and clasping a tightly rolled umbrella.
‘It is Monsieur le Major,’ she announced. ‘He reports him that he will not be able to return for supper this evening, but must work late at the office. He will try to inform Madame.’
‘Thank you, Mademoiselle. Just tell Frau Herbach that there’ll only be one for supper tonight. I shall be out too, I’m having supper with Colonel and Mrs Leslie.’
‘Bien.’ Mademoiselle withdrew, and a few minutes later Miranda heard the front door close behind her.
The house was quiet and peaceful and Miranda stretched out on the window-seat and relaxed in the warm afternoon sunshine, feeling pleasantly drowsy and temporarily free from that haunting sense of uneasiness that had twitched furtively at her nerves ever since she had started on the journey towards Berlin.
Her eyes closed, and she was on the verge of sleep when a sound from outside the window aroused her.
There were bushes immediately below the drawing-room windows, except in front of the single french window, and something or someone was crawling between those bushes and the wall. Miranda knelt up cautiously on the window-seat and looked out. The next minute she had leaned out over the sill and grasped the belt of a grubby pair of corduroy shorts.
There was a shrill squeal, and Miranda jerked her captive to its feet.
‘Wally Wilkin! What are you doing here?’
Miranda shook him, and the large crêpe-hair moustache and beard with which his countenance was adorned fell off and was lost among the bushes.
‘Now look wot you done!’ said Wally indignantly.
‘Never mind about those whiskers. What do you mean by crawling round the house like this, young Wally?’
‘I’m detecting,’ replied Wally sulkily.
‘You’re what?’
‘Lookin’ fer cloos.’
‘Oh you are, are you. What sort of clues? And why here?’
‘’Cos I’ av to keep an eye on me suspecs. That’s why.’
‘Oh, I see. This is a game you’re playing.’
‘Game? Naw!’ said Wally indignantly. ‘I jus’ told you: I’m seein’ if I can solve this ’ere case.’
‘What case?’
‘Why the murder, o’ course!’ explained Wally in disgust. ‘That old bloke on the train.’
‘Well, Dick Barton, would it be too much to ask you to take your magnifying glass and go and detect somewhere else? I hate to seem inhospitable, but I could do with a bit of sleep this afternoon.’
Miranda relaxed her grip, but Wally made no move to escape. He leant his grubby elbows on the windowsill and lowering his voice to a hoarse and confidential undertone, informed her that it was his ambition to join the secret service when he grew up, and that this being so, it was necessary to put in a bit of practise.
‘That’s the stuff!’ approved Miranda. ‘And have you solved this case yet?’
A sudden look of caution came over the grubby, freckled face, and the blue eyes were all at once shrewd and wary: ‘Maybe I ’av, and maybe I ’aven’t,’ said Wally slowly. ‘I ain’t talking yet. But I gotta cloo.’
‘Have you, indeed! And what have you done with it?’
‘It ain’t that sort of cloo. It’s a thing I knows; not somethink I ’as.’
‘Is that so?’ said Miranda, politely. ‘And what are you doing crawling round in the bushes, Detective Inspector? Collecting more clues?’
Wally nodded, and remarked with satisfaction that it was very useful having most of his suspects living next door to e
ach other. Adding a rider to the effect that he could crawl round all three houses without showing up at all.
‘Do you mean you’ve been snooping round our houses?’ demanded Miranda. ‘Wally, you’re going to land the father and mother of a walloping one day if Colonel Leslie or Major Marson catches you!’
‘They’re out,’ said Wally smugly. ‘I can get up to that balcony, too. An’ Mrs Leslie’s! I did yesterday. S’easy!’
‘You what? Why, you little horror! Don’t you ever do it again!
‘I may ’av to,’ said Wally darkly.
‘Then let me tell you, Inspector Wilkin,’ said Miranda energetically, ‘that if ever I find you’ve been climbing up to the balconies and snooping in at the bedroom windows again, I shall go after you with a good stout stick. So now you know!’
‘Women!’ said Wally bitterly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Miranda, softening. ‘But I can’t have you snooping round people’s rooms, Wally. It isn’t’—she hesitated for a word and finished rather lamely—‘British.’
‘The secret service ’as to snoop,’ said Wally austerely. ‘Where’d us British be if we didn’t? Beat by the Russians an’ the Japs, and the F.B.I., that’s wot!’
‘It’s quite a point,’ conceded Miranda. ‘But even a detective inspector has to have a search-warrant before he can search anyone’s house, you know.’
‘Okay,’ said Wally resignedly. He scrambled about in the bushes, and having retrieved the crêpe-hair beard, regarded it doubtfully, remarking that it couldn’t be much good for she had recognized him at once.
‘Try something a bit less conspicuous next time,’ recommended Miranda.
‘I could try paintin’ myself green so I wouldn’t show up in the bushes?’ suggested Wally. ‘Camyflage—like them “commandos” use. There’s a big tin o’ green paint in the garidge of the Marsons’ ’ouse: I saw it when I was detectin’ this morning—I could swipe a bit o’ that, easy.’
‘Don’t attempt it,’ advised Miranda earnestly. ‘Just think how you’d show up against things like walls and gravel. If I were you I’d stick to plain-clothes detecting. All the real experts do.’
‘P’raps you’re right,’ conceded Wally, stuffing his unsatisfactory disguise into his pocket.
‘Hullo, Wally. What are you doing behind there?’ inquired Lottie, appearing round the corner of the house.
‘I bin talkin’ to your aunt,’ said Wally with dignity.
‘She isn’t my aunt. She’s my cousin,’ contradicted Lottie.
‘She isn’t, neither! “She’s” the cat’s mother!’ retorted Wally triumphantly. He wriggled through the bushes and they disappeared in the direction of the sandpit, wrangling amicably.
Friedel brought in tea on a tray at 4.30, and an hour later Stella phoned to say that she would not be back for supper: ‘Robert has to work late, so we thought perhaps we’d have supper at the Club,’ explained Stella. ‘You don’t mind do you, darling? Oh, and another thing: Friedel asked me if she could go out for an hour or two this evening and I said she could. Of course, I didn’t know I’d be out then. You won’t mind keeping an eye on Lottie, will you? Friedel will put her to bed. It’s just that someone has to be in the house … Sweet of you, darling. I must fly. I’ll try not to be too late.’
There was a click and Stella had rung off.
‘Well, that’s that!’ said Miranda. She would have to let Mrs Leslie know that she couldn’t come, for if Stella had already given Friedel permission to go out, she, Miranda, could hardly countermand it. She opened the phone book and dialled Mrs Leslie’s number, but it was Colonel Leslie who answered the phone and accepted Miranda’s explanation and apologies without demur.
Miranda put down the receiver and went in search of Friedel.
‘I go out when I have put Lottie to bed,’ said Friedel. ‘And your supper I put ready at a quarter to eight, yes? I am not gone more than the one hour. By nine o’clock I am back. I will make the back door to lock and then only the front door needs by itself stay open.’
* * *
‘Will you tuck me in please?’ requested Lottie. ‘I don’t think I like German mattresses, do you? They only tuck in in bits.’
‘They aren’t German mattresses,’ said Miranda. ‘No self-respecting German would dream of sleeping on one. They’re army-issue mattresses. Biscuits.’
‘Biscuits?’ said Lottie, fascinated. ‘Do you mean you can akshually eat them?’
‘No, of course not, silly! It’s only because they look like big square dog biscuits.’
‘Oh. Why doesn’t the Army have proper mattresses?’
‘Goodness knows!’ said Miranda. ‘Now are you all fixed?’
‘No. Rollerbear has fallen out.’
Miranda stooped and retrieved the small white china bear that was Lottie’s chiefest treasure. Rollerbear measured some three inches in length and had once decorated the top of some forgotten Christmas cake, and for some unaccountable reason Lottie loved him above all her other toys. He accompanied her everywhere and spent every night tucked under her pillow.
‘Rollerbear doesn’t like these mattresses either,’ said Lottie. ‘He falls down the sides, over’n over. Good-night, cousin ’Randa.’
‘Good-night, puss-cat. Sleep tight.’ Miranda switched off the light and went out, leaving the door ajar.
Across the landing was the big double bedroom that was Robert’s and Stella’s. The door was not quite shut and Miranda noticed that the bedroom light had been left burning.
She walked across the landing and pushed open the door, but either her eyes must have played a trick on her or else the headlights of a passing car had flashed across the windows, for the room was in darkness.
Miranda closed the door, turned off the landing light that shone too strongly into Lottie’s half-open door, and more from habit than for any other reason, changed her grey suit for the dress of topaz-coloured wool that she had worn the previous day, before going downstairs.
The drawing-room curtains had not been drawn and the room was in darkness, but beyond the windows the garden was full of cold spring moonlight and black shadows. Somewhere in the house a door shut quietly and Miranda turned away and went into the hall.
Friedel came out of the kitchen and said that the soup was on the table and that she had put cold meat and salad on the sideboard. She had locked the back door, and would be back soon.
Miranda went into the dining-room and sat down to her solitary meal, and presently she heard light footsteps crossing the hall and the click of the front door as it closed. Friedel had gone, and she was alone in the house.
Alone in the house … Now why should that thought suddenly disturb her and bring with it a return of the vague, troubling feeling of apprehension that had been absent from her all that sunny afternoon and quiet evening?
Besides she was not alone; Lottie was asleep upstairs.
Miranda turned her attention resolutely to the cooling soup, and having finished it, carried the empty plate to the sideboard and helped herself to cold meat and salad, making as much noise about it as possible as a protection against the silence.
The clatter of plates and knives comforted her in some obscure fashion; they made a pleasant, ordinary, everyday sound. She mixed herself a french dressing from the ingredients that Friedel had left on the table, and was pouring them over her salad when she heard soft footsteps on the landing upstairs.
For a fleeting moment her heart seemed to leap into her throat; and then she realized who had caused them and was correspondingly annoyed. She got up from the table, marched over to the door and called up to the top landing: ‘Get back to bed, Lottie! It’s quite time you were asleep. If I hear you out of bed again I’ll come up and spank you. That’s a promise!’
There was the sound of a hurried, surreptitious movement and then silence.
Miranda waited for a moment or two and then returned to her interrupted meal.
The sound of her own voice and the realization th
at someone else was awake in the house, even though it was only a child of seven, had temporarily dispelled her feeling of disquiet. But it did not last.
The uneasiness crept back again, and grew and spread with the silence of the quiet house. The tick of the dining-room clock seemed absurdly loud, for the noise it made was the only sound in that silence; and once again, as in the corridor of the Berlin train, Miranda found herself fighting an impulse to look over her shoulder.
She put down her knife and fork and was angrily aware that she had laid them down softly and with exaggerated care, and that she was holding her breath. Why should she suddenly feel that she must not make a sound—that any sound would seem frightening and overloud in that waiting silence? What was she listening for?
A board creaked overhead and Miranda’s teeth clenched on her lower lip.
The quiet house, despite the stillness—or perhaps because of it?—began to fill with noises. The ticking of the clock; the sudden inexplicable creak of floors and furniture that becomes audible only by night; a moth fluttering against a windowpane, and an occasional stealthy scrabbling that sounded as though someone or something was crawling up the gutters, but that came from the central-heating pipes.
But Miranda was listening for none of these things.
She turned quickly and looked behind her; but there was no one there, and beyond the open doorway of the dining-room the hall stretched emptily away to the shadowed alcove where the telephone stood.
Miranda picked up her knife and fork again, feeling ashamed of herself for having given way to that foolish impulse, but she could not force herself to eat, and after a moment or two she laid them down once more and stared around her.
The dining-room furniture seemed to stare back at her, remote and uninterested, its varnished immobility mocking her tense and quivering awareness. She could see herself reflected dimly in the smooth panels of the sideboard, the polished table-top and the gleaming surface of a silver salver: a white, heart-shaped face with wide, terrified eyes, red mouth and dark wings of hair. A frightened girl in a sleek topaz-coloured dress.
