Supping With Panthers

by Tom Holland

  ‘But of course.’

  ‘Why, “of course”?’

  ‘Because the message to Arthur had been insulting as well. What did your message say, Lady Mowberley?’

  ‘I am reluctant to reveal it’

  ‘Come, come, I must have all the facts.’

  ‘Yes.’ I swallowed. I closed my eyes, then repeated the message from memory. ‘Madam, you are blind. Your husband does not love you. He has countless women apart from you.’ I choked, and sat in silence. At length I opened my eyes again.

  ‘You are quite right,’ said Dr Eliot softly. ‘That is indeed insulting.’ He paused. ‘Do you have the message and box with you now?’

  I nodded. I reached down and then handed the box across to Dr Eliot, who had risen to his feet He took it gingerly, and crossed to a light where he studied the box with careful attention. ‘It is clearly of no great workmanship,’ he said. ‘I would judge it has been used to transport merchandise – yes – see here … there are words below the paint, in a Chinese script.’ He glanced up at me. ‘I would guess it to be from the docks,’ he said.

  I shook my head. ‘What would a person from the docks have to do with George or myself?’

  Well, now,’ said Dr Eliot, ‘that is the mystery, is it not?’ He smiled faintly and opened the box to take out the card. As he studied it, his smile faded and grew into a frown. ‘Whoever wrote this,’ he said at last, ‘is a better pensman than she pretends to be, for the cursives are quite inappropriate to what is otherwise a clumsy hand. I say she, for the style of writing is a feminine one. Also, the ink – you will have guessed, of course – it is clearly an admixture of water and blood.’

  ‘Blood?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ he replied.

  ‘But …’ I swallowed. ‘You are sure?’ I shook my head and swallowed again. ‘But, yes. Yes, of course you are.’

  Dr Eliot furrowed his brow. ‘There is clearly an intention expressed here, not only to insult but to frighten you.’ He studied the card again, then shrugged faintly and returned it to the box. ‘You showed this to your husband, I presume?’

  I nodded wordlessly.

  ‘What was his response?’

  ‘Outrage. Utter outrage.’

  ‘He denied the message’s accusation?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And you – forgive me for asking this, Lady Mowberley, but I must – you believed him?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I did. Why should I not have done? George had always been the best of husbands, and the most transparent of men. If he had been betraying me, I would have known of it.’

  Dr Eliot nodded slowly. ‘Good,’ he murmured, ‘very good.’ He sank back into his chair. ‘So proceed, Lady Mowberley. What happened next?’

  ‘Three days after the receipt of the box, George too disappeared.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Dr Eliot’s face grew dark and intense. ‘That must have been a terrible shock to you.’

  ‘I was terrified, I freely admit.’

  ‘You went to the police?’

  ‘No, sir, I could not bear to, for I was afraid to admit that he might be truly gone. And indeed, after I had passed two sleepless nights, he returned to me – white-faced, glazed-eyed, but still my own sweet George, perfectly alive. Some great mystery, however, had clearly engulfed him, for whenever I pressed him on the reasons for his sudden disappearance a shadow would cross his face, and he would ask me to forget that he had ever been gone. He found it hard to sleep, Dr Eliot; sometimes, when he believed I was asleep myself, he would cross to the window and stare out at the street. At other times, whenever he did chance to dream, he would toss and turn and mutter strange names. Finally, some three weeks after his initial disappearance, he disappeared again. This second time he was gone for several days, and I was almost frantic when he finally returned. I demanded to know what was happening but George continued to obfuscate. He did imply, however, that the mystery was related to his Government work. How or why he didn’t say, but I received the impression of some great conspiracy, centring on the Bill he had to steer through Parliament, and requiring all his attention and time. He asked me not to worry, and promised that one day he would reveal the full truth to me. In the meantime, I would have to tolerate his occasional absences and his lengthy hours at the Ministry. He asked for my understanding and support.’

  ‘And you gave it?’

  I nodded. ‘But of course.’

  ‘The absences continued?’

  ‘Sporadically.’

  ‘And his work in the Ministry?’

  ‘Has been brilliant, I believe. You may not be aware of George’s reputation now. He is remarkably young to have reached the position he holds. His mysterious behaviour, however it relates to the progress of his Bill, is clearly proving to be of great benefit to his political career. And yet…’ I paused and gazed into the eyes of Dr Eliot, which gleamed bright from his otherwise pallid face. ‘And yet,’ I repeated in a low voice, ‘I remain afraid.’

  ‘Well,’ said Dr Eliot briskly, ‘that is not to be wondered at. Remind me again – he has been absent now for over a week?’

  ‘A week and a day.’

  ‘That is unusual?’

  ‘Yes. Before now, he has never been absent for more than three days at a time.’

  ‘And that is why you have broken his injunction and come to me to seek for help?’

  ‘There are other reasons.’

  ‘Indeed?’ he exclaimed.

  I nodded. ‘I will be frank, Dr Eliot I fear the worst – yet I am also afraid lest you should think me mad.’

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘If it is any comfort to you, Lady Mowberley, you strike me as being eminently sane.’

  ‘That is very kind of you,’ I replied, ‘although there have been times today when I have doubted it myself. This is what occurred to me last night. I retired late to bed. Once my maid had undressed me, I dismissed her and sat alone awhile, wishing that George were with me and wondering where he might be. At length, I rose and crossed to the window. It was a blustery night outside, and I sat staring at the rain-swept skyline of London as though searching for some clue which might lead me to George. Dimly, I became aware of footsteps sounding from the cobble-stones below. I looked down. Illumined by the gas lamp I saw two figures, a gentleman and a lady. I saw that beneath his cloak the gentleman was in evening dress; he was swarthy-skinned, with a dark, bushy beard, and so I guessed him to be a foreigner. The lady’s face I couldn’t see, for she was standing with her back to me, swathed in a hood and a flowing black cloak. At length she turned and took the gentleman’s arm; they both began to walk on down the street. As she went, however, the lady turned and glanced up, as though looking at me. I had no chance to make out her face, since it remained in the shadow cast by her hood, but for one second the street light caught her skin and it gleamed, Dr Eliot, I swear that it gleamed! Then she turned and was gone; but I was left with a feeling of the most abject horror. I cannot explain it But it was real – vividly real. I felt simply that I had seen something horrible.’

  ‘And this something horrible had been what? – the woman?’

  ‘I know that it sounds ridiculous.’

  ‘Yes,’ he mused, ‘but intriguing as well.’

  ‘You do not think me mad?’

  ‘On the contrary.’ He smiled faintly. ‘You have more to recount?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then do so. You retired to bed?’

  ‘Yes. I took my medication…’

  ‘Ah.’ He interrupted me at once by holding up his hand. ‘This was for your nerves?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What would this medication have been?’

  ‘It is opiate-based, I believe.’

  Dr Eliot nodded slowly. ‘I am sorry, Lady Mowberley. You were saying, I believe, that you had retired to bed?’

  ‘Yes. I slept well; I always do. Then, at four, the chiming of the church clock awoke me. I slipped back at once to sleep, but this time my dreams were
bad. I woke up suddenly again, I opened my eyes – and my blood froze in my veins. The woman – I knew at once that it was the same one I had seen on the street – was staring at me. She was in my room. She still wore her cloak, but her hood was thrown back and her face was the most beautiful I had ever seen. At the same time, it was also the most terrible.’

  ‘In what exactly did this terror lie?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. But it filled me with fear. Staring at it, I was absolutely paralysed.’

  ‘Did you speak to her?’

  ‘I tried. I couldn’t though. I can’t explain it, Dr Eliot. I am afraid you will think me very weak.’

  He shook his head. ‘Describe the woman.’

  ‘She was … I don’t know what age – young, I suppose, but – no …’ My voice traded away. ‘What I want to say, I suppose, is that she seemed almost beyond age. She was dark-haired – long-haired too, I would have guessed, although it was hard to tell for her tresses were concealed below her shoulders by her cloak. Her face was very pale. It almost seemed as though it were lit by a flame from somewhere within her. Her lips were red. Her eyes were dark, and very bright’

  ‘Dark and bright simultaneously?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dr Eliot shrugged faintly. ‘And so what did this remarkable woman then do?’

  ‘Nothing. She just stood there staring at me. Then she smiled suddenly, and turned. She left my room and I saw her, through the open doors, gliding towards the stairway.’

  ‘Did you follow her?’

  ‘Not at first. I felt, as I told you, paralysed. At length, though, I summoned up all my resolve and rose from my bed. I crossed to the doors and walked on until I was standing at the head of the stairway to the hall. The woman was below me, at the foot of the stairs. She had pulled her hood up again. Then the door to my husband’s study opened and the foreign gentleman walked out He had papers under his arm.’

  ‘The foreigner, describe him.’

  ‘Large, black-bearded, as I said, dark-skinned.’

  ‘And what did he do? He approached the woman?’

  ‘Yes. She seemed to speak to him, though I didn’t hear her words, and they both of them turned to look up at me. Their faces were quite blank, and their eyes gleamed terribly…’

  Dr Eliot’s frown increased. ‘And so what happened next?’

  ‘The woman took the gentleman’s arm. He still had the papers. They turned and walked away across the hall, disappearing from my view. I hurried down the stairway and saw them as they walked through the open front door. I ran across the hall and out into the street, but though I looked both ways I could see no trace of them. It was as though they had vanished on the early-morning light. I returned inside and woke the servants. We inspected the contents of the house carefully, but there was no sign of any burglary. Even in my husband’s study, no drawer or cabinet seemed to have been forced. Everything was exactly as I remembered it’

  ‘You mentioned the open front door. Had that been forced?’

  ‘Not that I could see.’

  ‘A window, perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Certainly not obviously.’

  ‘So how do you think they entered, Lady Mowberley?’

  ‘I confess, I am baffled. Indeed, in the hours following the episode I began to believe myself the victim of some hallucination conjured up from my troubled brain, and I worried, as I told you, that I might be turning mad. Then, however, came the morning post. Amongst the letters was one without a stamp. I read it at once. I am afraid – yes, afraid, Dr Eliot – that I am not mad at all.’

  I had the letter with me. I pulled it out, and handed it across. Dr Eliot read it and his face darkened. Yes, Lucy, it was that same printed message that I have told you of before: ‘I HAVE SEEN G. MURDERED.’ Dr Eliot studied the letter, then he rose and crossed to a lamp on his desk. ‘I thought as much,’ he said, turning bade to me. ‘This letter was surely posted by a woman.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ I asked him, rising to my feet.

  He pointed out some smudged marks on the back of the letter. ‘This is powder,’ he said. ‘The letter has been written on a table which has also been used for the application of cosmetics. You will observe that the marks are quite pronounced. I would judge that the writer of this letter is in the habit of applying a great deal of powder to her face.’ He turned to the envelope and held it to the light. ‘Yes,’ he said, pointing to a mark by the edge. ‘See the sheen? This is grease-paint. The evidence is irrefutable.’

  Irrefutable, dear Lucy. I am prepared to accept that the Doctor is right. What class of woman, then, should I suspect of writing the letter to me? One, I dread to mention; the other, of course, you represent yourself. Lucy – I am desperate and so I must be blunt. I know of no actress save yourself, and certainly of no actress who would also be an intimate of George. Did you write me the letter? You do not see me as your friend, I know, but George you love, and it is in his name that I appeal to you. If it was not you who wrote to me, then I must fear the very worst – both that George is dead, and that before his murder he was betraying me. I cannot believe such a thing of him, however. I cannot. Therefore, again, I appeal to you. Did you write the letter? And if you did, will you please – please, dear Lucy – help Dr Eliot?

  For I must tell you now that he has agreed to take on the case. I have mentioned your name in association with the letter, and so I suspect he will shortly be visiting you. Do not feel threatened by him. Even if it was not you who wrote the letter, I am certain you will be able to afford him some assistance. I have given you all the details of this mystery, as I understand them, both because I think that it is time you knew the truth and because you will be better able to help with the case. Do not reject my appeal, dearest Lucy – both for George’s and your own sake.

  I am, although you do not believe it, your very dear friend,

  ROSAMUND, LADY MOWBERLEY.

  Postscript. I add this late at night. Dr Eliot called round this evening. I was surprised to see him. He had told me on my visit this morning that it would take him some time to sort his surgery out, but not as long, it would seem, as he had originally thought. ‘Llewellyn, my colleague at the surgery, has been away for three weeks’, he told me as the footman took his hat. ‘The least he can do is to act as my locum for a couple of days.’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘That is all the time you think you will require?’

  He shrugged. ‘We shall have to see.’ Then he began to stare around the hall. I guessed that he wished to inspect George’s study, so I indicated it to him and followed him as he walked through the door. For several minutes he stalked around the room, rather like a bloodhound sniffing out its prey. ‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘I can find no trace of a forced entry through the windows, but this’ – he indicated the surface of the desk – ‘is of some interest.’

  I stared at it, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  ‘I am assuming,’ said Dr Eliot, ‘that you have forbidden the servants entry here since last night?’

  I agreed that I had. ‘I wanted to leave it as I found it,’ I told him.

  ‘Excellent,’ he exclaimed. ‘The over-zealous housemaid can be the bane of an investigator’s life. Now observe closely, Lady Mowberley. There is a very thin layer of dust on the desk. It is even everywhere, except for here.’ He pointed. ‘You see? A rectangle which exactly fits this red-lined box – here.’

  He had stalked across the room to another table, on which one of George’s Government boxes had been placed. ‘Clearly,’ he said, ‘this was moved last night and must therefore have been the object of your intruder’s attentions. What is in it?’

  ‘George’s papers,’ I replied.

  ‘Relating to the Bill on the Indian frontier?’

  ‘Presumably.’

  ‘Well then, let us see.’ Dr Eliot pressed down the catches on the box. ‘Locked,’ he muttered. He peered down at the box. ‘Again, no sign of it having been forced.’r />
  ‘Perhaps the intruder was alerted by his companion before he could open it?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Dr Eliot furrowed his brow. ‘Do you have the key?’

  ‘I do not’

  ‘Very well.’ He felt in his pocket. ‘I trust the India Office will forgive me for this.’ I observed that he had a small piece of wire in his hand which he fitted in the lock. He twisted and jiggled it and at last, after several faded attempts, I heard the lock give. Dr Eliot smiled. ‘The thieves of Lahore swear by this little tool,’ he said, slipping the ‘key’ back into his pocket. Then he opened the lid of the box. He stood back, and I gasped. For, Lucy – imagine my horror – there was nothing there! The papers were gone!

  Dr Eliot, however, seemed positively gratified. ‘We had to expect this, of course,’ he said as he glanced round the study again. ‘I doubt we will find much more of interest here. Lady Mowberley, I would like to see your bedroom now, if I may.’

  Still stunned by the magnitude of the crime we had just uncovered, I led him upstairs. Again, Dr Eliot prowled around the room. By my cabinet de toilette he paused and frowned. Then he picked up my bottle of medicine. ‘This is for helping you to cope with the London air?’ he asked.

  I told him that it was.

  ‘It is full,’ he said, almost accusingly.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I have only just begun it.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Do you still have the bottle that you had finished before that?’

  ‘The maid would have thrown it away.’

  ‘Could you retrieve it?’

  I rang for the housemaid and ordered her to bring the empty bottle up to me. ‘You surely don’t suspect,’ I asked Dr Eliot as we waited, ‘that someone might have been drugging me?’

  He looked round at me. ‘It is suggestive, is it not, that you should have been woken by your mysterious woman on the very night that you had changed your medicine?’

  ‘Dr Eliot, what are you implying?’

  He ignored my question. ‘You had always slept soundly,’ he inquired, ‘before last night?’

  I agreed that I had. ‘But why would anyone have been drugging me?’ I persisted.