He did not answer, but continued to watch her rather closely. She held out her hand. "I must go, or I shall be too late for tea. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," Strange said, taking her hand for a moment in his strong clasp. "And thank you."
The rest of the family noticed that Margaret was rather silent at tea-time, and Mrs. Bosanquet asked her if she were tired. She roused herself at that, disclaimed, and, banishing Strange from her thoughts for a while, gave her attention to Celia, who was recounting the proceedings of Constable Henry Flinders.
"And as far as I can see," Celia said, "there those scratches will remain."
"You would have him," Charles reminded her. "You despised our efforts, and now that you've got a trained sleuth on to the job you're no better pleased."
"What I'd really like," Celia said, "and what I always had in mind was a detective, not an ordinary policeman."
"You don't appreciate friend Flinders," Peter told her. "He may not be quick, but he's thorough. Why, he even inspected the bathroom, didn't he?"
"That's right," said Charles. "Dogged does it is Henry's watchword. He won't leave a mouse-hole undisturbed. You wait till he comes down our chimney one night to see if it can be done, before you judge him."
But during the next two days, as fresh evidence of the constable's devotion to duty was continually forthcoming, he became even less popular. On the first day of his watch, Jane, the housemaid, was with difficulty persuaded to rescind her "notice," which she promptly gave on discerning the constable crouched under a rhododendron bush. She was on her way home, soon after sundown, and this unnerving sight induced her to give way to a strong fit of hysterics under the drawingroom window. Celia and Peter rushed out in time to witness the aghast constable endeavouring to reassure Jane, while Mrs. Bowers, first upon the scene, divided her attention between scolding the distraught damsel, and predicting the future that awaited those who could find nothing better to do than to frighten silly girls out of their wits.
When Constable Flinders had stumbled over a cucumber-frame in the dark, and smashed two panes of glass with the maximum noise, got himself locked in the gardener's shed by mistake, and arrested Charles on his return from a game of billiards with Colonel Ackerley, it was unanimously agreed that his energy should be gently but firmly diverted. In spite of his incorrigible habit of doing the wrong thing they had all of them developed quite an affection for the constable, and it was with great tact that Peter suggested that a watch on the Priory was useless, and that Mr. Flinders would do well to turn his attention to the possible suspects.
The constable, whom only the strongest sense of duty induced to patrol the dread Priory after dark, was not at all hurt, but on the contrary much relieved at being dismissed from his heroic task, and thereafter the Priory saw him no more. Celia, who had been the bitterest in denunciation of his folly, even confessed to missing him. During his guard he had been quite useful in giving her horticultural advice and he had very kindly weeded three of the flower-beds for her, incidentally rooting up a cherished cutting of hydrangea, which he assured her would never flourish in such a spot.
It was not long, however, before they heard of Mr. Flinders' new activities, for Charles encountered Mr. Titmarsh in the village street, and Mr. Titmarsh, catching sight of the constable some way off, remarked fretfully that he did not know what had come over the fellow.
With a wonderful air of blandness Charles inquired the reason of this sudden remark. Mr. Titmarsh said with asperity that the constable was apparently running after his parlour-maid, since he was forever stumbling over him, either waiting by the gate or prowling round the house. "And apparently," said Mr. Titmarsh, "he thinks it necessary to enlist my sympathy by exhibiting a wholly untutored interest in my hobby. He has taken to bringing me common specimens- for my opinion, and last night when I was out with my net I found the man following me. Most irritating performance, and I fear I spoke a little roughly to him. However, it seems he is genuinely anxious to observe the methods I employ, and really it is of no use to lose one's temper with such a simple fellow."
When this was recounted to the others it afforded them considerable amusement, but when Peter said: "I never met such an ass in my life," Charles reproved him. "He's doing well," he said, selecting a walnut from the dish. "Much better than I expected. I admit his Boy Scout stunts are a little obvious, but look at his ready wit! When old Titmarsh discovered him in ambush, did his presence of mind desert him? Not at all. He said he wanted to look for moths too. That's what I call masterly."
"I think myself," said Mrs. Bosanquet, carefully rolling up her table-napkin, "that we were very wise to call him in. Not that I consider him efficient, for I do not, but ever since he took the matter in hand we have heard nothing out of the way in the house. No doubt whoever it was who caused us all the annoyance knows he is on the watch and will trouble us no more."
"No one could fail to know it," said Peter. "During the three days when he sojourned with us he so closely tracked and interrogated everyone who came to the house that the whole countryside must have known that we'd called him in. I'm beginning to feel positively sheepish about it. The villagers are all on the broad grin."
"I don't care what the villagers think," Celia said. "We did the only sensible thing. Other people don't grin. The Colonel told me he thought it was a very wise precaution."
"You didn't tell him why we did it, I hope?" Peter said.
"No, but I don't really see why we should keep it so dark. I merely said we'd heard noises, and Bowers was getting the wind-up so much that something had to be done."
"The reason why we should keep it dark," explained her brother patiently, is, as I've told you at least six times…'
"Seven," said Charles. "This makes the eighth. And I've told her three - no, let me see…'
"Shut up!" said Celia. "I know what you're going to say. If we tell one person he or she will repeat it, and it'll get round to the person who did it all. Well, why not?"
"I should be guided by what your husband says, my dear," said Mrs. Bosanquet. "The least said the better, I am sure. And if the Colonel's coming in to coffee and bridge with you this evening we had better move into the drawing-room, for he may arrive at any moment."
The party accordingly adjourned, and in a few minutes Bowers announced Colonel Ackerley.
"Upon my soul," the Colonel said, accepting the coffee Peter handed him, and a glass of old brandy, "I must say I hope you people won't allow yourselves to be scared away from the Priory. I had almost forgotten what it was like to have any neighbours." He bowed gallantly to Celia. "And such charming ones too." He sipped his liqueur. "It's a great boon to a lonely old bachelor like myself to be able to pop in for a quiet rubber in the evenings."
"Think how nice it is for us to have such a friendly neighbour," Celia smiled. "So often people who live in the country get stuffy, and won't call on newcomers till they've been in the place for years."
"Well, when one has knocked about the world as I have, one gets over all that sort of rubbish!" replied the Colonel. "Never had any use for stand-offishness. Aha, Miss Fortescue, I see you are preparing for the engagement. What do you say? Shall we two join forces and have our revenge on Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm?"
Margaret had swept the cards round in a semi-circle. "Yes, do let's!" she agreed. "We owe them one for our awful defeat last time we played. Shall we cut for seats?"
They took their places at the table, and as the cards were dealt the Colonel bethought himself of something, and said with his ready laugh: "By the way, what have you done with your watch-dog? Give you my word I was expecting him to pounce out on me at any moment, for I strolled across the park to get here."
"Oh, we've diverted him," Charles answered. "Our nerves wouldn't stand it any longer."
"Besides, he's done the trick," Celia said. "Bowers, whose faith in him is really touching, seems to be settling down quite happily. If I did this, I shall say a spade."
The game proceeded in sile
nce for some time, but at the end of the rubber the Colonel reverted to the subject, and cocking a quizzical eyebrow in Charles' direction said: "By the by, Malcolm, have you been setting your sleuth on to old Titmarsh? Oh, you needn't mind telling me! I shan't give you away!"
"We had to get rid of him somehow," Peter said. "So we thought Titmarsh would keep him well occupied."
This seemed to amuse the Colonel considerably, but after his first outburst of laughter he said: "But you don't think old Titmarsh has been playing jokes on you, do you?"
"Not at all," said Peter. "It was our Mr. Flinders who thought he ought to be watched. All very providential."
"Well, if he discovers anything against the old boy, I'll eat my hat," the Colonel declared.
Shortly after eleven he took his leave of them, and in a little while the girls and Mrs. Bosanquet went up to bed. Having bolted the drawing-room windows, the men prepared to follow them, and in another hour the house was dark and silent.
Mrs. Bosanquet, who had been troubled lately with slight insomnia, was the only one of the party who failed to go to sleep. After lying awake for what seemed to her an interminable time she decided that the room was stuffy, and got up to open the window, which she still kept shut in case anyone should attempt to effect an entrance by that way. "But that is all put a stop to now," she told herself, as she climbed back into bed.
The opening of the window seemed to make matters worse. At the end of another twenty minutes sleep seemed farther off than ever. Mrs. Bosanquet felt for the matches on the table beside her bed, and lit her candle. She looked round for something to read, but since she was not in the habit of reading in bed there were no books in the room. It at once seemed to her imperative that she should read for a while, and she sat up, debating whether she should venture down to the library in search of a suitable book, or whether this simple act demanded more courage than she possessed. There was a tin of sweet biscuits in the library, she remembered, and the recollection made her realise that she was quite hungry. "Now I come to think of it," Mrs. Bosanquet informed the bedpost, "my dear mother used always to say that if one could not sleep it was a good plan to eat a biscuit. Though," she added conscientiously, "she did not in general approve of eating anything once one had brushed one's teeth for the night."
The tin of biscuits began to seem more and more desirable. Mrs. Bosanquet lay down again, sternly resolved to think of something else. But it was no use. Biscuits, very crisp and sweet, would not be banished from her mind, and at the end of another ten minutes Mrs. Bosanquet would have faced untold dangers to get one.
She got out of bed and put on her dressing-gown. It occurred to her that she might wake Peter, whose room was opposite hers, and ask him to go down to the library for her, but she dismissed this pusillanimous idea at once. Mrs. Bosanquet was a lady who prided herself upon her level-headedness; she did not believe in ghosts; and she would feel very much ashamed to think that anyone should suspect her of being too nervous to walk downstairs alone in the middle of the night.
"Nerves," Mrs. Bosanquet was in the habit of saying severely, "were never encouraged when I was young."
"I shall go quietly downstairs, get a biscuit to eat, and select a book from the shelves without disturbing anyone," she said firmly, and picked up her candle.
The lamp had been turned out in the passage, and since there was no moon the darkness seemed intense. Another woman might have paused, but Mrs. Bosanquet was not afraid of the dark. "What would alarm me," she reflected, "would be a light burning; for then I should know that someone was in the house."
But the ground-floor was as dark as the upper storey. Mrs. Bosanquet went cautiously downstairs with one hand on the baluster-rail, and the other holding her candle up. The stairs creaked annoyingly, and in the stillness each creak sounded abnormally loud. Mrs. Bosanquet murmured: 'Tut-tut!" to herself, and hoped that Celia would not be awakened by the noise.
The library door was ajar; she pushed it open, and went in. The biscuit-tin, she remembered, stood on a small table by the door, and she peered for it, blinking. Yes, there it was. She set the candle down and opened it, and slipped two of the biscuits into the pocket of her dressing-gown. She had quite recovered from her rather shame-faced feeling of trepidation, for no skulls had bounced at her feet, or anything else of such a disturbing nature. She picked up the candle again, and turned to the bookshelves that ran along the wall opposite the fireplace. It was very hard to see far by the light of one candle, and she knocked her shin on a chair as she moved across the room.
The difficulty was to find anything one wanted to read. She held the candle close up to the row of books, and slowly edged along in front of the shelves, surveying a most unpromising selection of titles. "Meditations on Mortality," read Mrs. Bosanquet. "Dear me, how gloomy. The Sermons of Dr Brimley. That might send me to sleep, but I really don't think… Tyndall on Light… Ah, this is better!" She came opposite a collection of novels, and reached up a hand to pull one down from the shelf. Then, just as her fingers had half-pulled the volume from its place an unaccountable feeling of dread seized her, and she stayed quite still, straining her ears to catch the least sound. All she could hear was the beating of her own heart, but it did not reassure her. Mrs. Bosanquet, who did not believe in nerves, knew that something was in the room with her.
"It's nonsense," she told herself. "Of course there isn't. Of course there isn't!" She forced herself to draw the book out from its place, but her unreasoning conviction grew. It seemed as though she dared not move or look round, but she knew that was absurd. "I've got to turn round," she thought. "It's all nonsense. There's nothing here. I can't stand like this all night. I must turn round."
Fearfully she began to edge towards the door. She found that it had become almost impossible to breathe, and realised that her terror was growing.
"It's always worse if one turns one's back on things," Mrs. Bosanquet thought. "Suppose it crept up behind me? Suppose I felt a hand touching me?"
The leap of her heart was choking her; she felt as though she might faint if she went on like this. She stopped, and very cautiously peered over her shoulder. There was nothing. Yet what was that vague, dark figure by the fireplace? Only the tall-backed arm-chair, of course. She was so sure of it that she took a step towards it, and lifted her candle to see more clearly.
The dark shape grew distinct in the tiny light. A cowled figure was standing motionless by the fireplace, and through the slits in the cowl two glittering eyes were fixed upon Mrs. Bosanquet. She stood as though paralysed, and even as she stared at it the figure moved, and glided towards her with one menacing hand stretched out like the talon of a bird of prey.
The spell broke. For the first time in her life Mrs. Bosanquet gave a wild, shrill scream, and crumpled up in a dead faint on the floor.
Chapter Six
Mrs. Bosanquet groped her way back to consciousness to find the room full of lamplight, and the rest of the family gathered solicitously about her. Someone had laid her upon the sofa, someone else was bathing her forehead with water, while a third held a bottle of smelling-salts to her nose. She opened her eyes, and looked up, blankly at first, into Celia's concerned face. She heard a voice saying: "It's all right: she's coming round," and by degrees her recollection came back to her. She opened her eyes again, and struggled up into a sitting posture, unceremoniously thrusting aside the smelling bottle and the brandy that Margaret was trying to give her. "Where is it?" she demanded, looking round her suspiciously.
"Where is what, Aunt Lilian?" Celia said soothingly. "Are you feeling better now?"
"I am perfectly well. No, my dear child, I never touch spirits. Where did it go? Did you see it?"
Celia patted her hand. "No, dear, we didn't see anything. I woke up, hearing you scream, and when we got downstairs we found you had fainted. Did you feel ill in the night, Aunt, or what?"
"I came to get a book and a biscuit," Mrs. Bosanquet replied. "Was there no one but myself in the room?"
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"Why no, darling, how should there be? Did you think you saw someone?"
"Think!" said Mrs. Bosanquet indignantly. "Do you suppose I should scream for help merely because I thought I saw someone? I did see it, as plainly as I can see you."
Charles came forward, ousting his wife from her place by the invalid's side. "What did you see, Aunt Lilian?" he asked. "Do you feel well enough to tell us about it?"
"Certainly I am well enough to tell you," she said. "My dears, it is all perfectly true, and I am not ashamed to own that I have been wrong. The house is haunted, and the first thing to be done in the morning is to summon the Vicar."
Celia gave a gasp of horror, and clasped her brother's arm nervously. "Oh, what have you seen?" she cried.
Mrs. Bosanquet took the glass of water from Margaret, and drank some. "I have seen the Monk!" she said dramatically.
"Good Lord!" Peter exclaimed. "You haven't really, have you? Are you sure you didn't imagine it?"
A withering glance was cast at him. "It is true that I so far forgot myself as to scream, and faint, but I can assure you, my dear Peter, that I am not such a fool that I would imagine such a thing. It was standing almost exactly where you are now, and it began to move towards me, with its arm stretched out as though it were pointing at me."
Celia shuddered, and looked round fearfully. Just what did it look like?" Charles asked quietly.
"Like a monk," said Mrs. Bosanquet. "It had a cowl over its face, and I trust I am not a fanciful woman, but there was something indescribably menacing and horrible about it. I can see its eyes now."
"Where?" shrieked Celia, clutching Peter again.
"In my mind's eye. Don't be foolish, my dear, it is not here now. Its robe was black, and so were its hands - at least the one that pointed at me was. I daresay I am stupid, but that seemed to me to make it even more unnerving."
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