by John Creasey
‘Am I entitled to ask you what you were doing here?’
‘Well, I don’t have to ask you. I know what you were doing,’ said the other. ‘I do wonder if this is the best place for a heart to-heart talk. Shall we go to your room?’
‘We may as well.’
It was Palfrey’s companion who opened the bedroom door and, when they were inside, promptly turned the key in the lock. So the key was back again.
‘I keep pausing to wonder who you are,’ said Palfrey.
‘Oh, yes. Remiss of me. A nephew of King Rufus. Only son of his second sister, whom you have met, I believe. Rachel, a sister of Rufus. Don’t let that worry you,’ went on the stranger. ‘I am not on good terms with any of the family. By name I am Bruce, for my father was a Scotsman and a McDonald at that. You are burning with curiosity to know how I came to be in the gallery tonight, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I spied a stranger,’ said McDonald.
‘Meaning me?’
‘Good Lord, no! You aren’t a stranger. You are Public Hero No. 1 at Morne House. I fancy he wore a mask or grease paint, or something. He knows the place pretty well, because he was coming out of the priest hole in the West passage. My room is near there. In fact, I could hear movement in the priest hole and was looking out of my door.’
‘How long ago was this?’ asked Palfrey.
‘About one o’clock. I had finished a session with Gerry, who is always a trial, and was solacing myself with a mild dose of Old Bill when I heard the rustling and rumbling. So out I popped. This fellow went straight to the minstrel gallery and waited there. I also waited. Then you came along. Breathtaking, wasn’t it?’
‘You were slow,’ said Palfrey.
‘Oh, no. I wanted to catch you with the goods,’ said McDonald. ‘How did you come to know of that hiding-place? As far as I knew, only two people had ever discovered it.’
‘You and your cousin,’ said Palfrey. ‘She told me.’ He explained at some length, including the broken teeth of Halsted’s youth. McDonald listened wide-eyed, then said: ‘That’s like Loretta! This little packet that I’ve got in my pocket ought to be interesting, don’t you think?’ He put his hand to his pocket and kept it there. ‘Before we open it, oughtn’t we to come to some kind of understanding?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Loretta’s behaviour makes it pretty clear that she was anxious that the police should learn nothing of this,’ said McDonald. ‘Of course, in some circumstances, we might have to tell the police, but not as a matter of routine. Is that understood?’
‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.
‘Good!’ said McDonald, and took the papers out.
6: THE PAPERS
There were three papers in all; two were folded and white, the third was rolled and looked like thin tracing paper, with a blue tint. McDonald handed one of the white pieces to Palfrey and unfolded the other himself. Palfrey glanced down at a set of figures; nothing else but figures in two columns, which seemed to mean nothing at all. They were not totalled, there was no word of explanation, nor was there anything in the way of a key.
‘What’s yours?’ asked McDonald, and handed his to Palfrey.
The second paper was a list of numbers, 1 to 26, and opposite each was a letter of the alphabet. The first line of letters ran straight from A to Z, the others were jumbled.
McDonald looked up, his eyes bright.
‘Message and code,’ he said.
The sheet of tracing paper was a foot wide and some eighteen inches long. As it opened, Palfrey looked eagerly for the drawing. McDonald was equally expectant. When it was nearly unrolled, they glanced up and met each other’s gaze.
‘It can’t be blank!’ protested McDonald.
Palfrey pulled. ‘It is,’ he said. Then he suggested: ‘Invisible ink?’
‘Not on tracing paper, surely. The glaze won’t take it.’
‘I’m no expert,’ said Palfrey, ‘but I think we’ll find, eventually, that there is something on the sheet and that it relates in some way to the two lists. I don’t see that we can do ourselves much good by worrying over it tonight.’
‘Well, who’s going to keep these things safe for the night? Others might know we’ve been wandering about, you know.’
‘Yes. I’d taken it for granted that we would make copies of the figures and letters and have one apiece,’ said Palfrey. ‘The sheet of tracing paper is a different kettle of fish.’
‘Keep the thing under your pillow.’
‘So you’ll allow me to have it?’
‘I have a feeling that you’re more qualified than I,’ said McDonald. He was making a copy of the letters and figures. ‘We ought to say a great deal more than we have, of course, but you’ll be here in the morning, won’t you?’
‘I don’t want to leave it too late. I’m going to Wenlock.’
‘Then I’ll come with you. I can pop in to see Loretta. Good night!’
Palfrey opened the door. He looked along the passage and was surprised to find the guard missing. McDonald hurried down the stairs, remarkably light on his feet. Palfrey waved to him and turned back to his room, but he had not reached it when he heard his name called in a sibilant hiss. He hurried back to the landing. Looking over the great staircase, he saw McDonald kneeling over a huddled figure close to the fireplace. He hurried down.
‘Two of ‘em,’ said McDonald. ‘This one’s all right, I think. Just knocked out.’ He pointed to the shadowy corner by the fireplace, and Palfrey saw a second policeman.
Neither man was badly hurt. After ten minutes both were conscious and one was talking freely, defending himself desperately. He had not seen or heard anyone; he had just been knocked over the head on the way to the minstrel gallery, after Palfrey. One man was to stay within sight of Palfrey’s room, to make sure no one went inside if Palfrey were out; the other was to dog Palfrey’s footsteps. Hardy had forgotten nothing, but the silent prowler at Morne House had outmatched them both.
‘I’ll find out who it was,’ growled one of Hardy’s men.
Palfrey said sharply: ‘Not yet. I don’t want it known that I was prowling tonight. Nurse your heads and report to the inspector as soon as you can, but don’t give anything away here. You’re Sergeant Whittle, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Will you do as I ask?’
‘I suppose it is best,’ said Whittle, reluctantly. ‘It’s not much use us being here as far as I can see. You have to be born in the place to know every door and passage.’
‘Never did man speak truer words,’ declared McDonald. ‘Give it up, except for one thing. Look after Dr. Palfrey!’
Not even the bright sun of next morning could rid the moor of its aspect of utter desolation.
A mile beyond the gateway. Palfrey glanced over his shoulder and looked back at Morne House. It was taller than he had realized, dark and forbidding, and it seemed to absorb the rays of the sun, getting no light from them.
An A.A. box stood at some cross-roads, at the foot of a hill which led towards the main Wenlock Range. The range looked bright and friendly in the sun; nothing suggested the brooding menace of the cliff. Had the cliff incident happened only last night?
Palfrey was on edge now to see Drusilla. But first he must ring Hardy. He talked of Ross.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Hardy. ‘I’m on to that poisoning, of course, but I ought to say that Ross has a first-class reputation.’
‘How did you get on to it?’ asked Palfrey, sharply.
‘Whittle’s reported,’ said Hardy. ‘The man drank your tea; obviously you were to go to sleep while driving. You needn’t worry about it. I’ll tell you everything I find out when I see you. Unless you’re still thinking of returning to London today,’ Hardy added, slyly.
‘It will have to be tomorrow,’ said Palfrey.
‘Splendid! By the way, I telephoned your wife a couple of hours ago. She’s fully recovered.’
Thanks very much,’ said Palfrey,
gratefully.
When he rejoined McDonald, Palfrey explained to him how he came to be at Morne House. ‘Now it’s my turn to put a question,’ he finished. ‘Did you know there was trouble brewing?’
‘I had no idea,’ said McDonald. ‘I’ve been abroad, you know. Navy. I’m on long leave now. I arrived in London ten days ago, dropped Loretta a line and asked her when she was coming to Town. The next I knew was Loretta’s accident. I came down immediately, and heard the whole story.’
They were on the top of the hill, looking down into Wenlock, which was at its best in the midday sun. Over the town, the twin towers of the seventeenth-century abbey watched with the benevolence of benign, unquestioned authority. Out of the wooded grounds, now bare of leaves, peeped the roofs of houses, red, green, blue and soft yellow; all seemed to face the bay. Out to sea, brown sails fully spread, a fishing fleet was moving slowly homewards. To the north, the gaunt edges of the cliffs gave the only sombre note.
‘Before the flare-up last night there was a family pow-wow,’ McDonald went on. ‘Rufus, my mother and Dinah – you know Dinah, don’t you – on the one side, and Uncle Claude and Gerry on the other. I was neutral. Uncle Claude and Gerry stuck to the theory that Loretta’s fall was an accident and that Halsted’s death had nothing to do with his coming visit to the house. Rufus led the faction which believed it was murder. The upshot was that Rufus said he had faith in your judgment and hoped you would stay in the district long enough to help to find the solution. Must you go back to London?’
‘Yes,’ said Palfrey. He was silent for a long time and conscious of McDonald’s steady gaze. ‘But I needn’t stay there long.’
‘I hope you’ll come back,’ said McDonald. ‘Turn right here, then down the hill and turn left – that’s if you want the Esplanade Hotel first.’
‘I do, thanks.’
‘There was some talk about this fellow Garth,’ McDonald went on. ‘I haven’t placed him yet. Once I knew that he was bedridden practically all the time he stayed at the house, I didn’t greatly worry. What I want to do is to find the swine who tried to murder Loretta. Does Garth come into it much?’
‘As Loretta’s fiancé –’
‘What!’ The exclamation came so violently that Palfrey was really startled.
‘Didn’t you know that?’ he asked.
‘It’s damned nonsense.’
‘Your Uncle Rufus told me of it himself,’ said Palfrey.
‘Do you mean to say he allowed Loretta to become engaged to a man he didn’t know? A stranger? A – No. Palfrey, I’ll never believe it! It doesn’t make sense,’ said McDonald. ‘I can’t believe that Rufus –’
He broke off, and, after turning into a main road, with the bay immediately in front of them and tall hotels rising into the sky, Palfrey murmured: ‘Unless pressure was brought on Sir Rufus to agree.’
‘I’d just thought of that,’ said McDonald, slowly. ‘But it doesn’t add up, Palfrey. Rufus and I don’t get along, but I can’t believe that he has ever done anything which would lay him open to blackmail. He’s killed my affection for him, but not my respect. As a matter of fact, he’s the nearest thing to a perfect human being I’m ever likely to meet. His life is a model.’
‘In spite of which, he accepted Garth as Loretta’s husband-to-be,’ said Palfrey.
McDonald said nothing. Palfrey reached the promenade, called in Wenlock the Esplanade, and, on McDonald’s instructions, turned left. The Esplanade Hotel was a double-turreted, white building set in small but pleasant grounds and standing on a corner. Palfrey pulled up. ‘I’ll wait here,’ said McDonald, and took out a pipe.
‘Right-ho,’ said Palfrey, and turned to go into the hotel. As he did so, something struck him on the shoulder, not heavily, but enough to alarm him. He swung round. He saw a man disappearing round the corner and heard something fall to the ground. He ran to the corner, but the man was out of sight.
Slowly he turned and looked round. On the pavement lay a ball of paper.
McDonald got out of the car quickly as Palfrey examined the missile. It was, in fact, a stone wrapped in paper. He opened the paper and smoothed it out, and was beginning to read when Drusilla came out of the gateway and called: ‘Sap, what’s happened?’
He raised his head and smiled warmly. Drusilla looked at her lovely best, hatless, wearing a green woollen dress, her, eyes sparkling with gladness at seeing him.
‘Hallo, my sweet! Nothing to worry about.’ He gripped her hand. ‘Someone threw a stone wrapped in paper and this is what it says,’ declared Palfrey, looking at the paper again. “Meet me at the green cottage with the parrot in the window in Cheddar Gorge. Say Monday, 2.30 p.m. N.K.”’
‘N.K.,’ repeated Drusilla, blankly. ‘Do you know him?’
The American’s merry face appeared in Palfrey’s mind’s eye.
‘I know him slightly,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘The man has an eye for the spectacular.’
‘Why should he want you to meet him anywhere?’ asked Drusilla.
‘Perhaps he has taken to me,’ said Palfrey dryly. ‘I’ll tell you the long, long story soon, my sweet.’ He looked at McDonald and said gravely: ‘This is Bruce McDonald, a nephew of Sir Rufus Morne. You should be good friends. He saved me from breaking my neck last night. He can tell you everything while I go and see Hardy,’ he declared. ‘I – Oh, confound it! Hardy is in Corbin.’
‘He telephoned to say that he would be here for lunch,’ said Drusilla.
Hardy arrived at half past one, but he was not alone. With him was a big, blond man of middle-age, a handsome giant of a fellow, with wavy hair, a big bushy moustache, and the bluest of blue eyes; a man to like at sight.
The Palfreys and McDonald were waiting in the lounge when they arrived. Hardy looked somewhat put out when he saw McDonald.
‘I knew you would not mind me bringing Colonel Cartwright along,’ he said to Palfrey. ‘He is our Chief Constable.’
‘Oh. Delighted,’ murmured Palfrey, shaking hands. ‘My wife – Mr. McDonald. The head waiter tells me that at your request they’ve laid a table in a separate room for us.’
‘I thought we could talk more freely in private,’ said Hardy, and glanced at McDonald.
‘Not my show,’ McDonald said, quickly.
‘I hope you’ll stay,’ said Palfrey.
‘No, thanks. I’ll be available afterwards, if you want me,’ said McDonald. He smiled and went off, and Palfrey tactfully did not insist. McDonald, undoubtedly, had quickly sensed that he was not wanted.
Cartwright took command. He had, of course, been in close touch with the case from the moment it had broken, and Hardy had passed on everything that Palfrey had reported. Cartwright made it clear that he warmly appreciated Palfrey’s interest and his guidance. They felt fortunate, he said, that Palfrey had been called to Morne House. Did Palfrey believe that there was bad feeling there?
‘I mean among the members of the household.’
‘I wouldn’t say so,’ said Palfrey. ‘There is strain. No one has given me any hint that he or she thinks the murderer can be identified, if that’s what you mean.’
‘That is interesting,’ said Cartwright. ‘Most interesting. Have you drawn any further conclusions, Palfrey?’
‘No. I feel now as I did before. There is evil lurking in that house. One senses it. There’s danger, too, and a keen dislike of prowling strangers.’ He told Hardy and Cartwright of the attempt to toss him over the balcony.
Hardy said, after a pause: ‘Could it have been McDonald?’
‘No. I heard footsteps on the gallery and also on the stairs at one and the same time. I also heard a door close. This morning, McDonald showed me the door – it’s in a corner of the gallery, covered by a tapestry. I would never have noticed it, although anyone could have found it by moving the tapestry aside. No, whoever attacked me, it wasn’t McDonald. It wasn’t necessarily a member of the family. And the place is so vast. I have seen a few of the servants, but there may be dozens I haven’t
met. One could live at Morne House for a month and be unaware of others living under the same roof.’ He rolled a piece of bread between his fingers, and went on: ‘I doubt whether I am telling you anything new. Your man Whittle was right last night, Hardy, when he said that he would want an army to cover that place properly.’
‘Yet it must be covered,’ said Cartwright.
Palfrey eyed him brightly. ‘Why? Because of the suspected attempt to murder Loretta Morne? Hardly justification, I fancy, for leaving men there indefinitely. Murder would be a different matter. Unless I am wrong about the law, you’ve no right to have men living there at the moment. Have you?’
‘None at all.’
‘And the man who softened that wood might have come in from the outside,’ Palfrey said. ‘Or it might have been the fellow Garth. Nothing known about Garth, I suppose?’
‘Nothing,’ said Cartwright.
‘Awkward situation,’ said Palfrey. ‘Switch over to Halsted, and what have you? Reasonable evidence, but evidence which might not hold in a court of law, that Rufus Morne visited the pool where Halsted’s body was found. I drew conclusions, but they need not be the right ones.’
Cartwright said slowly: ‘I think you were right, Palfrey. Those bloodhounds would have left the pool and continued the trail if Morne had not been about there when you arrived. It’s curious that he pretended to be surprised that a body had been recovered from the pool.’
‘Curious, but not damning,’ answered Palfrey. ‘Now, Colonel, cards on the table! Last night you had the sanatorium very thoroughly guarded. You took other precautions which might have been thought excessive. You say that Morne House must be covered. None of these things really square up with the situation as I know it. Mind you, I’ve no right to ask for an explanation, but what I notice, other people might also notice.’
‘I’m not so sure that they would,’ said Cartwright, with a pleasant smile. ‘I don’t think it will surprise you if I say that we have been watching Morne House, from a distance, for some months. You’ve got the details more clearly than I have, Hardy; you tell them.’
