Presently a quiet voice asked: 'What makes you think I didn't tell you the truth ?’

  'Larry Chase saw him coming out, just before you got in through my window. Chase has told the police about it: that's what they want to see you about now. The point is, there's no harm in it. What they want to know is what frightened you so much. But he was there, wasn't he?'

  He felt her draw a deep breath.

  'Yes,' said Hilary. 'He was there.'

  CHAPTER X

  'Then why didn't you tell me?'

  She was taking refuge: this time in an affected whimsicality which she sustained admirably but which was all wrong. He felt that. After a kind of Victorian curtsey she sat down on the tread of the stairs, clasped her arms round her knees, and looked up at him. In the dimness of coloured glass her expression might have meant anything.

  "And why should I tell you, sir?" she said,' inquired Hilary, wagging her head.

  'Come off that.'

  'Perhaps there are things that a supremely innocent-minded young man ought not to know.'

  'Perhaps. But the supremely innocent-minded police are going to cut up rough if they don't know. That's what I'm getting at.'

  'Are you threatening me?'

  'Look here, Hilary,' he said, sitting down on the tread beside her. 'You're talking exactly like the heroine of a bad thriller. Getting all up in arms and on your dignity, and concealing some trifle for no reason under the sun. The police are interested in Pennik and any movement he made. I'm interested for a different reason. What was it Pennik did to you that scared you so much?'

  'What do you think? ... Oh, there you go; like the hero of a bad thriller. Do you think I wanted it shouted all over the place? Do you think any woman wants a fuss made about a thing like that, setting everybody by the ears? That is, unless she's a certain kind of woman - and there is a word for them. Much better to go on and pretend nothing has happened. It -'

  Then Hilary's mood changed. Sanders felt her shiver.

  'As a matter of fact, you're quite right,' she said. ‘There was something else. And the poor man didn't even touch me.'

  "The poor man?'"

  Hilary leaned back under the tall window, her head back against the ledge and her body relaxed. 'Tell me,' she said, suddenly. "This girl you're going to marry, this Miss Blystone. What is she like? Go on: tell me.' There was almost a nagging in her voice. ·But-'

  'Please tell me.'

  'Well... I think she's a little like you.' 'How?'

  In his mind there was a remembrance of a steamer's whistle blowing; the sun on the white castle-towers of a liner; a crowd in which Marcia Blystone bobbed about, confusedly trying to say good-bye to everybody. Kessler must have been one of those on deck.

  'I don't know; what brought this up? She's less mature than you are. More - sprightly,' he said it because he hated the word. 'Good fun on a party, and a good conversationalist. She's light where I'm stodgy.'

  'What does she look like?'

  'She's smaller than you are, and more slender. Brown eyes. She's an artist.' That must be very interesting.' 'It is.'

  'Do you love her ?'

  (At the back of his mind he had been expecting this.) 'Yes, of course.'

  For a moment Hilary remained where she was. 'Of course you do,' she said, sitting up and speaking rather quickly. 'And that's why we can be good friends, can't we?'

  'We are good friends.'

  'Yes; I meant -' She stopped. All pretence of either Victorian coquetry or nagging seemed a mood; it was gone in a flash; she went on quietly, but with desperate seriousness. 'Listen. A minute ago you accused me of talking like a heroine in a thriller. I used to laugh at such things too; but in a way that is exactly how I feel. Master-Mind Chases Girl. What happened two nights ago isn't worth twopence compared to Mr Constable's death. But in its way it was horrible. Herman Pennik isn't really evil; he's only dangerous. I'm not going to tell them everything, because I don't want it bruited about that - well, never mind. The trouble is that if I do tell them everything I'll be accused of holding things back; and if I don't tell them everything I can't have any protection. For the first time in my life since I used to get put in a dark room when I was a child, I'm afraid; really and genuinely afraid; and I've got to have someone to stand by me. You'll stand by me, won't you? You will stand by me?'

  'You know I will. Hilary -'

  He was interrupted.

  In the gulf of the hall below a line of light slanted out. There was a scuffle and bump of feet, an oath, and the shaking thud of a potted palm toppling over in the hall.

  'If you'd just take the trouble to look for the light-switch, sir!' said an exasperated voice. 'Excuse me, but if you wouldn't go mucking about until you know where things are, then you wouldn't knock things over.'

  'What d'ye think I am, a goddam owl?' shouted a still more heated voice. 'Burn me, Masters, if you think you can see in the dark you come and look for it. I know what I'm doin', don't I ? Aha! Got it!'

  There was a click; and, as Hilary and Sanders jumped guiltily to their feet, the whole hall was illuminated and showed them. It also illuminated their faces, which were revealing to H. M. and Masters staring up from below.

  'Oh,' grunted H. M. without further comment. He lumbered up the stairs. 'Evenin',' he went on. 'Are you Joe Keen's daughter?'

  Hilary nodded without speaking.

  'I knew your father years ago. Good egg, old Joe was,' said H. M. He sniffed. 'I say, the chief inspector down there wants to ask you some questions. Mind goin' along? No, son.' He touched Sanders's arm. 'You come with me. I want to be introduced to Mrs Constable.'

  Again Hilary nodded coolly.

  'I'm quite ready,' she answered, looking at her wrist-watch. 'But I hope it won't be too long. I've got to-night's dinner to prepare.'

  She ran lightly down the stairs, while Masters assumed a stern and stuffed look. Lawrence Chase, who glanced out into the hall at that moment, began to whistle between his teeth. And Sanders went on upstairs with H. M. The latter did not say anything: he only looked.

  Yet even in a state of discomfort Sanders knew that all this display could not have been for the benefit of Hilary and himself. There was something else in the wind. What it was he discovered almost as soon as H. M. was presented to Mina.

  Mina met them wearing a brown dress and a certain cold poise.

  'I was just coming downstairs,' she told them, closing the door. 'But perhaps it will do just as well here. Do sit down. Then we can get to business.'

  'Ma'am,' began H. M., with that elephantine delicacy which could be as overpowering as his luridest rages, 'ma'am, I'm not glad to be here.'

  'But I am delighted that you can be here,' smiled Mina, dabbing powder off her neck. Her eyes brightened. 'I only wish you could have come - earlier. You're not staying with us?’

  It sounded grotesque, but H. M. only shook his head.

  'No, ma'am. I told you I could only look in for the day. But' - he lowered himself very carefully into a chair, putting both hands on its arms; and he scowled over his spectacles -'but, d'ye see, they tell me you wanted to speak to me, anyway. And so I sort of thought I could put some questions to you that'd come easier from me than from Masters. They're rather awkward questions, ma'am.'

  'Ask any questions you like, do.'

  'Well ... now. Is it true your husband had thought for some time you were tryin' to kill him?' 'Who told you that? Larry Chase?' H. M. made a gesture.

  'He didn't exactly tell us. It sort of came bubblin' up out of the pure and undefiled well. Is it true ?' . There was only one light on in the room, the lamp by the bedside, and this was behind her head. But she choked with something like laughter.

  'No, no, no, no! It's so utterly absurd that I can't tell you how ridiculous it is. But why must Larry say that? He knows better. Still, he didn't actually say it, I suppose. It was only poor Sam's idea of a joke.'

  'That's a pretty serious subject to joke about, ma'am.'.

  She was again all glitter and brightness. Sanders, watching, felt that she held (or thought she held) the other sword in a duel.

  'Not really. You see,' she half smiled, 'I write things.' 'I know.'

  'Oh, that's good. You see, I only once wrote a straight detective story, which was most unmercifully slated, anyway; but in the other ones I nearly always put in some kind of mysterious or violent death. Sam,' she kept her eyes steady, 'Sam said I had a criminal mind. I said, on the contrary, it was a cheerful and healthy sign; I said it was the people who kept it bottled up that had the criminal minds. It was just his joke that I might want to murder him.'

  'And that worried you sometimes?'

  'No; never.' She looked surprised.

  'I was just thinkin'... where do you get the material for all these reelin' mysterious deaths?'

  'Oh, people tell you things. And there's a lot of material in the Egyptian and medieval records. And then, of course, I keep a scrap-book. I called it New Ways of Committing Murder'

  Even H. M. blinked a little at this. Poker-players at the Diogenes Club have found any attempt to read his face a highly unprofitable occupation; but a very queer and fishy expression was on it now. He folded his hands over his stomach and twiddled die thumbs.

  'So ? A scrap-book, hey ? It must make interestin' reading, Mrs Constable.'

  'No. Not any more, please God,' said Mina, gripping her own hands together. 'I burnt it yesterday. I am through for ever with thinking about all such things, even in books.'

  She bent forward.

  'Sir Henry, I don't know whether they have told you why I was so anxious to see you. I do admire you. I really do - that's not a social compliment. I know all your cases, as far back as the Darworth business in '30 and that film-star's murder at the Christmas of '31 and the poisoned room at Lord Mantling's. I don't think they appreciate you enough. I've often said they should have given you a peerage.'

  H. M. turned a rich, ripe purple.

  'And what I like so much;' Mina went on, oblivious, 'is the way you can put your hand through brick walls and show that the bogles were only turnip-ghosts. We need that sort of thing; we need it!. That's why I am appealing to you on grounds that I hope will make you help me. I want you to expose Herman Pennik. I want you to nail him down and see that he gets what he deserves: hanging, if possible. Have you met Pennik?'

  With an effort H. M. got his breath.

  But he remained surprisingly quiet.

  'Well... now,' he said. 'You're openin' out a large field, Mrs Constable. Are you suggestin' that Pennik killed your husband in the way he said he did ?'

  'I don't know. I only know that the man is a fraud.'

  'But that's a bit inconsistent, isn't it, ma'am? First you suggest he might have killed your husband by a kind of super-telepathy. Then you say he's a fraud. What exactly do you mean?'

  'I don't know. I only know what I feel. Have you met Pennik?'

  'No.'

  'You will find him wandering about,' said Mina. Her eyes narrowed. 'Sir Henry, I've been trying for days and days to think of what that man reminded me of. I know now. He's like Peter Quint in The Turn of the Screw. You remember that dreadful business, of the frightened governess in the house called Bly? Bly: even the name is narrow and secretive. Quint on the tower, Quint at the window, Quint on the staircase. And all in a kind of perpetual dusk. But that reminds me, too. I can tell you how to handle Pennik.' She leaned forward still further.

  'He's always wandering about outside, and walking up on you when it grows dark. Do you know why ? He suffers from what they call claustrophobia. He can't endure being shut in. That's why he likes these high, big rooms here. So you see what to do, don't you? Take him, on some charge or other. Shut him up. Shut him up for a week or so in the smallest cell you can find. Then he'll talk! Then he'll tell you.'

  'I'm afraid we can't do that, ma'am.' 'But why?' she demanded, plaintively. 'Nobody will ever know.'

  . H. M. gave her a long look. He seemed a little disconcerted.

  'Y'see, ma'am, we've got a law. Whether we like it or hot, it's a fair law. You can't monkey with it. There's absolutely nothing we can do to Pennik, even if he yells blue thunder that he killed your husband. And also, y'see, that law draws the line at torture.'

  'Torture? You think he draws the line at torture?'

  'Well-'

  'So he would make Sam an "experiment", would he? Just like that, would he? Sam was no good to the world, wasn't he? He could be spared, could he? We must see. Then you decline to help me, Sir Henry?'

  'Oh, for cat's sake!' roared H. M. 'Take it easy, ma'am. I'm the old man. I'll help you as much as I can. But this is a slippery business; a greased pig of a business; so far there's no way to get a hold on it. And until we can get a proper hold on it, what are we goin' to do ?' He stopped, for a shade had gone across Mina's face; a hardening of resolution; a drawing back into her shell, as though all touch were now lost with her. She was smiling vaguely.

  'Listen to me!' said H. M., suddenly on the alert. 'Are you listenin' ?' 'Yes.'

  'If I'm to do any good at all, ma'am, you've got to help me. It's no good goin' into trances like that. I've got an idea; a sort of cloudy ghost of an idea; and what I want is the' facts from you. Are you goin' to tell me what I want to know?'

  'I am so sorry,' said Mina, waking up and brightening. 'Of course I will tell you anything.'

  (H. M. was really worried: Sanders knew that. He had flung the words at her as though they were a rope to draw her back. For a moment H. M. breathed asthmatically, without speaking.)

  'Right, then. Now!' He looked round the room. 'I say, your husband didn't share' this room with you, did he?'

  'No, no. He complained that I talked in my sleep. His room is in there. Would you like to see it?'

  She got up without interest, and led them through the bathroom into Sam Constable's bedroom, where she switched on the light. The room was little different from any other bedroom in the house, and with little more personality than the guest-rooms. It was high, square, and bluff. Its furnishings - bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers, table, a few chairs - were of dark walnut against bilious-looking greenish-papered walls picked out with panels in gilt. A number of heavy-framed pictures did not add to its attractiveness.

  H. M. peered round it. Then he began to lumber and brush round its edges. A gun-case stood in one corner; the top of the wardrobe was piled with hat-boxes, and on the table lay an assortment of Tatlers and sporting magazines. Little more traces remained of its late occupant. One of the windows opened out on another cramped cup of a balcony, with stone stairs winding down to the ground. H. M. inspected this before he turned round to Mina in the doorway of the bathroom.

  All this time Mina's yellowish-tinged eyes were watching him.

  'Uh-huh. What room is on the floor under this, ma'am?' 'Under us? The dining-room.'

  'I see. Now, let's go back to Friday night. You and your husband came up here at seven-thirty, hey? What'd he do then?'

  'He had his bath and started to dress.' 'Where were you at that time?' 'Inhere.' ‘In here?'

  'Yes. Parker (that's his man, you see) was in hospital, so I had to lay out his dinner things and put the studs and cufflinks in his shirt. It took rather a time. My hands -' She stopped.

  'Go on, ma'am.'

  'He was about half-dressed, and I was tying his shoes for him-'

  'So ? Couldn't he tie his own shoes ?'

  'He had vertigo, poor old boy. He couldn't bear to lean over like that.' She looked at the wardrobe and shut her jaws hard; it was evidently her worst moment so far. 'I was just doing that when we heard that terrible crash. I said, "That's in the next room." He said, "No, it isn't; that's my great-grandmother's lamp, and it's in that young fool doctor's room." (Dr Sanders isn't really, but Sam had hoped he would come down here and expose Pennik, and he was disappointed. I know how he felt now. But you needn't worry, Sam. It'll be taken care of.)'

  For a moment, looking at her, Sanders had a feeling that was not far removed from eerie.

  'He said he was going to see what's what. He put on his dressing-gown and went out. In a minute or so he was back again. He said that Hilary Keen and Dr Sanders were -' Then she seemed to wake up. 'I beg your pardon, Doctor! I didn't notice. There Was nothing to it, anyhow. Well, anyway, when I had got him into his shirt he told me to go on, go on, get myself dressed; or I should be late. He would tie his own tie, because my hands weren't good for that.' She smiled sadly. 'I went to my room. In a few minutes I heard him brushing his coat. Then he said he was going downstairs. I said, "All right, dear." When I heard the door close I remembered about the two clean handkerchiefs. You must know what happened then. I've told it, told it, told it, over and over and over. Must I tell it again ?' ‘No,’ said H. M.

  He stood broad and straddle-legged in the middle of the room, his fists on his hips. He had listened quietly, but there was a faintly sinister expression round the corners of his down-turned mouth, and it seemed even to shine from his bald head. He sniffed.

  'Humph,' said H-M. 'I say, son.' He turned to Sanders. 'I don't like to bend over either, which is 'cause I'm fat.' He pointed. 'Down there on the floor, by the castor at the foot of the bed. And over near where Mrs Constable is standin'. Scrooch down and get a good look and tell me what it is.' 'It looks,' answered Sanders, examining the carpet, 'like spots of wax.'

  'Wax!' said H. M., scratching the side of his nose. 'So?'

  Again he looked round. On the chest of drawers, at opposite ends, stood two china candlesticks each containing a (purely ornamental) greenish candle. H. M. lumbered over to them. He put his hand on the top of each.

  'Cold,' he said. 'All the same, somebody has been burnin' these candles. Both of'em. Look at the tops. Have you been burnin' 'em, Mrs Constable?'

  'Good heavens, no!'

  'Haven't been having any trouble with the lights, or anything?' 'No, certainly not.'

 

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