He rolled down the slope at an uncomfortable pace, and his first job on reaching the bottom was to pick himself up and to expel the mouthfuls he had taken during the roll. Then he looked about him for a clue to his next direction.
Two sets of footprints grew dimly into his vision as he lowered his head to peer at the snow. This was embarras de richesses. One set continued straight on, towards trees; the other curved round to the right. He chose the latter because the prints were more distinct, and had therefore, assumedly, been more recently made.
They led him a zigzag dance, almost as though they were trying to shake him off. First they slanted back towards the house, but when they reached the bank of snow that obscured three-quarters of the back door they turned away abruptly for about ten yards, and then turned back again. After that they zigzagged confusedly and uncertainly, suggesting that the person who had made them had been in a doubtful or furtive mood.
Suddenly David gained an impression that something was wrong somewhere, and after peering at the prints more closely he found out what was wrong and called himself every name under the sun. The toe-marks were not pointing ahead of him but towards him.
“Blithering idiot!” he thought. “I’m tracing this trip the wrong way—backwards!”
He paused to work it out. Did he want to find out where the person had come from? That might be interesting, but it was more important to find out where the person had gone to. Wherever he had come from, he had evidently made a tour round most of the house, reaching eventually the vicinity of the back door. And then?
Were the other tracks—the tracks leading straight to the trees—a continuation of the journey?
“Can’t be,” reflected David. “Those other tracks were made first!”
He tried again.
“How about this? I’m not on Smith’s track at all. Smith made the track towards the trees. The person who made the track I am now on is some other person who came along a little while after Smith’s flight. Why did he come along? Did he hear that scream? And then did he creep out from wherever he was hiding, sneak round the house, and try to see or hear something through the windows or doors?”
It was not a pleasant theory. If the person were the man or woman Mr. Maltby had seen flying from the house before tea, one of whom had lost the sinister Exhibit A, the eavesdropper might have overheard some personal news!
“Yes, but would they still be hanging around here after all this time?” he wondered. “Wouldn’t they get clear as soon as they jolly well could? And why only one of them—why not both?” He gazed at the single track of prints. “They might have been looking for each other—or for the hammer—or they might have returned for something they needed in the house!”
The last idea pulled him up sharply. He recalled that he had left the back window open, and that if the track to the trees had not been made by the person who had sneaked round the house, he had come upon no other evidence of any continuation of that person’s journey.... The person might have been lurking near by, concealed, while David was rolling down the snowbank—waiting.
Quickly he retraced his way, no longer following the trail’s irregularities but making as directly as he could for his original starting point. When he reached the spot his anxiety was set at rest. The slope of snow down which he had rolled bore no fresh marks, and the obvious assumption was that no one had ascended it during his absence. But as he turned from this welcome discovery to look at the track towards the trees, a fresh shock awaited him. Beside the fading footprints was a second set. They were clear and well defined, and had not been there five minutes ago!
His mind worked rapidly, in response to this startling new development. He was convinced now that somebody had watched him roll down the snow bank, and had waited till he had vanished round the house before continuing an interrupted journey.
Well, now he had to continue his own journey, and without any particular relish for the job he made for the trees.
“This is the way Smith went,” he thought, ploughing through the deep snow that seemed to be trying to hold back his feet as they sank into its soft grip, “and soon I shall reach the spot where Smith screamed!”
He reached it in two minutes. If he had not been warned he might have passed it by, but Mr. Maltby had planted a picture in his mind that made it impossible for him to miss the original, and he recognised the grim mound as soon as he saw it. It was just beyond the first fringe of white-clothed trees, a little to the side of a narrow lane that wound between them.
He stared at the mound, gleaming gloomily at him like a pale grave, and felt slightly sick. Was there really some one beneath that significant shape of snow, and was it really his duty to dig that some one out? Now it had come to the point, he wondered just exactly where his duty lay, and what service he would perform by exposing the tragedy. The form beneath the snow was lifeless. Where could he take it if he uncovered it? To the house to add to the existing horrors there? He doubted whether, in any case, he had the strength to carry the burden. Yet to uncover it, and to leave it where it was, would merely be to give it back to the snow again.
Suddenly he decided on another course. He did not know whether he was choosing simply the easier or the better path, and he refused to explore that ethical problem. He decided to continue along the lane, in order to overtake whoever else was upon it—for the new footprints still punctured the white way—or, failing that, to try to establish contact with the outer world.
The snow increased a little, and the transition from more or less open land to a thickly wooded lane made the going difficult. The tall trees gloomed up into the flecked darkness like giant ghosts, and as the lane did not run straight but wound through them, they seemed to be playing an ironic game with the lonely intruder by continually moving and flitting into his way. He walked right into one before he realised he had strayed from the track. The branches brushed his forehead icily. It took him three minutes to find the lane again, and he swore at himself for losing time. The unknown person ahead of him must have gained a valuable advantage during those wasted minutes, and in order to make up the deficiency David tried to increase his pace. The result was a header, with more mouthfuls of snow.
“I am having a lovely Christmas Eve!” he reflected, as he clambered to his feet. “How long do I go on before I give up?”
The gloomy house he had left behind him seemed a haven of delight by comparison with the lonely, inclement region he was now travelling through. The house contained creeps, but it also contained warm fires, comfortable chairs—excluding the dining-room chair Jessie had first sat in—and, above all, people. Here he merely had the company of spectres. He began to wonder whether it was a spectre he was tracking.
Whether material or ethereal, his quarry refused to reveal itself, though the marks of its journey continued like the clues of a paper-chase.
“I suppose I’ll be able to find my way back?” thought David suddenly.
On the point of pausing to consider his position, he spied something ahead of him at last. For a moment, in his bemused mental condition, he actually thought it was a ghost, for it seemed to flit out of the trees and then to flit back again as though propelled and withdrawn by some occult agency. The retreat had been as swift and as unexpected as the advance.
But then the form reappeared, and remained motionless. It had turned in his direction, and it waited without moving while he hurried forward. And when he was near enough to distinguish it as a definite human figure, new emotions began to replace the old and to give his numb brain a fresh impetus. The new emotions were surprise and anxiety mixed with a wholly selfish secret pleasure. The figure was that of a girl in evident distress.
Quickly his sympathy passed from himself to her.
“Hallo!” he called out, making his voice as hale and hearty as he could to counteract the uncanny atmosphere through which it echoed. “In trouble?”
“My God, yes!” came the girl’s response.
The voice was cultured, and
sent a little warm thrill through him.
“What is it?” he asked. “I’ll help.”
He had reached her by now, and had received his first glimpse of her beauty. Some may have thought Lydia more beautiful, for Lydia possessed a brilliance that could disturb the night rest of many men, but a brother is never a true judge of his own sister, and to David this girl’s beauty transcended Lydia’s a thousandfold, even though her features were not clear to him in the darkness. He was conscious, however, of the softness of those features, of the delicate contours, and of the long lashes that framed the anxious eyes. He was also conscious of the depth of the eyes as they shone through their anxiety with new hope.
“This way!” she gulped. “Our car’s stuck. My father—I’m afraid he’s ill!”
A few moments previously, David’s mind had been swamped with problems. Now they all vanished in the girl’s. Ghosts, screams, corpses, murderers—all became secondary matters beside the girl’s distress. Not because it was more important in the scheme of things, but because of the strange power that lies in a woman to disturb a man’s balance and eliminate his sense of proportion.
She turned, and led him along the lane from which she had appeared. She had not, as he had first imagined, materialised from trees, but had come out from a fork on the right. A little way along the fork, tilted into a ditch and half-submerged in snow, was a small saloon car.
“Whew!” murmured David. “When did this happen?”
“About an hour ago,” answered the girl. “At least, I think so—I’ve lost count of time.”
“And your father’s inside?”
“Yes.”
“Right! I’ll get him out.”
But to his surprise she laid a detaining hand on his sleeve.
“No, wait a moment!” she exclaimed.
“Why?”
“He’s all right in there—I mean, he’s gone to sleep. If we wake him and get him in the road, what will we do?”
“You mean, he’s better where he is till we decide?”
“Yes. Only, of course, I want you to have a look at him.”
The door was jammed. The girl had got out somehow through the window. David peered into the car, and managed to get a sufficiently close scrutiny of the elderly man in the corner to satisfy his immediate anxiety. The man was breathing quietly, and gave no outward sign of being in distress.
“He seems all right,” he said reassuringly. “Did he get a knock?”
“No.”
“But you said he was ill?”
“Well, he had a shock. My mind isn’t working very well. I think I’m still a bit confused. And then, the weather. He can’t stand much.”
“You’ve had a shock, too.”
“Yes. Both. It was madness to come out, but he insisted. I mean—on a night like this! They told us we could never do it. Once he makes up his mind, though, you can’t move him. I think I’m talking too much.”
“I think you need to talk,” he replied, “and I certainly want to hear all you’ve got to say. Where are you trying to get to?”
“A house called Valley House. Do you know it?” she asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t. I’m a stranger in the neighbourhood, as they say.”
“So am I. I don’t know it, either—I’ve never been there before. But it must be somewhere near here. We came by train to Hemmersby—that’s the station for it—and then stopped at an inn. I thought we were going to stay there the night—we ought to have—but father suddenly got restless, and insisted on trying it. Once he makes up his mind—oh, I told you that!” She gave a sudden little self-conscious laugh. “You see the silly state I’m in. I’m not usually like this, but this whole trip has sent me all to pieces.”
“We’ll soon put the pieces together again.”
“I think it was being here all alone for so long, and waiting, and nothing happening. I’m better already now I’ve met some one.”
“What were you waiting for?”
“Yes, I haven’t told you. Father was driving. We couldn’t get any one to bring us, but they let us have the car, and father said he knew the way. We got hopelessly lost, as you can imagine, and after getting stuck I don’t know how many times, we finally landed in this ditch.”
“What did your father do then?”
She did not answer immediately. It sounded a simple question, but she seemed to have difficulty in finding the right reply.
“Well, I don’t think he knew what to do, any more than I did,” she said. “He—he’s not been too well lately, and I expect the whole thing confused him.”
He knew she was holding something back, and wondered how he could draw it from her.
“I suppose he got out of the car?”
“No. He just—well, that’s what rather worried me. I—I don’t think I can explain.”
“Don’t try, if it hurts.”
She looked at him quickly. He loved her eyes at that moment. He found he was trying not to love her altogether. “Because that’s just too ridiculous!” he told himself.
“I think I’m rather lucky,” she replied. “You’re understanding.” Her voice became steadier, as though his understanding had eased the tension inside her. “I’ll try and explain. You see, we—I’ve got to look after him.”
“ ‘We’ was right,” David smiled.
She turned her head away for an instant. When she looked at him again there was a suspicious brightness in her eyes. “Yes, now I’m sure I’m lucky.... My father isn’t—what? You see, I’m stuck at once. He isn’t the same as most people. Please don’t misunderstand that. I only mean he’s apt to be—dreamy—absent-minded—and so sometimes I don’t know whether he’s ill or whether it’s just that. Lately I’ve been more worried than ever. I wanted to go somewhere else for Christmas, but he would come here—I don’t know why.” She stopped, astonished at herself. “Why am I saying all this?” she exclaimed.
“I can tell you, if you’ll let me,” answered David.
“Go on, then.”
“It’s because it’s been bottled up inside you too long and the cork has been just bursting to pop—and because I’m lucky, too, and want to hear.”
“Yes, perhaps.... After the accident, he got—like I’ve described. Dreamy and absent-minded. Really, almost as though he had had a bad knock and it had stunned him. Only he hadn’t. All he would say was, ‘Well, it’s happened—don’t worry—it will all work out.’ Things of that kind. Till he got drowsy—I couldn’t rouse him—and went to sleep.”
David turned to the car again, and once more poked his head through the window. The occupant was in the same position as before. Breathing peacefully, and to all appearances sleeping comfortably. There was a vague smile on his round, smooth face. David got an odd impression that he was a man who had not completely grown up.
“I don’t think you need worry about him at the moment,” he said, turning back to the girl. “I’m sure he’s all right, but of course we’ve got to get him somewhere—and you, too. What was the name of the house you’re making for?”
“Valley House,” she answered.
“They expect you there?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Perhaps they’ve sent out, and are trying to find you.”
“I don’t think that’s likely.”
“But you said something about waiting——”
“Yes, I haven’t told you about that. A man came by here some while ago, and I called to him. If I hadn’t, he’d have gone right by. He promised to get some help. But he didn’t.... What’s the matter?”
“Nothing!” replied David quickly. “When was this? How long ago?”
“I don’t know,” she returned. “My watch has stopped, and I’ve lost count.”
“Ten minutes?”
“Oh, no, much longer.”
“An hour?”
“It must be, nearly.”
“What sort of a man was he?” As she began to look startled, he added, “I passed a man myself,
and was just wondering whether it was the same one.”
“A labourer, I should think,” she replied. “I couldn’t see him very well.”
“You heard his voice, though?”
“Yes.”
“And was that like a labourer’s?”
“Yes. Common.”
While David thought, “That was Smith!” her next remark confirmed it.
“I didn’t like him very much—he was in too great a hurry. It was partly because of him that I was afraid to go far from the car—I didn’t want to leave Father alone.”
“You were quite right,” nodded David. “It was a rotten position to be in, and so far I haven’t done very much to relieve it! By the way, did you see anybody else? After Smith?” She stared at him in astonishment, and he mutely swore at himself for his slip. “That’s a habit of mine,” he explained lamely. “In our family we always call common people Smith. Did you see anybody after him?”
“Only you.”
“That means,” reflected David, “that the other person—the one I was following—didn’t pass this way, but continued along the other fork of the lane.”
“You don’t mind if I don’t believe that about Smith, do you?” came the girl’s voice.
“Not in the least,” he replied, “so long as it doesn’t worry you. Then I would mind. Talking of names, could we exchange ours? Mine’s David Carrington.”
“Mine’s Nora Strange.”
“Thank you. Now, the next step, Miss Strange, is to——”
But the next step was provided with startling abruptness by Nora’s father in the car. Suddenly opening his eyes, he called out:
“Who are you talking to, Nora? Is that Shaw?”
David’s head swam as he recalled that Shaw was the name of the vanished servant!
CHAPTER XIX
ADDITIONS TO THE PARTY
FOR a moment or two David could merely stand and stare. He had passed from situation to situation, struggling to master each new development without deserting the last, but now a development had occurred that was beyond his logic to understand or his capacity to deal with. The world seemed to have turned topsy-turvy, and it would hardly have surprised him if the snowflakes themselves had started going upwards.
Mystery in White (British Library Crime Classics) Page 14
