It was impossible to say what was the state of mind of Hubert Garratt or of Arnold Bray. Unquiet certainly, and apprehensive of what was still to come.
Miss Bray darned house linen and hardly ever stopped talking-her theme the shortcomings of the domestic staff, Mrs. Hilton having undercooked the joint at lunch and sent up pancakes which resembled scorched leather.
“Really, the least thing upsets them, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they gave notice. Mrs. Hilton had just that kind of look in her eye when I ordered the pancakes this morning. She said we only had shop eggs and she couldn’t guarantee them, which is quite ridiculous, because there must be plenty of eggs in the village, and anyhow their being grocer’s eggs wouldn’t make them burn!”
Miss Silver supposed not. Miss Bray sighed heavily.
“It was really a good thing that Lucius and Annabel weren’t here-he does so dislike anything scorched. I suppose he has gone over to Emberley to see about his car. I hope he will be careful on the hill.”
Miss Silver hoped so too.
Wilfrid, still clinging, compared Merefields unfavourably with the Morgue. Upon Sally protesting that they were, after all, still alive he replied that it was just this that put the lid on it.
“If we were dead, darling, each on our quiet marble slab, we shouldn’t even know that we were being murdered one by one and the police visiting us from dawn to midnight. As it is, only the fact that for all I know you may be marked out as the next victim prevents me from sending myself a telegram to say ‘Fly-all is discovered!’ ”
Sally looked at him ungratefully.
“I do wish you would go away and stop talking nonsense!”
“And leave you to the homicidal maniac who haunts these groves? Certainly not! Of course none of us really knows who the homicidal maniac is, which does add a spice of interest to an otherwise banal situation. I might be thinking that it may even be you, and you may be thinking that it might, strangely and impossibly, be me. How do you think I should look in the dock? Should one aim at an air of buoyant innocence, or wring the jury’s heart, if it has one, by appearing to be crushed by ‘man’s inhumanity to man’ as the poem says? If it makes all the ages mourn it might do the trick with the jury. Or do you think just plain straws in the hair and an impressive row of psychiatric experts to swear that my grandmother crossed me in my cradle?”
The day dragged on. It dragged worse than Sunday had done, because there was a horrid feeling of tension. Sunday had been boring but it hadn’t been tense, at least not until most of it had been got through, but Monday managed to combine dullness and tension to a really remarkable extent. Humanity has done the best for itself that it knows how by arranging its time on an ingenious pattern of so many seconds to the minute, minutes to the hour, hours to the day, and so on and so forth through the weeks, the months, and the years, but the something which laughs at time and its measurements steps in and makes havoc of the careful plan by stretching the unendurable second to an endless length or leaping the intervening day, week, month, or year at breakneck speed.
For no one at Merefields was there any hint of breakneck speed. Lucius and Annabel, it is true, found the hours slip away with smoothness and ease, but then they were not at Merefields, and they delayed returning there for as long as it was decently possible. As they turned in at the south drive she said,
“Lucius, why do we have to go back? We could just go on past the house and out of the other gate and up to town. I can always go to Monica Bewley, and you have got your flat. We could get married in a day or two, and then whatever happens we should be together.”
She was aware that he shook his head.
“I’ve got to get this business cleared up first. I’m not dragging you into it the way things are.”
She wanted to say, “I’m in it, I’m in it, I’m in it.” And what then? He would only try and get her to go away from him, and that she would not do.
They walked up from the garage together, and just before they came to the house he put his arms about her and held her close. They did not kiss, they only stood like that, holding one another with a feeling of nearness quite beyond the physical embrace. If this was for all the years to come, what wonderful years they were going to be. If this was their one moment never to be repeated, it must be savoured to the full.
They went in, and the tension in the house took them sharp and hard, as if they had walked into a stretched wire.
Chapter 34
THE party broke up early. Sally had made up her mind that nothing would induce her to stay another day. She took off her yellow dress. She got things out of a drawer and packed them. She laid out her London suit and the things that went with it and packed everything else. She should have felt a lot better after doing this, but she didn’t. What was the good of leaving Merefields behind her if she had to leave David there with Moira Herne? He had gone back to watching her. And he might have been thinking about Medusa, or he might have been thinking about Moira. Whichever it was she was poison, and the dreadful thing about poison was that you could get to have a liking for it-you could in fact become an addict. When Sally got to this point she took everything out of her suit-case again and put it away in drawers or hung it up. Even if she died of a combination of boredom and Wilfrid she wasn’t going to go away and leave David to become a poison addict.
Miss Silver engaged in her usual nightly routine. She removed the dark blue crepe-de-chine which was such a standby and put on the blue dressing-gown trimmed with handmade crochet, a very comfortable exchange since the evenings were chilly and though there was a fire in the drawing-room she really would have preferred to be wearing something warmer than silk. She removed her net, undid the neat plaits which disposed of her quite abundant hair, and proceeded to the thorough brushing which was her custom, after which she plaited it up, put all the pins back again, and controlled it with a net whose mesh was of dark brown silk instead of hair. From this point she would upon an ordinary night have proceeded to a more thorough undressing, to her nightly ablutions and the assumption of a cream Dayella nightgown made after a pattern some fifty years out of date and trimmed with a crochet edging similar in style but carried out in a finer thread than that which adorned her dressing-gown. But on this occasion after glancing at her watch she sat down in one of the chintz-covered chairs and composed herself for a vigil. She might be mistaken-she hoped very much that she was mistaken-but there lay heavily upon her mind the thought that during these hours of darkness some evil which had been planned was to be carried into effect. In these circumstances, she had resolved to be on the alert at any rate for some hours. Nothing of an unlawful nature would be attempted until the household had settled into sleep. It was now a little after half past ten. If the danger came from outside, it would not be set in motion whilst there was still traffic on the roads and among the lanes. If it came from inside, time would be allowed for the first and deepest slumber to lull every occupant of the house into unconsciousness. She would not, in fact, expect anything to happen on this side of midnight.
Having decided on a course of action, she set herself to occupy this time. There were letters that she could answer, amongst others a grateful one from Andrew Robinson, the husband of her niece Gladys. It appeared that Gladys was settling down again and had been talking of taking cooking lessons. This, if persevered with, would certainly add to the harmony of the Robinsons’ home. As she commended Gladys’s intention Miss Silver permitted herself to wonder how many marriages came to grief owing to the wife’s incompetence in the household arts. Gladys, who would spend hours over her hair, her face, her nails, considered herself a martyr if she was expected to expend time or thought upon preparing her husband’s meals.
The letter to Andrew was succeeded by an encouraging one to Gladys herself. By the time that Miss Silver thought it wise to put her writing things away it was close upon twelve o’clock. She opened her bedroom door and looked out into the corridor. The panelling upon the walls helped to darken
it, but a low-powered bulb lighted the central landing to which the stairway rose. Miss Silver’s door, barely ajar, gave her this prospect, but only for a moment, because quite suddenly the light at the head of the stairs went out, leaving an even darkness everywhere. Standing on her own threshold, she opened the door to the length of her arm, turned off her own light, and listened.
There was no sound in all the house, no smallest sound. There were three ways in which the light could have been turned out-by a switch on the landing, by a switch in the hall below, and by turning off the current at the meter. The switch on the landing had certainly not been used. Anyone touching it would have been right under the light and directly in Miss Silver’s view. The current had not been switched off at the meter, since her own light was still burning. It followed that the landing light had been turned off by someone in the hall below.
Miss Silver stepped into the passage and began to feel her way along the wall. Since she was wearing the felt slippers which had been a kind gift from her niece by marriage, Dorothy Silver, she could count on making no sound. She reached the landing and feeling her way by the balustrade leaned over it and listened.
Chapter 35
THERE was no sound, and the darkness was unbroken. Yet someone had turned out the light, and it had been turned out from below. There was someone down there in the darkness, and the purpose which requires darkness for its pursuit is an evil purpose. Somewhere down there, out of sight and hidden in thought, this evil purpose moved to a premeditated end.
Miss Silver pondered gravely upon what her course should be. As she stood here she was in the very middle of the house. There lay beneath her the hall with its panelling and its portraits, and the rooms which opened from it. On either side of her stretched the two main corridors with the bedrooms which they served. To her left her own room and Miss Bray’s, Wilfrid Gaunt’s, two bathrooms, and the rooms occupied by Annabel Scott and Arnold Bray. To her right Sally Foster, David Moray, Moira Herne, two more bathrooms, and Lucius Bellingdon. If evil was intended to anyone in the house it would be to him. He had provoked a decision between himself and the unknown danger which threatened him, and strongly upon her every sense there pressed the conviction that this decision was at hand. She could wake him, acquaint him with her conviction, and very likely fail to induce him to believe in it. The light on the landing had gone out-she had no more to go on than that. If he did not believe her, she would have achieved nothing and the danger would merely be postponed. At the same time her decision must be swift. The main staircase was not the only means of communication between the ground floor and the one on which she stood. Towards the end of each of the bedroom corridors was a flight of stairs used by the staff. The threat to Mr. Bellingdon might come by either of these ways, the most likely being that which was nearest to his bedroom.
She felt her way to the stair-head, passed across it, and along the corresponding length of balustrade upon the other side. When she reached the entrance to the corridor she began to feel her way along the wall. One door, two doors, three doors were passed, and the next door on the right would be that of Lucius Bellingdon’s room. There was no thread of light beneath the door, no sound when she laid her ear against the panel. With the most meticulous caution she tried the door and found it was not locked. This was what she had both suspected and feared. She had urged the precaution upon him, and he had laughed and said that no one could enter his room without waking him, adding that anyone who tried would get the surprise of his life. The apprehension which she had been feeling for the last few hours increased upon her. Anyone in his household would know that he was a light sleeper. Anyone in his household might have taken steps to ensure that he would not sleep so lightly tonight. And there were others besides Miss Silver who could walk soft-foot in the darkness and turn the handle of a door without making any sound.
Standing there unseen and unregarded she made a swift decision. She did not know, she had no means of knowing, what margin of time she could count upon. If the threat impended it might fall at any moment, or linger out an interminable hour. It might not even fall at all. In which case Miss Maud Silver would have exposed herself to some derisive comment. There are other risks than those of a physical nature. She dismissed this one as firmly as she would have dismissed the chance of a bullet or a blow and, turning, made her way back to the room occupied by David Moray.
He slept the sleep of the young and healthy, the curtains drawn back, the cold spring air pouring into the room. Neither the opening nor the closing of the door disturbed the dream in which he walked. It was an odd dream, and when Miss Silver’s hand on his shoulder wakened him it vanished and left nothing that he could remember. He started up upon his elbow, saw her like a shadow between him and the window, and heard her say, “Hush, Mr. Moray.” The dream feeling had come with him out of the dream. It made it less strange that a decorous elderly lady should be standing at his bedside in the night and telling him not to make a noise. He sat up blinking, and she said “Hush” again. He found himself whispering too.
“What is it?”
Her answer convinced him that he must still be asleep and dreaming.
“I believe that an attempt is about to be made on Mr. Bellingdon’s life.”
“An attempt-”
“Pray do not raise your voice or make any sound. I want you to come with me. I think it advisable to have a witness.”
“To an attempt upon Mr. Bellingdon’s life?”
There was a tinge of severity in her voice as she replied,
“That is what I said, Mr. Moray.”
She was gratified to observe that he could move as silently as she did herself. She had had occasion before this to remark that large young men often possessed this characteristic. They came out into the corridor, and he closed the door with a most praiseworthy absence of sound.
To David Moray the whole thing had an unreal quality. He had come up out of deep sleep and found himself moving in the darkness with no volition of his own. That someone was attempting or was about to attempt Mr. Bellingdon’s life was the sort of statement which could only seem natural in a dream. His mind boggled and refused to deal with it. Meanwhile Miss Silver’s hand was on his arm, her touch impelled him. Somewhere on their left she opened a door, drew him across the threshold, and partially closed the door again. The dampness on the air and the smell of scented soap informed him that they were standing in the bathroom immediately opposite Lucius Bellingdon’s room. He bent to what he supposed to be the approximate neighbourhood of Miss Silver’s ear and said on the lowest possible level of sound,
“What is all this?”
Miss Silver said, “Hush-”
Nearer to the door than himself, she had seen a momentary dancing spark at the head of the stairs. It danced, it slid to light the entrance to the corridor, and it went out again, but she had caught behind it the impression of a shadow that moved. One shadow, or two? She thought that there were two, but she could not have sworn to it. Or to anything at all except that dancing spark. There was a sense of something that was not exactly sound or movement. She took a half step back and drew the door with her until it was nearly closed. The movement which could not be distinguished as movement, the sound that was not quite sound, drew nearer and ceased. It ceased just on the other side of the bathroom door, and the door was three fingers’ width ajar. Her hand was still on David Moray’s arm, its pressure intensified.
And right on the other side of the door a whispering voice said,
“Well, what now?”
There had certainly been two shadows, for one spoke and the other answered just above the edge of sound. The one that answered said,
“We go in.”
David Moray put the flat of his hand on the jamb and leaned forward over Miss Silver’s head to catch the whispered words. He thought that the person who had spoken first was a man, and that he spoke again.
“You’re sure he won’t wake?”
The other was a woman. She said
,
“Well, I put two of those things in his coffee. He said how sleepy he was and went off early.”
The man said, “It ought to do the trick. You open the door. If he wakes you can say you heard him call out in his sleep and came to see if there was anything wrong. Go on- get it over!”
The two who stood there moved. They crossed the corridor and came to the opposite threshold. The handle turned. They listened, and then went forward.
David straightened himself, stepped back, and opened the bathroom door. Miss Silver had released him. Her hand dipped into the pocket of her dressing-gown and came up with the electric torch which she had provided for this night’s vigil. With her finger on the switch she moved quickly and silently across the passage. The door into Lucius Bellingdon’s room had been closed but not latched. She pushed it and went in. The curtains were drawn back from the two large windows. The sky was not clear, but somewhere behind the veil of cloud there was a moon. They had been standing in the dark for so long that the room was quite visible in a kind of twilight. There was the great black mass of wardrobe, a tallboy, the lesser bulk of a dressing-table, and away to the right the straight, plain outline of the bed.
Straight and plain but not unbroken. The head of the bed was against the right-hand wall, and on either side of it a black shadow stooped. David Moray, a step behind Miss Silver, found his mind groping. Two voices that had whispered in the dark, two shadows leaning together across the bed on which Lucius Bellingdon lay-he was conscious of these things, but he hadn’t begun to think what they could mean, and before he got any farther than that Miss Silver made a quick step backwards and pressed down the wall switch which was just inside the door.
The Listening Eye Page 21
