The Silver Ghost

by Charlotte MacLeod

  “Mr. Hohnser is a fund of information on roses,” said Cook.

  “He is that,” her husband confirmed. “I’m primarily a dahlia man myself, but roses are a fascinating subject, as you no doubt well know. We can’t grow them here except for a few ramblers down back that don’t offer much scope for horticultural finesse, so when Mr. Hohnser wants to talk roses, I’m perfectly happy to listen.”

  “My husband is an excellent listener,” Cook further exerted herself to remark.

  “I may say the same of yourself, my dear,” Bob replied courteously. “Anyway, Mrs. Bittersohn, what I’m getting at in my circumlocutious way is that I wouldn’t have had time to go into Rufe’s bedroom even if I’d had the inclination, which frankly I didn’t. It would seem like an intrusion, if you see what I mean. I’d never have gone without being invited while he was alive, so why should I take the liberty now? I grant you the notion is emotional rather than rational and I expect I’ll feel different once he’s properly planted, but there it is.”

  “What about you, Cook?” Sarah asked. “I was thinking perhaps someone from the house asked you to choose the clothes to lay him out in.”

  “Mrs. Billingsgate did consult with me in the matter. I told her, ‘Mrs. Billingsgate, I said, ‘Rufe never had any clothes except his working clothes and that old tweed jacket with the elbows out. Why don’t we bury him in that suit you made him for the revel? That’s what Rufe would have wanted, Mrs. Billingsgate,’ I said. ‘He was proud of that suit. It touched him, Mrs. Billingsgate’, I said, ‘you going to all that work of making him a suit with your own two hands.’ Rufe was talking of it Saturday night in this very room,” she added with a decorously suppressed sniffle.

  “He was,” Bob confirmed. “And I made a jocose remark, I’m ashamed to admit. And Rufe said, and I honored him for it, ‘It’s what she wants’, he said, ‘and it’s what he wants.’ Meaning Mr. Billingsgate, you understand. ‘Mine not to question why, mine but to do or die.’ I thought that was putting it a little steep over a fancy vest and a pair of velveteen bloomers, myself, which just goes to show how little we know. All flesh is as grass. It cometh up and somebody gets stuck with mowing it down, though I suppose I shouldn’t digress into shoptalk at so solemn a time. Anything else you’d like to know, sir and madam?”

  “Yes,” said Sarah. “We’d like to know which room was Rufus’s. And we’d like to take a look inside. Under Mr. Billingsgate’s orders,” she added in deference to the feudal system.

  Bob said Mr. Billingsgate’s wish was his command. Cook compressed her chins in willing acquiescence. Thereupon, the gardener showed Sarah and Max through the immaculate kitchen to a room at the back of the house.

  “This used to be Rufe’s bedroom when his folks were alive,” Bob told them, “and he kept it for himself when the wife and I moved in. It’s got a separate outside door, as you see, which made things handier all around.”

  “I’m sure it did.” Sarah bent over and lifted one edge of the patchwork quilt that had served the old retainer for a bedspread. “What’s that bicycle doing here?”

  Bob was flabbergasted, and said so. “That can’t have been Rufe’s. He knew Mrs. Billingsgate didn’t want bikes around on account of the kids. So where the heck did it come from?”

  “Let’s have a look.” Max took hold of the wheels by their spokes and eased the bicycle out from under the bed. It was a spidery foreign ten-speed model painted a particularly unpleasant shade of olive green, and it had a small wire carrier strapped to the handlebar. “Whose was it, Sarah?”

  “Professor Ufford’s, don’t you think? He had no car, he can’t always have been able to cadge rides, and Bill says he hated spending money on taxis. In Italy, everybody uses a bicycle for getting around, so I suppose Ufford picked up the habit. He rode it out here during the early hours, I should say, wearing that all-black outfit so he wouldn’t be noticed, which would be theatrical and stupid and sounds just like him.”

  “I’ll buy that,” said Max. “He’d have gone straight to the honey shed, I expect. Your aunt was talking about some silly fellow in black who tied her up. I shouldn’t be surprised if Ufford spent the rest of the night in the shed with her.”

  “Sleeping in the New Phantom,” Sarah agreed. “Then his accomplice came along, sent him out into the bee fields on foot for some reason, and rode the bike after him to douse him with the syrup.”

  “How come Professor Ufford let the other guy ride the bike?” Bob wanted to know.

  “I don’t suppose he realized what the accomplice had in mind. Whoever it was must have taken an awful chance, bringing the bicycle back here in broad daylight.”

  “Not if the rider took the direct path from the honey shed,” said Max. “I noticed today that it goes through the hedgerow all the way. Bob, you’d better lock both doors to this room and make sure nobody touches the bicycle until we can get it checked for possible fingerprints.”

  “Sure, Mr. Bittersohn. Say, you don’t think my wife and I had anything to do with this?”

  “I don’t see how you could, Bob. Your wife was at the other house all day and you were with Mr. Hohnser. Somebody knew you’d both be gone, knew there was a back entrance to Rufe’s room, and figured this would be a safe place to dump the bike for the time being. I’m sure you can produce witnesses who saw you at Hohnser’s.”

  “Well, there was Mr. Hohnser and the woman who keeps house for him. Porterfield, her name is. She brought out the coffee and served lunch and came a few times to see what was going on. And some guys from Perkins Nurseries were bringing loads of pine bark mulch and spreading it around the paths most of the day. As for my wife,” words failed him.

  “Cook has Mrs. Billingsgate and Mrs. Gaheris to vouch for her,” said Sarah, trying not to think of Cook on an Italian racing bicycle. “Thanks for your help, Bob. We’re sorry we had to bother you.”

  “It was no bother. Rufe was a friend of ours.”

  The four exchanged good nights with some ceremony. When Sarah and Max got back to the big house, they found Tick and Melly there, being briefed on the latest horrors.

  “Howdy, folks. Another big day at the OK Corral, eh?” was Tick’s greeting.

  “You might say that,” Max replied. “How did your program go, Melisande?”

  “Quite well, I think. We had people phoning in with requests. Only I think I sprained a tonsil on “Don’t Go in the Lion’s Cage Tonight, Mother Darling.” I got a bit carried away doing the growls. Ordinarily I’d take hot lemon and honey, but—” Melisande shuddered and took another sip of plain tea.

  “She knocked ’em dead and she knows it,” said Tick. “Sorry, that was a poor choice of words. But honestly, the phone was ringing off the hook. We’ve really got to give Melly her own program. Dad, right now. We need her to plug the gap Versey’s death will leave. Maybe we can even get our help back now that we can demonstrate the filthy tricks that old reptile played on them. So help me Hannah, if I’d found out about those tapes before the bees got him, I’d have—”

  “Tick, please,” his father-in-law interrupted. “No vain oaths, I beg you.”

  “Vain oaths be—sure. Dad. But when I think of all the times I had to drag that old bag of bones around in my car because he was too cheap to buy one of his own, listening to him rattle on about how much smarter he was than anybody else—” Tick swallowed what might have been another vain oath. “I always thought Versey was crazy as a coot. Now I know.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Abigail. “I’d just like to know what he was up to.”

  “He was cracked,” Tick insisted. “He’d gone straight around the bend and thought he was Cesare Borgia.”

  “I wonder if he found a Lucrezia to help him,” said Sarah. “I understand Professor Ufford preferred blondes.”

  “In my opinion, Versey preferred whatever he could get,” snorted Melisande. “Shall I bring some more hot water, Mama?”

  “Sit still, dear. I’ll get it.”

  Max sto
pped her. “Before you go, Abigail, what’s the status upstairs? Sarah’s anxious to see her aunt.”

  “Of course she is, and so she shall. Bodie’s fine, Sarah. Dr. Maude simply wanted to observe her reactions for a while, to make sure everything’s in working order. Bodie was evidently drugged as well as being hit over the head. And I don’t suppose being shut up all that time in the honey shed did her much good.”

  “Oh, the poor thing,” said Sarah. “Why don’t I run up now and see if she’s fit to talk?”

  “Why don’t we all go?” said Tick Purbody. “The rest of us can stand outside and listen at the keyhole if Dr. Maude won’t let us in the room.”

  Melisande’s husband did have boundless energy, Sarah thought, watching Tick take the stairs three at a time. Then again, he might be in a tizzy over what Boadicea Kelling might have to say. Sarah was more than a little concerned herself.

  It was Drusilla Gaheris who came out to meet them. “Good heavens, we weren’t expecting a delegation,” was her greeting. “I’m not sure how Dr. Maude will feel about six people at once.”

  “Then ask her, can’t you?”

  That was Tick, chafing at the bit again. Sarah got the distinct impression he didn’t much care for his mother-in-law’s old school chum, and wondered why. Had Mrs. Gaheris done something already to get his back up, or did he simply resent having a stranger around?

  “It’s all right, they can come in.”

  Dr. Maude was a short, stocky, cheerful woman with straight gray hair in a Dutch-boy cut, wearing a rust-colored suit with a tailored pink blouse. “Mrs. Kelling’s doing better than I expected. Just try not to confuse her. I’d suggest her niece do the talking and the rest of you listen. I do have to leave now, Abigail, but you shouldn’t have any problems. Mrs. Kelling understands she’s to stay quiet until morning. I wish all my patients had her common sense, and took such good care of themselves. She’s in amazing condition for a woman her age. If she weren’t, things might have turned out rather differently.”

  “Do you know what the drug was?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m guessing she may have got a lighter dose of the same tranquilizer that killed Rufus. There’s a small puncture wound on her right shoulder. I’ve ordered lab tests, but the results may be inconclusive because of the time lapse. Whatever it was, she’s fairly well rid of it now. Go ahead over to her, but please leave at once if she seems drowsy.”

  They filed in and stood around the bed. Boadicea Kelling was propped up on several pillows, wearing a bright pink bed jacket with a great many lace-edged frills on it. Abigail’s, no doubt. The effect was the reverse of sensible; it made her look like a sweet old lady trying to be brave. Sarah was rather taken aback.

  “How are you feeling now, Aunt Bodie?”

  “Tolerable, all things considered,” was the brisk reply. “I expect you’re here to find out what happened to me, so please don’t interrupt with inane questions. Abigail, I’d like an eggnog at half-past nine if it’s convenient, then I shall go straight to sleep. That leaves us just eight minutes to talk, which should be ample. Drusilla, you must be sick of hanging around here, would you like to say good night?”

  “Oh no, Bodie, I don’t want to leave you,” Mrs. Gaheris protested.

  “As you wish. I’d be bored stiff by now if the shoe were on the other foot. Sarah, if you’re going to be spokeswoman for the party sit down. It hurts my head to look up at you.”

  Sarah took the chair that had presumably been Dr. Maude’s and refrained from asking inane questions. Boadicea took a sip from the glass on her nightstand and began.

  “Having eaten what I deemed sufficient at the banquet and being for some reason inclined to take another helping of the frumenty, I determined to resist temptation by taking my usual four-mile walk while the rest continued their reveling. I set out from the pavilion via the path that led through the copse.”

  “A pertinent question, Aunt Bodie,” Sarah broke in. “Did you see anybody there wearing a Morris dancer’s costume?”

  “I did not. I saw nobody. I walked as far as the car shed, intending to rest awhile in one of the Rollses before continuing my stroll. Quite frankly, Abigail, your frumenty was sitting heavily on my stomach. I can’t imagine what had possessed me to think I wanted more!”

  Abigail murmured something apologetic. Boadicea brushed her off,

  “No matter, it was undoubtedly wholesome. In any event, I got as far as the gate and found it locked.”

  “Was Rufus on guard?” asked Sarah.

  “I’ve already told you I saw nobody. I was, I confess, somewhat indignant at being shut out.” Boadicea shot a somewhat indignant glance at Bill, who opened his mouth to say something, then remembered he wasn’t supposed to talk and didn’t.

  “Thinking there might be another entrance, I walked around toward the back of the shed. To my great astonishment, and I assure you I am not hallucinating however incredible this may sound, an entire section of the rear wall swung outward before my very eyes.”

  “You definitely weren’t hallucinating, Aunt Bodie,” Sarah assured her. “We know how it happened. Please go on.”

  “I stood rooted to the spot for some time. I can’t tell you how long. The shock was great, and there was that frumenty to be considered. I was roused from my inaction by the sound of a car motor being revved up. I walked briskly toward the protruding section of the wall, a distance of perhaps twenty feet from where I’d halted when the wall swung out. I got there just in time to see the Silver Ghost emerge from the shed.”

  “Could you see who was driving?”

  “Sarah, do stop interrupting. The car was moving faster than I’d anticipated. I narrowly escaped being run down. I uttered an ejaculation of some kind, I forget what, and the brakes were abruptly applied. After that I have only a confused memory of a clanking sound, a figure towering above me, and what felt like an explosion inside my head. Dr. Maude has explained that this was a normal reaction to a sharp blow on the cranium and is nothing to worry about.”

  Sarah ventured another interruption. “You say the figure towered over you. Do you mean it was a tall person?”

  “I’m not short myself, and it loomed. That’s all I can say.”

  “Have you any idea at all what it looked like? What color were the clothes?”

  Boadicea Kelling shut her eyes. “I’m trying to visualize. I think, and mind you this is only an impression, that the person was wearing one of the old dust coats and had something over his face. A driving veil would be a logical assumption but I’m well aware that assumptions aren’t evidence.”

  “When Max and Bill found you, you mentioned a silly fellow in black who tied you up,” Sarah prompted. “Do you remember that?”

  “Vaguely. Dr. Maude assured me that confusion and possible hallucination would have been normal reactions to the combination of a blow on the head and an injection of a narcotic. Somehow, the black figure seemed to turn into Professor Ufford.”

  “It was Professor Ufford, Aunt Bodie.”

  “Then I was right in calling him a silly fellow. How reassuring. You must elucidate the matter when I’m in full possession of my faculties, Sarah. Right now, any infusion of narrative would only confuse me further. I believe I was under the impression we were participating in a rally together. That was a hallucination, surely?”

  “It must have been.”

  “Excellent. We progress. Next question, please.”

  “Did you think you saw anybody else, Aunt Bodie?”

  “No. The man you say was Professor Ufford pulled my hat down over my eyes. I remember that quite vividly. It seemed at the time an act of gratuitous rudeness, but I expect his actual motive was to prevent my recognizing him. I have an impression he was upset to find me alive. Somebody shrieked, I know that. I think I was struck again and that must have been when he tied me up because the next thing I remember is not being able to move my hands or feet and hearing a long, confused argument about who was going to kill me, and how
and when. I kept wishing they’d make up their minds and be quiet so I could rest my head, which was aching quite badly. That was hardly a natural reaction on my part, so I suppose it was another hallucination.”

  Sarah doubted that very much. “Who did you imagine was arguing with him?”

  “I thought it must be his wife. She was berating him quite shrewishly, calling him a coward and a fool because he hadn’t done something or other about the cars. Perhaps that was how I got the notion we were at a rally, or else it was all part of the same fantasy. Professor Ufford isn’t married, is he?”

  “Not so far as we know.”

  “Hallucination, then. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Could you recognize the voice you thought was his wife’s?”

  “Sarah, you can hardly expect me to give a sensible answer about a figment of the subconscious imagination. It was all bits and pieces. There was a strange, mixed-up business about a coolie taking me for a ride in a rickshaw, which I now realize must have been Bill bringing me here in the electric cart. And voices, Drusilla’s especially. I seemed to hear you wherever I went, Drusilla.”

  “But of course you would, Bodie dear.” Mrs. Gaheris spoke gently, taking her old friend’s hand. “I was with you, you know, when you recovered consciousness and I’d been talking to you for quite a while before that. Dr. Maude had said we should try to rouse you. And if you have any belief in telepathy, I have to say I’d been worried sick about you ever since you disappeared from the revel.”

  “Dear Drusilla.” Boadicea Kelling clasped the other’s hand for a moment, then let it go. “And now, since you’ve appointed yourself my guardian angel, perhaps you could assist me to the bathroom. Abigail, I shall be ready for my eggnog in three minutes. To the rest of you, good night.”

  21

  “CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?” Even standing still, Tick was in motion, hands waving, foot tapping. “Bodie got there just in time to meet the Ghost coming out. Bill, I’m worried about that clanking noise she says she heard. You don’t suppose the Ghost’s got a rod loose?”