“You don’t know that it was Miss Jade, eh?”
“But we know as ’owMiss Jade ’as been out late at night, don’t we?” countered Bisker in defence.
“Very well! We’ll leave it at that. It was a woman, butwho, we don’t know. Will you stay here a little longer?”
“Too right! As long as you like.”
“Good! Stay here until I come back to you. I may be away for some time. I am going into the house by the scullery door.”
The shadowy form that had been just above him slippedaway, and Bisker did not see Bony, or hear him, depart.
Chapter Twenty-one
The Prowler
STOOPING BEFORE the scullery door, Bony felt for the key beneath the brick, and with it let himself into the house, then pocketed the key and closed the door behind him. With the shutting of the door the orchestra of the wind played with only one violin and one drum muffled.
Within the house the inner silence was profound, and Bony leaned back against the door and gave himself a full minute of meditation. He could be sure that the woman Bisker had seen enter by that door had been Miss Jade, and that by now she would have reached her room and probably was in bed and asleep. The man who had entered by the front door presented a far different problem because even a guess could not be hazarded to establish him. Bony could not know if he were one of the guests, or a burglar. If one of the guests, then he could assume that this guest had gone to his room and by now was in bed, if not actually asleep. If a burglar, then he would be very much awake and somewhere in the house engaged in his unlawful occupation. In consequence, a burglar would be much more a menace to Bony’s plans for that night than a guest.
In his left hand, Bony held a swithy-stick, cut from the bush that evening, green and resilient and about four feet in length. Why does a cat grow whiskers from above each eye if not for the purpose of being warned by them that an obstruction was immediately before it, an obstruction not seen in complete darkness? Bony’s swithy-stick was intended for similar use to avoid running against any object which might fall with a clatter, and to avoid tripping over an object and producing the same result. With the stick held before him, he gently prodded with it whilst he crossed the scullery to the connecting doorway with the kitchen. He felt that he would not contact any probable burglar until after he had left the kitchen, and therefore, when he gained the passage beyond the kitchen, he leaned against a wall and listened, listened for full sixty seconds which, under such circumstances, take a long time in passing.
He was aware that this passage was approximately twenty-five feet in length, and that at its far end was the serving door to the lounge. The passage was bisected by another. Along the left angle were the reception hall and theoffice, whilst along the right angle were the wine-store, the steward’s room, a lumber room and three bedrooms occupied by the staff.
If the man observed by Bony to enter the house by the front door was a burglar, then he could be expected firstly to be operating in the office, secondly in the wine-store, and thirdly, well, anywhere. He must be first located before Bony could execute the work he had planned to do.
With his “cat’s whisker” feeling the way hidden even to his keen eyes, Bony moved soundlessly over the linoleum covering the passage floor. On reaching the cross-passage, he moved along that to the reception-hall door, now walking on carpet. The door was open, and this did not disturb him because he had not once seen that door closed save on that day the police held their enquiry in Miss Jade’s office.
The wall clock in the reception hall ticked loudly, but although Bony gave another minute to listening, he could hear no sound other than the ticking clock and the wind in the trees outside the house. Familiar with the furnishing of the hall, he crossed to the door of the office, finding that closed and knowing that it was fitted with a Yale lock. With his ear pressed against the wood, he listened intently, and eventually decided that the unknown man was not working within on Miss Jade’s safe.
Now for the second target. Using the swithy-stick like a rapier, he re-crossed the reception hall to find that he had missed the door by about two feet and was warned by the stick that he had come up against the corner of a straight-backed chair. Out through the door and along the passage, across the passage from lounge to kitchen, and without the slightest relaxation of caution, eventually he reached the door of the wine-store, a door also fitted with a Yale lock. Against this door he leaned with his ear pressing the cold woodwork.
No sound came from within. Other than the moan of the wind outside the house and the ticking of the wall clock in the reception hall, the interior of the house presented to him the silence of a bank’s vault. He had his ear still pressed to the door of the wine-store when from farther along the passage a door was softly opened. Normal ears, perhaps, would not have registered the sound, and much later, when he recalled this moment, he was undecided if it were sound or change of air pressure which gave him the warning.
The door of the wine-store was, fortunately, only five feet from the cross-passage and with two swift strides he was round the angle and peering back, confident that he had made no sound betraying him. Listening, he heard no further sound from beyond the wine-store-until he detected a minute noise of periodic rasping slowly becoming more distinct.
His mother’s blood wastingling his neck and the roots of his hair; his father’s blood was flowing strongly through his heart. The aboriginal half of him was widening his nostrils and dilating his eyes and urging him to flee from the unseen terror; the white half of him was holding him to that corner, controlling his limbs and his mind.
Bony knew what it was-that faint rasping sound becoming slowly more distinct. It was being made by the hand of a man who was otherwise silently approaching, the hand sliding along the wall to guide him through the absolute darkness.
Himself making no sound, not even the slightest rasping noise, Bony, with the aid of his “cat’s whisker,” slipped along to the door of the reception hall, and there turned and again waited-listening. Now he could hear nothing. The moments passed. The ticking of the clock in the hall had become hammer blows in his ears and he wished that he had stopped it.
The light glow appeared at first as brilliant as a searchlight. He thought it could not fail to reveal him to the man at the point where the passages crossed, and then instantly realised that it was not sufficiently strong, that it was the light of an electric torch shining through two or more folds of a silk handkerchief. Thus dimmed, it would not reveal anything beyond two or three feet to the man holding it.
The light went out, but before it was switched off, Bony saw that the man was about to enter that passage leading to the lounge. He walked swiftly to the crossing of the passages-to peer round the corner, holding his breathing the better to hear.
The light was switched on again, and this time Bony made out the figure of the man as he was about to turn down the passage between the dining room and the lounge door, the passage leading to the guests’ bedrooms. Again the light was extinguished. Bony counted three and then, with less necessity for caution with his feet as the floor was carpeted he gained the turn-off passage to the bedrooms, where he stood hugging the wall angle as he peered with useless eyes into the blank space of total darkness.
The light did not come again, and Bony was reasonably sure that it had been switched on only to guide the man into passages leading him to his room. So, after all, it was a guest and not a burglar. But that argument was wrong, surely! If a guest, he could have left the house by his bedroom window and could have returned by that way. If a guest intent on nefarious business, then why had he left the house, and later entered it by the front door? If not a guest, why had he entered the passage to the bedrooms?
Only five of the twenty-six rooms were occupied, the occupants being Raymond Leslie, Downes, Lee, Sleeman and himself.
These questions hammered at his brain almost as loudly as the ticking clock had done. Had the man mistaken his way? Was he even then returning? Bony
could hear nothing whatsoever. He waited with the “cat’s whisker” held before him, his legs tensed to spring backward at the instant the top of his stick contacted a body.
Then once more he felt the infinitesimal alteration of air pressure and knew that the man had opened one of the bedroom doors. The same alteration of pressure did not occur again, and Bony understood why when visualising that the man would close the door with greater precaution and with slower action than he had when he opened it.
He had certainly entered one of the twenty-six rooms, five of which were occupied. Which room? It seemed unreasonable to accept the premise that he had entered an unoccupied room for the purpose of leaving the house by its window. That would pre-suppose that he knew which of the rooms were unoccupied and which were occupied, and that would further pre-suppose that he must be a guest to know the answer. Bony felt safe in assuming that the man was one of the guests. Still, why break into the house by using the front door?
Now sure that the man had entered one of the rooms, Bony proceeded to move along the passage on the side where were the five occupied rooms, his own being the last. Then he remembered that outside the doors of the occupied rooms would be a guest’s shoes against which he might kick with a foot. Following that thought, another flashed into his mind. Assuming that the man he had followed was a guest, that man’s shoes might not yet be placed outside his door to await Bisker’s early-morning attention.
With the “cat’s whisker” trembling before him, Bony passed along the passage, his left hand barely touching the wall. He came to a closed door, then a second, a third, and the fourth, behind which slept, or should be sleeping, Raymond Leslie. Yes, there were Leslie’s large shoes close to the foot of the door. Bony stepped over them and went on. He passed the fifth door and the sixth, and came to the seventh, and at the foot of the door he felt with the stick the large shoes of Mr. Lee. He could hear Mr. Lee snoring beyond the door.
The next room was occupied by Downes, anda pair of shoes were outside that door. Bony passed three more empty rooms and then came to the door of Sleeman’s room. And outside this door there were no shoes.
The next door to be reached was his own, and at his feet were his day shoes as he had placed them before leaving his room by the window. Bony silently and slowly opened the door and passed inside, where he turned about and leant against the frame so that he could keep watch along the passage, and also keep one ear directed to the interior of the room, where the stealthy gentleman with the masked torch might be.
He had been there for perhaps five minutes when for the third time he felt the alteration in air pressure as a door was opened. That was all. There was no sound. No light was switched on. Which of the twenty-six doors in that passage had been opened, he could not distinguish, and whether the door opener had left to steal back along the passage to the front door, or had re-closed the bedroom door, Bony could not decide.
The only sound to register upon his ear-drums was the ticking of the clock in his own room. The overall noise of the wind outside the house appeared to come as from a great distance and failed to master possible sounds within.
Bony waited at his door for many minutes. No light was flashed on to indicate that the intruder had reached the far angle of the passage, and presently he came to believe that the door had been opened to enable a pair of shoes to be placed in the passage for Bisker to clean. That could have been done only by Sleeman, whose shoes had not been outside the door when Bony had passed.
Bony left his doorway and slipped along the passage wall to the door of the next room. At its foot he felt with the stick a pair of shoes. The door was shut. Bony pressed his ear to the panel, and brought his eye to the key-hole. The key prevented his seeing into the room even had the light been on. And as he stooped he heard from within the faint creaking of a wire mattress.
So it was Sleeman whom he had followed, who had left a room in the passage beyond the wine-store. Surely he had not been visiting one of the maids! Their rooms were in that passage where the wine-store, the steward’s room, and the lumber room. And why had Sleeman entered the house by the front door?
Had the man who had entered by the front door been Sleeman? Had Sleeman been out of his room on an amorous adventure leaving his room by the door and returning by the door and was the man who had entered by the front door still prowling about the house somewhere?
Because he, Bony, chose to enter the house by the scullery door instead of through his bedroom window through which he had gone out, it would seem most unlikely that Sleeman had had a similar reason for leaving the house through his bedroom window and entering it by the front door. Bony had chosen to enter by the scullery door because he wanted to examine the lumber room and, perhaps, the room occupied by George, and these rooms could be more easily reached by way of the scullery than through his bedroom. He decided to have a word with Bisker.
Locking his bedroom door and slipping the key into a pocket, he climbed out of his window for a second time that night and eventually, for the second time, clamped a hand about one of Bisker’s ankles.
“Seen anything?” he breathed into Bisker’s ear.
“Not a thing but a star trying to peep out now and then,” answered Bisker. “How did you get on?”
“Well enough. You did not see or hear anyone leaving by the front door?”
“No. I seennothink and ’eardnothinkbar theblinkin ’ wind.”
“You know Sleeman’s room, don’t you?”
“Number seventeen it is.”
“When did you clean the windows of that room last?”
“ ’Bouta fortnight ago.”
“Do they open and close all right?” pressed Bony.
“No,” replied Bisker. “The bottom one jams so badly that it can’t be raised. There’s only one set-not two sets like yours. Miss Jade wasgonna get it fixed, but the carpenter hasn’t been.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Early in the Morning
ONCE AGAIN in the scullery with the closed door behind him, Bony spent a minute listening before proceeding into the kitchen and from there to the cross-passages. Here he waited, listening for two minutes, becoming confident that his presence was unknown to anyone within the house. Almost, but not quite, he had dismissed the presence of a second prowler as an improbability.
However, he did press an ear against the door of the wine-store and could detect no sound from within. The next door he came to was that of the steward’s room, and although he halted here for a few minutes, he did not enter but went on to the door of the room given over to lumber. Outside this door, he also paused to listen, to be assured that no one was within, before returning to George’s bedroom.
He had with him a bunch of skeleton keys provided by Colonel Blythe when first the Grumman case was assigned to him, but he found on trying the door that it was unlocked and that the key was on the inside. Silently closing the door, he stood for a little while listening. Then he switched on his torch, over the bulb of which he had wrapped his handkerchief.
There was no one there-just as he had thought. He turned to the door and withdrew the key and directed the subdued light of the torch to it. He saw that it was covered withoil, and that the oil was old and not applied that night. Inserting the key, he locked the door.
The blind was down. On the single bed, the blankets were folded neatly at its foot, and on them were the folded sheets and the pillows. The mattress was rolled into a cylinder at the head of the bed, and this struck Bony as queer because George was to be away only the one night.
There were no washing facilities in this room. There was a chest of drawers and on thatwas a stand mirror and the man’s shaving and toilet gear. This was all of excellent quality. A pair of ivory-backed hairbrushes lay beside the leather case. There were pots of shaving cream and hair pomade, a couple of combs and several tooth-brushes and a tube of dentifrice. There were, too, three photographs of groups within small and cheap frames.
All these articles displayed in t
he dimmed beam of the torch indicated that the owner was careless and slovenly in his habits, and George had not revealed this trait at any time to the observant Bony. There on the bed was displayed neatness in the folding of the bed-clothes, when such folding arrangement appeared to be unnecessary. Here on the chest of drawers all was chaotic. He proceeded to examine the contents of the four drawers of the chest. In them were underwear, shirts and collars, socks and a sports suit. The shirts were washed and ironed. There were five of them and the laundress had folded and ironed them as though they were intended for shop sale. Bony took each from the drawer and closely examined them-to find that the creases and the folds were out of the original. The shirts had been “opened” out and then roughly refolded before being put back into the drawer.
Next Bony gave his attention to a leather steamer trunk, old but still in good condition. The lock was evidently out of order, the lid being kept fastened with only one of three buckle straps. Within lay more garments-a dressing gown, several older shirts, a suit of navy-blue serge, several pairs of shoes, and books and unframed photographs of people on ships and of ships. The contents of this trunk smelled heavily of moth repellent.
Bony went carefully over the blue suit, the trousers of which were keenly creased, as were the sleeves of the coat. The repellent was the same as that which he had noticed on the suit of the man who had held up both Bisker and himself and had taken the empty fountain pens.
Replacing the contents of the trunk, Bony closed down the lid and proceeded to direct his torch into corners and under the bed and the chest of drawers. Beneath the bed was another pair of ordinary shoes and a pair of good-quality tennis shoes. On pegs affixed to the door hung an overcoat and an old felt hat. Questions! Standing and leaning against the wall in the darkness following the switching off of the torch, Bony asked questions and sought their answers.
Was the blue suit in the trunk that worn by the gunman? It was similar. It smelled of the same moth repellent, of which there are many, which had clung to the gunman’s clothes. And the old felt hat on the peg looked something like the gunman’s hat.
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