by Pamela Kent
Mrs. Pearce was perfectly ready to put her up a picnic lunch, and indeed she went out of her way to provide a most attractive hamper of food which Helen thought she was unlikely to do more than inspect ... although she was glad of the thermos of iced coffee, and the fruit that was contained inside the hamper.
Then, with her easel under her arm and the very minimum amount of wearing apparel to enable her to keep cool, and an enormous shady hat to protect her from the sun, she made her way through the garden and down the steps to the cove.
She had the feeling, as she went, that eyes watched her ... although that could have been purely her imagination; and, in any case, in her candy pink shorts and brief suntop, with the large cartwheel straw hat on her head, she was by no means an inconspicuous figure. If she wanted to escape notice she should have put on something more sober ... although, in actual fact, she couldn’t think of any reason why she should wish to escape notice.
Once she had set up her easel on the sand, and was painting away busily, it would be impossible for anyone not to notice her if they emerged suddenly from the mouth of the cave behind her, or ran down the steps to the beach. And although on two previous occasions she had deliberately hidden herself when someone arrived to share the cove with her she had no intention whatsoever of doing anything of the kind today.
For a reason that she did not fully understand at the time.
About one o’clock she drank some iced coffee and ate a banana. The chicken sandwiches that were so neatly wrapped she did not disturb.
The blueness of the sky seemed gradually to be fading altogether, and the yellow light of the sun became distilled as if it was being diffused through gauze. It was almost unbearably hot down there near the edge of the water—from which she had anticipated coolness—and she decided to have a quick bathe before the tide turned. Even that did not, however, refresh her, and as she returned to the beach and dried herself the golden warmth of the sun was blacked out altogether by clouds that were passing between her and it. The clouds were angry and purple, and out at sea they had banked up so determinedly that they had formed massive ramparts reaching from sea to sky.
Helen realised that, should the threatened downpour occur, she would have little or no chance of returning to the house without being thoroughly soaked by it. And although summer rain dries swiftly, and she was not in the least alarmed by the thought of getting wet, she had an almost childish fear of thunderstorms, particularly , when she was alone. If lightning streaked across the sky while she was half way to Trelawnce she would be thrown into a condition of near-panic, therefore she decided to stay close to the cave opening just in case sudden violence was let loose around her. And it was while she was debating the wisdom of conducting a preliminary examination of the cave interior prior to seeking refuge in it—should that become necessary—that the first drops began to fall, and were followed almost immediately by something in the nature of a major downpour.
Hastily gathering up the picnic basket, her folding stool and painting materials, she turned and raced up the shelving beach for the dark opening that had had for her a queer fascination ever since the moment when she first caught sight of it, although this was the first time she had dared to approach within a good many feet of it.
The thunder started as she reached the cave, and she was so grateful for the refuge the dank, twilit space provided that she hardly noticed the bare rock walls or the bat’s-wing darkness that lay crouching like a sable tiger at the end of a narrow passage into which the main chamber overflowed. So far as she was concerned she need penetrate no farther than the main entrance, and as proof that she had not come here to be curious or in response to any secret craving (or determination, perhaps) to find out what lay beneath the grounds of Trelawnce Manor, she opened up her folding stool and sat down to wait for the storm to cease.
She realised that she was probably being very optimistic, for this was no sudden storm out of a clear blue sky that had loosed itself upon her; it had been slowly brewing all morning, and now at last, like a cauldron coming to the boil and emptying its contents before someone could remove it, it meant to create a certain amount of havoc.
If she had attempted to make her way back to the house she would have been lashed by the hail and terrified out of her wits by the thunder. Already the early mutterings had become a violent cannonade, and the lightning was zig-zagging all round the cave and lighting up the grim interior decoration for her.
Looking about her gingerly, and drawing upon the small amount of knowledge on the subject she possessed, she decided that the cave had undoubtedly been created in the first place by inroads from the sea. The sea in a violently angry mood must have tunnelled its way beneath the cliff, and successive angry moods had helped to enlarge the original aperture, so that it was now almost as large as her bedroom at the manor. It was possible to stand up quite comfortably near the middle of the cave, and even a tall man like Roger—or Perry, the thought occurred to her—would be unlikely to receive a crack on the head if he forgot to stoop or keep his shoulders bowed.
But after that one quick glance around the cave she decided she didn’t want to study rock formation. She was overwhelmingly conscious of the fact that she was somewhere where a mysterious inner voice, that occasionally cautioned her when she was in danger of doing something a trifle rash, had repeatedly warned her it might be better for her if she resisted the temptation to penetrate to. And having penetrated to this rocky fastness that smelt of seaweed and echoed to the monotonous trickling of unseen water she kept her eyes fixed on the wall of water that was descending outside the cave and keeping her a prisoner on her little camp stool. Because she was so close to the entrance the spray from it had already soaked her shorts and sun-top, and it was only when the lightning grew really lurid that she withdrew a little farther into the darkness behind her, and even pressed herself against one of the slimy cool walls to escape from it.
But, as she had feared, the storm showed no signs of abating after getting rid of some of its early venom, and a quarter of an hour later she was still waiting for the weather to ease. After the steamy warmth of the beach it was cold—ice-cold—inside the cave, and she began to shiver. She began to wonder how much longer she could keep still.
And, every now and again, her eyes roved. A small voice inside her head—another small voice—began to whisper to her. Why, said the voice, now that she was here, didn’t she at least do a small amount of exploring?
She was growing accustomed to the dimness of the cave, and even the dark passage that both repelled and attracted her seemed a little less dark after nearly twenty minutes of close confinement. Besides, she had a box of matches inside her handbag, and she could always strike one or two if the gloom at the end of the corridor proved impenetrable.
While she was still trying to find the courage to move to obey that insidious voice—a violent roll of thunder occurred that was followed almost immediately by a hissing, crackling flash of lightning that all but blinded her. The storm was now right overhead, and if anything it showed signs of increasing rather than getting any better. Instinctively she moved and dragged her stool deeper still into the shadows, and by this time the darkness of the passage seemed positively to invite her.
She stood up, realised that in this part of the cave she would have to keep her head bent if she was to avoid a cracked skull, and went forward beneath a jagged arch from which trailed festoons of rank weed and fossilised growth. She struck match after match once she had penetrated a few feet, and to her infinite relief she no longer had to stoop, and the passage had broadened considerably.
There was no danger of her losing her way, for it was a reasonably straight passage, with off-shoots which she ignored; the floor was dry sand, and as she bent to peer at it she made out quite easily the footprints of someone who had gone before her, and probably done so very recently.
The marks were those of a pair of rubber-shod feet, and she hazarded a guess and decided they were Perry’s. He usu
ally wore rubber-soled shoes, and sometimes rope-soled.
She was brought up suddenly by a wall rising in front of her, and she realised that it was at this point that her exploration would have to cease. For one thing she was running out of matches, and for another ... And then she gave a little gasp of surprise, for there was a door set in the wall, and it was a very modern door, secured by a padlock. She put a hand out to test the padlock, and to her further surprise she had no difficulty at all in prising it open. Whoever had insisted upon the padlock had been careless enough to omit to take the elementary precaution of turning a key in it, and with her heart beating at double the normal speed Helen found she could push the door open with ease ... if she wanted to!
For perhaps a full second and a half she hesitated, and then she took the plunge. The door opened with a slight grating noise, as if it needed oiling, and immediately in front of her was a flight of steps. But the most amazing thing about the flight of steps was that it was lighted by a single naked electric bulb that was suspended above it
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE discovery of the flight of steps, conveniently and electrically lit, convinced Helen — if she had ever really needed convincing—that there was something distinctly odd going on at Trelawnce Manor, and, whatever it was, Perry Trelawnce was in it up to the neck.
This was, undoubtedly, his way of reaching the manor unobserved ... and almost certainly he used it to escape from the manor on occasion. Whether Roger knew of it she could only surmise, but after several minutes devoted to standing very still at the foot of the flight of steps she came to the conclusion that Roger did know of it. Unless he was very stupid, and had greater faith in Perry than she had, he must have suspected him for one reason or another long ago. And unless he made a point of being unfamiliar with the geography of his own property, and declined to keep abreast of what was going on within his own confines, he must be well aware of this intriguing little door let into the wall of the cave, and the padlock that was treated so carelessly.
Helen forgot about the storm that was causing vague rumbling noises deep inside the cave; she forgot that she had been recently alarmed by lightning, and timorous about exploring the cave, and made up her mind that, at all costs, she must climb the stairs that confronted her and find out where they led to, and what happened when they ceased.
She counted the number of steps as she climbed—twenty-two. And they revolved like a corkscrew. And then, all at once, they ceased, and instead of being confronted by a door this time she was confronted by a passage that appeared to proceed ahead of her at a steady incline. If she had had any fear that the electricity would give out at this point she was proved wrong, for at intervals of a few yards the passage was illumined in the same way as the staircase. The naked electric light bulbs actually hurt her eyes, but this didn’t really trouble her. The ever-increasing steepness of the passage rendered her a trifle breathless, especially as after a time she began to move forward under the impetus of excitement and curiosity as if she had an appointment to keep, and was already late for it. But between pausings for breath and panting a little she deduced that what she was actually doing was climbing to the level of the grounds of Trelawnce Manor, and obviously, if she continued for long enough, and no one had sealed her exit, she would emerge either in the grounds of the manor or in the manor itself.
Every few yards she discovered evidences of recent use. Endless footprints on the sandy floor, a length of chain and a hank of rope. She even came upon a hatchet flung down carelessly, and a tool which could be used for opening cases, or severing the metal bands that contained them.
She was proceeding at a rather more leisurely pace, due to the length of the passage and the gradient that was so unremitting in the way it increased remorselessly, when, to her consternation and near-panic, the lights that had been guiding her progress went out.
She was in such intense blackness that she felt as if her heart actually stopped, and it was only when something brushed against her face that she screamed. The sound, in such a confined space, seemed to fill it as if the sea itself had burst in and was seeking to discover its own level again and escape, and it terrified her so much that she went on screaming, until abruptly someone laughed very close to her ear, and the lights were switched on again.
“I wondered how long we should have to wait for this pleasure,” Perry Trelawnce observed, as he stood within a bare foot of her. His black eyes were full of harsh amusement, but his mouth looked cold and cruel. “So your curiosity overcame you at last, little Helen? Or were you driven to seek refuge from the storm? I was fairly certain that—with or without an excuse—you would find your way here sooner or later, and apparently it was to be sooner.”
Helen, trembling all over from the shock of her recent experience, shielded her eyes from the glare of the lights and stared at him voicelessly.
He smiled ... that unpleasant smile she remembered. “You had it all worked out almost from the moment we met, didn’t you, Helen?” he said. “Something was going on here that ought not to be going on ... and having all the right sort of ideas, and reacting like a properly brought-up young woman, you felt that, could you discover what it was that was going on, it was your duty to put a stop to it. All that I read in your face that first , evening we met ... and I know why it was that I couldn’t fall for you, as I might easily have fallen for someone much less eminently desirable and enchanting, and all the rest. I simply wanted to put you across my knee and spank you ... right from that first night!”
Helen tried to assemble words.
“Why did you leave the door unlocked?” she asked at last.
“To tempt you inside, my little one,” Perry replied, with a laugh that echoed hollowly in that hollow passage. “I prefer to have my enemies where I know they can’t do me any damage, and you fell for the bait nicely. You aren’t terribly brave, but you were brave enough to come all the way up here in the hopes of proving something Roger might like to hear. But I’m afraid Roger knows all about it, my sweet. He doesn’t need to receive information from you!”
“You don’t mean...” Helen found it necessary to moisten her lips ... “You don’t mean that he...?”
“Of course.” Once again Perry laughed, and it really was an extraordinarily unpleasant laugh, even allowing for the distorting effects of the corridor. “For a young lady who received part of her education in Paris, and has traveled the world, you’re very easily taken in, aren’t you? You discover a guardian who is rolling in money, and has a luxurious home which he offers to you, and it never even occurs to you to wonder where he gets his money from? The age-old dodge of evading the law and profiting thereby was a dodge you couldn’t imagine my worthy cousin Roger stooping to, but one look at me and you were fairly certain I was as crooked as they come,. His handsome lips were curving in a very ugly fashion now. “I may be crooked by nature, sweet Helen, but I don’t like people—pretty girls, anyway—to tumble to the fact straight away.”
Helen stood looking about her, and for the first time the realisation sank in that she had reached the top of the passage. Another door confronted her, and this door was standing open. She could see through into a lighted room, with barrels and cases and cartons piled up in it. It was obviously some kind of a store room, and it was just as obviously an office, for from where she stood with her back pressed against the unyielding, wall behind her she could see a roll-top desk, a chair and a small electric fire glowing redly to help combat the penetrating chill of the atmosphere.
Perry jerked his thumb in the direction of the room. “In there,” he said.
Helen hesitated.
“I’d rather stay here...”
His eyes glinted at her with harsh derision.
“Not curious to see everything there is to see now that you’ve got the opportunity? However, I find this passage draughty, and we can talk more comfortably in a slightly more civilised atmosphere.” He gave her a not ungentle push in the direction of the door. “Besides, the
re’s someone waiting to talk to you who hasn’t had much opportunity to talk to you so far.”
With widening eyes Helen entered the room, and her eyes grew even wider when she saw the slight figure seated in the swivel chair behind the desk. Valerie studied her with a curiously defiant air, and pushed back her golden mass of hair from her forehead. It was a gesture Helen remembered—uncertain, also a little defiant, and in some strange way pathetic.
She was wearing one of her faded cotton frocks, and anyone more out of place in that underground chamber, with the desk littered with papers and a typewriter and a grimy-looking coffee cup, it would have been difficult to find.
A delicate piece of alabaster insecurely poised on the edge of a chasm was a simile that might have leapt to Helen’s mind if she had been capable of similes just then.
“Well!” Valerie said, and half rose in her chair as if expecting a noticeable reaction from the other girl. Her blue eyes blazed at Helen defiantly. “You didn’t expect to find me here, did you? But I’m often down here ... with Perry! We spend a lot of time together. We’re planning all sorts of things, he and I!”
“Be quiet!” Perry ordered her sternly.
She gazed at him, a trifle bewildered.
“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” she said. “After all, now that you’ve got Helen down here she won’t be going back to talk ... at least, not until it’s too late for her to do any harm to us. You said yourself that everything would soon be over.”
“It will,” Perry agreed testily, “only don’t spill such a lot of words all in one breath. You don’t have to be discreet, but discretion is always the better part of valour ... and the difference very often between security and insecurity. Our little Helen is unlikely to cause any hitch to our plans, but I wouldn’t trust her if she had the opportunity.”
