by Richard Hull
No sooner was she on the lawn than she realised that, though she could now go to the tower, she might not be able to get back into the house for the help she badly felt that she needed. But there was one chance. In his hurry to get round to the tower it was more than probable that James had left the door open. Indeed, it could not be bolted, and she decided to try this first.
Luck was with her. The door was ajar, and she was able to reach the telephone and get on to Four Gables, where she was almost sure that she would find, not only Christopher, but Inspector Fenby. Her call was answered by Christopher, and as he picked up the receiver in reply, she heard her aunt’s voice saying: ‘Then it must have been—’
‘Is Mr Fenby there? Emily speaking.’
‘Yes. Do you want him?’
‘Yes. Tell him to come immediately, and come yourself. Uncle James is at the top of the tower. I don’t know what’s happened, but come. I’m going to ring up the doctor.’
But here she encountered those vexatious delays which occasionally occur on the telephone, and it was some time before she had done that too. Now she supposed that she ought to go at once to see, but the strain was too much for her, and as she put down the receiver she fainted.
20
On the Tower
Christopher wasted as few minutes as he could, but some time had to be spent in fetching the car from the garage and starting it. More still, in arousing Young to let them through the gates of Amberhurst Place. Even so, it was not long before they arrived to find the front door of the house open. All three of them had come from Four Gables, for Julia Vaughan refused to be left behind in case Emily needed her. The hall was deserted, but, making their way to the library, they found Emily lying beside the telephone.
‘Get some brandy, Christopher. Help me to put her on the sofa, Mr Fenby.’ Julia took charge, and then as she touched the girl’s body, she exclaimed: ‘Why, she’s all wet and there are dirty marks all down her dress! Where is everybody in this house?’
By now, however, Christopher had found the decanter, which Gregory had left in the dining room, and returned with it. ‘Dinner isn’t cleared away properly,’ he interjected; then, hearing the sound of another car arriving, he went on: ‘Thank goodness, there’s the doctor coming. Shall we leave him to look after Emily while we go to try and find out ourselves what has happened?’
‘No, she’s coming round and a few words from her will probably save us time in the long run. Besides, I want to hear what her first words are.’
Indeed, as Fenby spoke, Emily began to move restlessly. Then she sat up suddenly and began to speak.
‘Uncle James — the dagger, moving backwards and forwards — without anyone touching it — on the top of the tower — and everybody else locked up, except Hamar and the maids, and they didn’t hear. Uncle James — Uncle James — he’s still there.’
Fenby jumped up. ‘Mrs Vaughan, stay here, please, and look after her, but don’t try to get hold of anyone else. Don’t even get her dry clothes, I’m afraid. I must see the room first. Mr Vaughan, Doctor, come with me.’
As they left the room, from over their heads they heard bumps and bangs, and a voice that sounded like Malcolm’s shouted to them, but, without taking any notice, they hurried out of the door and across the lawn, relieved to find that the storm had at last blown over and that the rain had stopped. As they turned the corner of the house, a white object flapping against the wall caught their eyes.
‘What on earth!’ exclaimed the doctor.
‘Looks as if Miss Warrenton got out that way. Accounts for the state she’s in,’ Fenby put in as they went. ‘Find out later.’
Still one more interruption occurred, however. The window of the room above the library was thrown open, and Henry’s head appeared at it imperiously demanding to be let out and told what was happening, but, with a curt ‘Presently’, Fenby hurried round the corner of the tower and went quickly up the stairs, followed by the doctor and Christopher.
As they turned the last corner of the winding flight, Fenby gave an exclamation and then said: ‘Just as she feared.’
‘What is it?’ Christopher asked.
‘Here, Doctor, look please, but don’t touch anything yet.’
The doctor squeezed past Fenby and stooped down. After a very short pause Christopher heard him say: ‘No doubt about it at all. No man could live more than a few minutes after receiving a wound like that. I should say that there must be quite two inches of steel in him.’
‘Likely to have gone into his heart?’
‘Couldn’t say offhand, but it almost certainly must have done so. Very near it anyhow, though it’s a bit wide to the left.’
By this time Christopher was enabled to see past the doctor. Just outside the entrance to the turret steps, and accidentally supported by the side of it, James Warrenton was sitting back on his heels, his head lolling loosely against the wall. In his breast a big dagger, which Christopher thought he could identify, had been driven. Or had he driven it in himself, for both his hands were firmly clutching the hilt? The question came unasked into Christopher’s mind.
But now Fenby was speaking, though almost to himself. ‘I ought to have insisted somehow on staying, even if I had to explain who I was. That’s the worst of this play acting. One ceases to be an absolutely free agent. But I never thought of this happening.’ He turned to Christopher. ‘We were worrying about Miss Warrenton this evening, and I thought the danger for her was over, but who would have dreamed of this?’
‘Shall we take him downstairs?’ Christopher asked. ‘We could manage it between us.’
‘Not yet, I’m afraid. I shall have to get on to Perceval and get him to bring round people to take photographs and so on.’
‘But it seems awful to leave him alone — out in the dark and cold.’ Christopher shuddered, and rather feebly added that it had at least stopped raining.
Fenby seemed to think for a minute. ‘I’m awfully sorry, but I can’t have anything disturbed as yet. On the other hand, he mustn’t be left alone, and there are other things I want to do — which, in fact, I must do. Mr Vaughan, do you mind staying here? You may have to wait an hour or so.’
‘Certainly,’ Christopher agreed, unhesitatingly to all outward appearances, although inwardly he did not like the prospect. So many legends had centred round that roof that he had always regarded it with distaste, sceptic although he had ever been about the stories that he had heard. But now that his brother and his uncle had both met their deaths there, he found that to be alone there at night with a dead man was an experience that he would rather not contemplate. Nor did Fenby’s next words reassure him.
‘And if there is any further sign of any ghost appearing, watch carefully and don’t give away your presence until, if possible, you know who it is. On the whole, even then, I should advise you, if you can, to watch unseen. You see,’ he went on, ‘sooner or later this roof must be examined carefully, but if I do it now in the dark, apart from the fact that I may miss something, I may actually destroy some trace by accident. Probably it is quite safe to leave it, but if by any chance someone has any reason to come back — well, it would be interesting, to say the least of it, to know who it was. But whoever it was might not be anxious that you should see him.’
Christopher drew in his breath sharply. Then he remembered what he had seen. After all, whatever his opinion of his uncle might have been, it was up to him to do his best now. ‘All right, I understand,’ he said simply. He thought that he heard a sympathetic murmur from the doctor, and he was almost sure that he felt Fenby touch his arm.
Then the inspector again spoke quietly. ‘Whoever did this, assuming for the moment that someone did it, had quite a while to put things straight. It must have taken getting on for half an hour for Miss Warrenton to climb out and warn us and for us to get to the house, but it was raining all that time, and if Miss Warrenton had not been standing at her window, he could have had all night, and wet clothes are hard to disguise. Conseq
uently, someone may really want to come back, and that someone may have seen three people cross the lawn and come here. If he sees only two go back, he will know someone has stayed.’ He broke off and asked a question. ‘Can you get back to the house without crossing the patch of light from the library? I ought to have drawn those curtains before we came.’ Fenby seemed quite angry with himself.
‘Yes. By going outside the lawn and through the shrubbery, or alternatively, right round the house.’
‘Which is shortest?’
‘The shrubbery.’
‘Can you avoid making a noise?’
Christopher hesitated. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘I know the path and the ground’s soft, but I may always tread on a twig or something of that sort.’
‘Do your best. Now come along; we will all walk obviously back to the house, and directly we get to the door, round you go.’
As they went, the doctor put a question. ‘If you’ll excuse my asking,’ he said diffidently, ‘who on earth are you? I fancy that I saw you at the inquest as being interested in spirits or something, but that doesn’t seem to be what you are now. I’m quite prepared to take it all on trust, but all the same I wish you would assure me that you have got some sort of standing.’
Even at the time Fenby chuckled and then quickly explained. ‘Really, I must thank you,’ he ended by saying, ‘for accepting everything.’
‘Not at all. Couldn’t very well do anything else. You wouldn’t like me to be the one who stays in the tower, would you?’
Just for a moment Christopher felt inclined to urge gently that the offer should be accepted. He was not relishing the project, and he might fairly plead that he might be able to help Fenby. Besides, he was burning with curiosity, but after a moment’s reflection he saw that he could not avoid the duty. ‘No, Emily may want you, Doctor. And I know the way.’ The last argument was conclusive, and as by now they had reached the front door of the house, he slipped away and within a moment or two was back again at the foot of the tower.
Here, however, he found himself confronted with an unexpected problem. The door at the foot of the tower was open and the key was in the lock, placed there, he supposed, by his uncle. Whether that was so or not, he did not know, and it did not greatly concern him, but at least there it was. Now suppose no one had been left in the tower, surely it was inconceivable that the door would have been left unlocked? To give an appearance of verisimilitude, he went in and locked the door behind him, and, putting the key in his pocket, started to go up the stairs. They seemed depressingly dark. He very much hoped that he would not have to fly for his life down them. They would not be any too easy to descend rapidly. And then it occurred to him that, at the bottom, he would be faced by a locked door. At any rate, it seemed a wise precaution to put the key in the lock.
The indecision had added another minute or so to the time during which the roof of the tower was left unguarded, but, so far as he could make out, nothing had happened. His uncle’s body still lay in the same crumpled and unnatural attitude, and beyond that he could see part of the roof, for he was quite convinced that he ought not to go on to it in case he should destroy a footmark or any other such piece of evidence.
For a while he stood there with every nerve alert for the slightest sound. Then, finding that the continued sight of his uncle’s body was intolerable, he moved down a few steps and stood facing the wall. His nerves cried out for the comfort of a cigarette, but to smoke seemed somehow an improper thing to do, and, besides, the light might be visible and defeat one of the objects for which he was there. Resolutely he pushed back the cigarette case which he had half taken from his pocket, but at least there seemed to be no reason why he should not sit down. But the steps felt cold and clammy and he got up again and propped himself uncomfortably against the wall. It was easier so to remain still.
To pass the time, he began turning over in his mind Emily’s words. ‘The dagger moving backwards and forwards — without anybody touching it — and everybody else locked up.’ It did not seem to make sense to him. No doubt there was a simple explanation as to why everybody else was locked up and perhaps Fenby and his mother had been given it by now — everyone, by the way, seemed to mean Emily herself, Gregory, Henry and apparently Rushton, so that they were all out of the way — although if Emily had been able to lower herself from her window, why couldn’t other people? Yet Emily had not been able to conceal the way she had done it, but then she had not wanted to. Christopher’s mind began to wander. Who on earth else could want — for that matter, why should anyone want, really seriously want — to hurt his Uncle James?
He went back to the other phrases his cousin had used. ‘Backwards and forwards.’ He supposed that meant horizontally, not up and down, but really it seemed hard to attach any meaning at all to the words. And ‘without anybody touching it’. How could a thing move without anybody touching it? At any rate, it had moved to some effect. And then what had happened? When Uncle James arrived, had this mysterious dagger plunged itself into his heart, or had he seized it and killed himself? But why? What possible motive could he have had — unless his reason had gone? Christopher began to think more deeply about his uncle. He certainly had been getting odd recently, and this locking up business must apparently be attributed to him. At the same time Christopher found it impossible to believe that, if his uncle had gone mad, he would have killed himself — somebody else perhaps, but not himself. He put the thought away abruptly, rather ashamed of it. Anyhow the dagger got there first, if he understood Emily aright, and it was a dagger extremely like one that he knew hung on a wall inside the house. It all seemed very odd, and he hoped Fenby would solve it quickly because he wanted to know. He wished Perceval would hurry up. ‘I’m not doing any good here,’ he thought, ‘I’m merely catching a cold.’
His meditations were broken into by a slight noise below. Very cautiously he tiptoed down the stairs and listened, but he could hear nothing. After a second’s hesitation he turned the key and looked out. To his right, the few yards to the end of the tower were deserted; to his left, the shadows from the house made it hard for him to see. He hurried round the corner of the tower and looked across the lawn. The library curtains had now been pulled across the window, but though the light which had come through them had been withdrawn, he could see sufficiently well to be morally certain that there was no one there. Suddenly from behind him on the west side of the house, on the same side as the door of the turret, he heard a sharp crack. Someone had trodden on a bough. As fast as he could he went back again, but he could see no signs of anyone moving. After peering vainly into the darkness, he gave it up, and once more went up the tower steps.
Much though he disliked the sight, he felt that he ought just to see that there had been no disturbance during his absence. As he turned the last corner, he stopped suddenly. Then he ran as fast as he could down the stairs to meet Perceval and the county police coming across the lawn. ‘It’s moved,’ he stammered out. ‘It’s fallen right over on one side.’
21
Malcolm’s Account
Fenby’s first action when Christopher left him at the front door had been to ring up Perceval while the doctor turned his attention to Emily. The resources of the County Police, Fenby was glad to find, were considerably better than they might have been, modern apparatus, as he knew, not being in the possession of every county. As soon as possible, the experts whom he required would be brought. Fenby put down the telephone with a slight qualm of conscience. He knew how much he would have disliked being disturbed at night, however necessary it might be, and, in this case, he was not certain whether there was any real help that he could get from those whom he had summoned. All the same, routine had to be carried out.
Meanwhile there were so many things that he wanted to do that he hardly knew where to start, but, being a methodical person, he mapped out a plan of campaign. Before he did anything else, he must have some account, even if a brief one, from Emily; otherwise he might miss the sig
nificance of anything said or done by any of the others. Soon after that he must fulfil his promise to Malcolm and let him out — but before he did that he wanted to look at the room next to the library from where probably the sound of tapping which the rector had heard had originated. After Malcolm had been disposed of, he would turn his attention first to Spring-Benson and then to Rushton. Finally, perhaps to the rest of the staff.
‘And after that,’ he thought rather grimly, ‘it will be breakfast time, or possibly lunch will be ready. I shall have to join a trades union to stop me working thirty-six hours a day. However, let’s get on with it and not stand idling here.’
Going into the library, he found that the doctor was not seriously worrying about Emily. She had had a shock, and she needed rest and quiet, and she ought to get out of the slightly damp clothes which she was still wearing. He advised a sleeping draught and, lest too many memories should be brought back, he thought that it was advisable that she should not go back to the same room. Mrs Vaughan, he ended by saying, had offered to put her up for the rest of the night, and he thought that that was the best solution.
‘Undoubtedly,’ agreed Fenby, ‘only I am afraid I must be given a short account of what you saw first.’
Seeing Emily shrink back and turn a trifle white, Julia interposed. ‘She has explained it all to me, and I think that I can give it to you quickly. I am afraid you must listen, Emily, to make sure that I make no mistakes, but it will save you saying it.’