by Molly Thynne
The greatest relief came when she slipped the bandage from over her mouth, and could breathe freely once more.
She was standing holding it in her hand, trying to gather courage to attempt the opening of the door of the room, when she heard the church clock outside strike the half hour. The sound had hardly died away before the telephone bell in the hall burst into an insistent clamour.
So unexpected was the sound and so taut were her nerves that she only stopped herself from screaming by a miracle. As she stood there, shaking with apprehension, she heard a door open and footsteps crossing the hall, followed by de Silva’s voice answering the telephone. It was the house instrument, with she gathered, the night porter at the other end.
“If it is important, I will see him,” she heard de Silva say. “Ask him to come up.”
There was a pause, during which she waited in an agony of terror, expecting every moment that he would open the door and look into the bedroom. But luck was with her. She heard him go to the hall door, open it, and admit his visitor.
A confused murmur of voices came to her, and she had a conviction that one of them was that of Bond. She moved closer to the door of the bedroom and tried to hear more clearly, but the speakers were standing near the front door, and the sound only reached her faintly.
Realizing that she was cut off from the hall as a means of escape and that, if she were to get away at all, she must take advantage of de Silva’s preoccupation with his visitor, she crept across the room to the wardrobe.
She felt certain that this was built on the same plan as the one she had seen used as a door in her aunt’s bedroom, but when she opened it and pushed aside the clothes it contained, she was confronted with a plain surface of solid and immovable mahogany. She searched in vain for the catch she had heard click when Lady Dalberry used the corresponding cupboard in her bedroom, but she could find no sort of projection on the inside of the wardrobe.
In despair she slipped back to the door of the bedroom, hoping that de Silva might be inspired to take his guest to some room farther down the passage. To her dismay he seemed to be showing him out.
She heard the front door open and a man’s voice—Bond’s, she felt certain now—raised in high anger.
She hesitated. Bond had shown himself a good friend to her once when he warned her not to frequent the Onyx establishment, and he might prove an ally now. In her desperation she was inclined to take the risk. Then she remembered that he was one of the “witnesses” to the will lying on the table, and drew back. As she did so, she realized that, in any case, she was too late.
The front door slammed heavily, and she knew that Bond had departed and her chance was gone.
She guessed that, once he had got rid of his guest, de Silva’s first move would be towards the bedroom. Already she could hear his steps crossing the hall. With the instinct of a trapped animal she made for the one place that offered any sort of concealment, the wardrobe.
Only one door of it was open, and behind the other hung a couple of heavy winter overcoats. Slipping behind these she covered herself as best she could and waited, cowering, for de Silva to make his appearance.
She heard the door open, then his sharp exclamation of furious dismay as his eyes fell on the empty bed.
His first move was towards the window. The rings clattered as he jerked the heavy curtains apart. Then he opened the window and stepped out on to the balcony. In a second he was back in the room, and there was a moment’s silence, during which she could guess that he had halted, probably arrested by the sight of the strips of silk from which she had freed herself and which she had left lying on the floor.
Then came the dreaded sound of his feet approaching the wardrobe. In another second he would throw open the other door and her discovery would be inevitable. She waited, making herself as small as possible behind the inadequate screen of the overcoats.
He had almost reached the cupboard when he paused, evidently struck by a sudden thought, wheeled and made a dash for the door of the bedroom, slamming and locking it behind him. Carol heard him run through the hall and out through the front door, and guessed what was in his mind. If, as he suspected, she had managed to open the back of the cupboard and escape into the other flat, there was still a chance that he might head her off there. She could imagine him hastening from room to room of Lady Dalberry’s flat in search of her.
In the meanwhile, by locking the door of the bedroom, he had cut off her one avenue of escape.
She could only hope that he would jump to the conclusion that she had succeeded in getting away while he was engaged in conversation with Bond and abandon the search. If only he did not decide to make use of the passage through the wardrobe, there was still a chance that she might remain undiscovered.
Paralyzed with fear that he would come through the wardrobe from the direction of her aunt’s flat, and knowing that, if he did so, he could hardly avoid seeing her, she waited through what seemed an eternity for his return.
Her luck held. When he did come back it was by way of the bedroom door.
She could hear the sound of drawers being hurriedly opened and shut, and gathered from his movements that he must be packing. He had accepted the fact of her escape, then, and was intent on making his get-away before she should have time to give the alarm. She had heard the church clock strike eight while he was in the next door flat, and she knew that, if he was to catch the first boat train, he would not have any too much time. Now, at last, she began to entertain at least a glimmer of hope that she might remain undiscovered.
There was a sound that she took to be the closing of a bag or suitcase, followed by the reopening of the bedroom door. It seemed as though the impossible was actually about to happen and he was on the point of leaving the flat.
Her heart leaped and then seemed to stop its beat. For he had turned with an exclamation of impatience, and was approaching the wardrobe.
Dropping the case he was carrying he flung open the second door of the cupboard.
There was a tense silence, broken at last by de Silva’s low, mirthless laugh.
“So that was it,” he mocked softly. “Almost you got away with it. In another moment I should have been gone, and the bird would have flown. As it is, I am afraid I shall have to postpone my departure, and extend my hospitality for just a little longer.”
Carol shrank into the corner of the wardrobe, faint with terror. Then she broke into a frenzied appeal.
“Let me go,” she implored him. “I promise I won’t say a word to any one, if only you’ll let me go. You can go away, and I’ll stay here until you’ve had time to leave the country. No one shall ever know what has happened to-night. I’ll give you money, if it’s money you want …”
He laughed again, his face an inch from hers.
“Oh, I shall have the money. I will see to that myself. Come.”
He stretched out his hand and caught her by the wrist.
Before she could help herself he had jerked her violently out into the room and on to the bed. Holding her wrists with one hand, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and tied them together. Then he turned to pick up the strip of silk she had left on the floor.
He had barely turned his back before she was off the bed and at the door, trying in vain to turn the handle with her fettered hands.
It took all his strength to overpower her. Once she managed to break away from him, but the advantage she gained was a brief one, and only served to exhaust her.
A few minutes later she was on the bed, bound and gagged once more, and he was standing over her.
“There has been enough of this fooling,” he said venomously. “You are not an idiot. Use the brains that have been given you. In the end you will sign. Believe me, if you do it now, before I go, you will save yourself a great deal of unnecessary suffering.”
He could see the expression in her eyes change from terror to relief at the mention of his departure.
“I am going,” he went on, and her hea
rt sank at the mockery in his voice, “because I have that imbecile, Bond, to deal with. You will be pleased to hear that he has his suspicions, our friend Bond. He very nearly spilt the milk this morning when he came here. If you had cried out! I am going now to smooth him down, but …”
He paused, his laughing eyes watching her.
“Soon you will have your dear aunt to deal with. I fancy you will find her less patient than I have been.”
She would have spoken then if she could, but the scarf over her mouth made all communication impossible. He was watching her eyes, however, and read the message in them as surely as though he had heard it from her lips.
“You will be glad to see Lady Dalberry,” he went on softly. “A woman’s hand. So much has been written on that beautiful subject. If I were you, I should sign now.”
Then, as she made no movement:
“As you will. You gain nothing, you know, by delay. I have left precise instructions as to your treatment, and you may be sure that Lady Dalberry will carry them out.”
He paused, apparently enjoying some grim jest of his own, then:
“Neither food nor drink will pass your lips until you sign this letter, I assure you, and your friends will not find you. You are still obstinate? Then I must leave you to your aunt.” He was laughing openly now. With a little shrug of his shoulders he swung round and left the room, and she heard the click of the lock as he turned the key behind him.
He was no sooner gone than she tried once more to free her feet; but this time he had done his work too well and the bandage held, in spite of all her efforts. Then, for the first time, her self-control gave way entirely, and she burst into a flood of tears which, once started, she found she could not stem. She cried until, from sheer exhaustion, she could cry no more. Then she lay, in a kind of dull stupor, waiting for the next assault on her courage.
It was over an hour before she was disturbed, and then it was by the entrance of de Silva.
He closed and locked the bedroom door carefully behind him, putting the key in his pocket, and went at once to the wardrobe. As he opened the doors he cast a mocking glance at her over his shoulder.
“How much would you have given to have found this little button?” he scoffed, as he slipped his hand behind the massive wardrobe.
She heard the click of the latch, followed by the sound of the back of the cupboard sliding to one side. Then he stepped through and disappeared, leaving the cavity open.
From where she lay she could see nothing of the room on the other side of the opening in the wardrobe, but she could hear some one moving to and fro, and once, about half an hour after de Silva had left her, the telephone pealed loudly in Lady Dalberry’s flat and a voice, which she thought she recognized as her aunt’s, answered it. Then there was the sound of the front door of Lady Dalberry’s flat opening and she could just hear footsteps and voices in the passage beyond. She heard the front door close again, and then some one crossed the bedroom and approached the wardrobe.
In another second Lady Dalberry stood in the opening.
Her eyes, bright with malice, sought Carol’s and held them. Her Ups, scarlet against the white make-up she affected, were parted in a faint, amused smile.
Carol tried to meet her gaze bravely, but, as she looked, the horror that had inspired her blind effort to escape from her aunt’s flat returned to her. She tried to turn her eyes away and could not.
Then the figure of the other woman wavered and grew misty, the bandage round the girl’s mouth seemed to get tighter and more suffocating, and, for the second time, she fainted.
When she came to herself Lady Dalberry was sitting by the bed. She had replaced the table, bearing the writing materials, at Carol’s elbow. On it was a glass filled with an amber-coloured liquid.
“You will drink this,” she said shortly. “And after that, my little Carol, you will sign. There have been too many delays. We will finish this business.”
She unfastened the handkerchief and freed the girl’s mouth, then she held the glass to her lips.
Carol drank thirstily. It mattered little to her now whether the stuff were drugged or not. Indeed there was nothing she would have welcomed more gladly than oblivion, but she knew that Lady Dalberry, in her present mood, was not likely to vouchsafe her even that mercy. The liquid revived her, however, and for a moment brought back some of her old courage.
“I will not sign,” she whispered stubbornly through parched lips.
Lady Dalberry smiled and bent forward to untie the bandage round the girl’s wrists.
Then, as if in answer to Carol’s prayers, the front-door bell of de Silva’s flat pealed loudly.
With a muttered exclamation Lady Dalberry rose to her feet and stood hesitating.
The bell rang again, and this time it did not stop. Whoever was on the other side of the door was standing with his finger on the bell. Then, through the insistent clamour of the bell, came the sound of knocking.
Lady Dalberry went swiftly to the door of the bedroom and stood there, listening.
The pounding on the door grew more violent, and above it Carol could hear the sound of a man’s voice. He was shouting something indistinguishable.
Lady Dalberry must have caught something of what he said, however, for she crossed the room swiftly and began to refasten the scarf round the girl’s mouth. Then she untied the bandage that secured Carol’s ankles and, with surprising strength for one of her build, jerked the girl to her feet.
Carol staggered and would have fallen but for the other woman’s arm round her waist.
Trussed and helpless, she could make no show of resistance as Lady Dalberry half dragged, half carried, her through the opening in the cupboard into the adjoining flat.
Before Carol could adjust her mind to what was happening she found herself back in her own bedroom. Lady Dalberry only waited long enough to help the girl on to the bed and rebind her ankles. Then, without a word, she hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.
Carol guessed that she was probably engaged in closing the passage between the two flats. From where she lay she could still hear the noise of the assault on de Silva’s door. Then it ceased abruptly, and she wondered whether the Argentine’s unwelcome callers had departed in despair. Lady Dalberry did not come back, and for a long twenty minutes or so Carol lay helpless, speculating, with a sinking heart, on what her next move would be.
Then the knocking began again, but this time at the door of Lady Dalberry’s flat.
Carol heard the front door open, then the sound of Lady Dalberry’s voice, cool and faintly ironical.
It was followed by the sound of her own name, uttered by Jasper Mellish, in tones so unlike his usual lazy drawl that it reached her ears even through the closed doors of the bedroom.
Carol tried frenziedly to answer, but the scarf round her mouth proved too effective a gag.
With an effort that sent a stab of agony through her sprained arm, she managed to get her feet to the ground. She raised herself, lost her balance, and literally flung herself in the direction of the door.
She fell heavily, wrenching her arm agonizingly, but she had managed to cover at least half the distance between the bed and the door. By dragging herself painfully along the floor she managed to achieve the rest, only to find that, with her arms bound as they were, it was impossible for her to reach the handle of the door.
With infinite labour she got once more to her feet. For a second she stood, rocking to and fro helplessly; then, as she fell, she flung herself, with all her force, against the closed door.
Then she sank, utterly spent, in a pitiful heap on the floor.
And as she lay there she heard the sound of receding footsteps and the murmur of voices growing fainter, and realized that, once more, she had lost.
Mellish was leaving the flat.
CHAPTER XXIV
As the police car containing Mellish, Shand, and a couple of C.I.D. men drew up before the Escatorial, Dalberry appeared in th
e doorway of the flats. His face lit up at the sight of Mellish.
“I say, Jasper,” he began, “I’m a bit worried …”
In spite of his anxiety Mellish’s lips curved into a grim smile.
“You have our sympathy,” he remarked sardonically. “Have you been up to the flat?”
“I’ve just come from there. Carol’s not in. Where is she?”
“That’s what I propose to find out. Who told you she was out?”
“Lady Dalberry. According to her, Carol rang up to say that she was at Claridges. Been to a dance there, or something, and stayed the night. That wasn’t what she’d arranged to do, was it?”
His eyes fell on Shand and his two companions.
“I say …” he began.
At that moment Shand, who had been engaged in a low-voiced consultation with the detective he had detailed to watch the flats, joined them.
“My man tells me that no one has gone in or out of either of the flats since he got here, but the porter declares that de Silva went out about nine o’clock this morning and returned at ten,” he informed them. “It appears that Bond was here early, between seven and eight. He stayed about twenty minutes, according to the night porter. What brought you here, Lord Dalberry?”
“I rang up Miss Summers at the Carthews’, as we’d arranged, and found they knew nothing about her. When Mrs. Carthew told me that she had seen Mr. Mellish coming out of these flats without Miss Summers I began to get the wind up and came round myself. I was just going on to Claridges to verify my aunt’s statement when you arrived.”
