“I’m here. I’m trying to get to you. I tried climbing the hedge, but it’s no good. What did you say? I didn’t catch it.”
“There’s somebody moving about in the Maze, Howard. I heard his footsteps.”
Howard Torrance’s voice replied with that baffling indeterminateness in direction which the Maze seemed to impart.
“Can you hear me, Vera?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t utter another sound. Don’t use the horn. Keep absolutely quiet and try to make your way out of the Maze. If anyone comes round the corner, yell your head off; but unless you see something, keep silent and step softly. There’s someone in the Maze, and I don’t want him to know where you are.”
Vera leaned against the high hedge for a minute or two, trying to overcome the panic into which Howard’s last words had plunged her. He had been careful not to put the thing to her nakedly; but she saw what lay behind his directions. The murderer was still in the Maze, and on his way out he might come upon her. If he did, she would be too dangerous a witness to leave alive. She need expect no mercy. And what hope of escape would she have? There, shut in among these towering walls, isolated from all help in the intricacies of the Maze, it would be an easy business to silence her finally.
She listened intently once more; but no sound came to her ears. The murderer seemed to have made his way into some remoter part of the Maze. Suddenly a clatter at her feet startled her into an agony of terror. It was the horn which she had allowed to slip from her hand in the intensity of her concentration upon the sounds about her. She stooped to pick it up again; then, thinking that it would merely hamper her, she let it lie where it had fallen.
But at once came the realisation that the sound of its clash upon the path must have betrayed her position, if the murderer were lurking at hand. She tried to listen again; but her heart was hammering and the pulsing of the blood in her ears drowned all external sounds. A lump seemed to gather in her throat and she felt as though she would choke. With a physical effort she fought down her difficulties.
“Hysteria!” she told herself. “If I give way to it, I’ll be putting myself straight into the brute’s hands.”
At last the rustle in her ears subsided and she was able to listen again. For a few instants she heard nothing. Then, quite close at hand, a dry twig cracked as though someone had set his foot on it. The murderer had not left the Maze.
She felt almost unable to stir; but at last she forced herself into motion. Anything was better than staying in the place where the assassin might have heard her drop the horn. Softly she stole down the corridor. Once she had begun to move, all her impulse was to break into a run; but she fought hard against it.
“If I begin to run, I’m done for,” she thought. “I’d go on running. I wouldn’t be able to stop at a corner; and it’s at the corners I must be careful, or I may run full tilt into him.”
And then her mind, despite herself, conjured up vivid pictures of that meeting. She could see a vague figure rising to block her passage. With an almost physical shrinking she thought of it with a knife in its hand, the blade dripping with the blood of the earlier victim. It came over her how safe and peaceful the normal world was—and now, in pursuit of an aimless piece of amusement, she had come into the slaughterhouse. The Minotaur was afoot in the labyrinth.
At the end of the alley she forced herself to halt and peeped cautiously round the corner. No one was in sight, so she ventured into a fresh avenue. Then came a fork in the path, and she took the passage which seemed to offer the longest clear view ahead. Then another corner, and more precautions.
She was moving at random now, all her attention concentrated on avoiding the unseen assassin. Once she heard steps, someone walking on the opposite side of the hedge against which she was crouching. She held her breath, pictured that terrific figure which she had conjured up. He was stepping lightly like herself; and she almost feared that he would hear the beating of her heart, so near did he come. Then, when she thought she could bear it no longer, the footfalls receded softly into the distance.
“If that happens again, I’ll shriek,” she said to herself. “I simply couldn’t go through it twice.”
Two more corners rounded in safety, then in a straight alley a metallic object glittered at the foot of the hedge; and with a sinking heart she recognised it as the horn she had dropped.
“I’m back again at the same place. I’ll never get out of this trap!”
Again she started, stepping as softly as possible; but to her strained ears the sound of her footsteps seemed to echo and reecho along the green-walled corridors.
“What a fool I am! I ought to have taken off my shoes long ago. Then I could go as quick as I please, without making any noise.”
She slipped off her shoes, and some of her confidence came back when she found how silently she could move.
“Now I must keep things in my head and get off the track I followed last time.”
At one remembered turning, she took a fresh track and stole along it with every precaution. Again she heard the sound of steps; but they were further off this time, and after halting for a few seconds she felt safe to go on her way once more.
“If I don’t get out soon, I’ll faint.”
But she refused to give in. The thought of lying helpless in one of these tenantless corridors at the mercy of the hidden murderer, kept her on her feet.
“He’d think I was shamming, and he’d make sure of me.”
The thought of that fate was just sufficient to nerve her to a desperate attempt to extricate herself from the labyrinth; but now her self-control gave way. She began to hurry along the interminable corridors, and before many seconds had passed she had broken into a run. Soon she was flying headlong down the alleys, slipping as she turned corners in full flight, dashing blindly into hedges which blocked her path in culs-de-sac, and striving only to outstrip the phantom murderer whom she felt at her heels. All thought of caution or direction had gone to the winds as she fled at haphazard down the tortuous paths.
Just as she felt that she could force herself no further, a wider gap than usual appeared in one of the green walls, and she flung herself into it in the hope that it might be one of the exits. But instead of the broad lawns of Whistlefield, she found before her a tiny open space shut in on all sides by greenery.
A few garden chairs were scattered about it, under the shade of the hedges. One of them had been overturned, and beside it lay, face upwards, the body of a man in grey flannel clothes. Vera had never seen a dead man before; but it needed no second glance to tell her that she had stumbled upon the victim of the tragedy.
“It’s Roger Shandon!”
Almost subconsciously she noted that the body showed no visible signs of violence. Roger seemed to have collapsed as he rose from his chair. She could see no pool of blood which might have pointed to the manner of his death.
Vera’s nerves could withstand the strain no longer. The glimpse of the body proved to be the final touch which was more than she could bear. Almost incuriously she noticed the blue sky darken, turn violet, and then go black. She retreated a couple of paces, only to go down in a faint.
When she came to her senses again, it was to hear the sound of her own name in her ears; but when she looked round she could see no one standing beside her.
“Vera! Are you there? Why don’t you answer?”
Slowly she came back to normal consciousness and the realisation that it was Howard Torrance’s voice continually calling.
“Vera! Answer if you can. What made you shriek like that?”
So she must have uttered some involuntary cry before she fainted. She turned this over in her mind mechanically, hardly yet knowing where she was. Then all at once things came back to her and she rose to her knees. Roger Shandon’s body was close to her, and she turned away her head so as not to see the dead man. “Vera!”
She pulled herself together and answered with a faint call.
“T
hank God you’re all right,” she heard Howard answer. “Where are you?”
“I’ve come to the centre where the body is. Oh, Howard, what am I to do?”
“The murderer’s gone, I think,” came the reply. “Can you walk at all? Get away from that place at once. No wonder you shrieked when you came upon it. If you’ll call as often as you can manage it, I’ll try to find my way to you.”
With an effort she forced herself to her feet once more. Her strength seemed to be almost gone; but by sheer will-power she succeeded in making her way out of the tiny enclosure into the green corridor. Anything to get away from the sight of the body! It was too grim a reminder of the perils of the Maze.
For a time she leaned against the hedge just outside the centre, trying to gather up enough energy to launch once more into the labyrinth. One horror had at least been banished. Howard said the murderer had escaped from the Maze; she need have no fear of meeting that demon in her wanderings. It seemed hours since she and Howard had come so light-heartedly into that daedalian web. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious; and when she looked back, she seemed to have spent an eternity in the paths of the Maze before she had blundered into the centre.
At last she pulled herself together and called again to Howard.
“Howard! I’m going to try for the way out now.”
“All right! Give me a call occasionally, so that I’ll know you’re all right. By the way, why don’t you blow the horn?”
“I’ve lost it. I dropped it when I thought the murderer was chasing me.”
“I wondered why you didn’t use it, after I’d told you he’d cleared out. Shouting’s no good. I’ve been yelling at the pitch of my voice for long enough, but there’s no one within earshot, evidently.”
Vera set off again. The rest had done her good. Now that the immediate terror of the murderer in the Maze was removed, she felt a different person. The horror through which she had passed began somehow to take on a tinge of unreality. Had she actually seen Roger Shandon’s body lying on the grass, or had it been a mere hallucination sweeping over her when she was on the verge of fainting? She had the feeling that the whole thing might be some waking nightmare which had passed.
And now, by that curious hazard which sometimes happens in mazes, she hit upon the shortest route to the exit. When she was least expecting it, a sudden turn in the corridor revealed one of the iron gates in the outermost hedge.
“Howard! I’ve come to the gate. What a relief!”
“Wait before you go,” Howard’s voice came to her over the intervening partitions. “Listen to me. Once you get outside, run to the house. If you meet anyone on the way, send him down to get me out of this tangle; I seem to have no luck. When you get to the house, find Stenness or one of the other men. Send the lot, if they’re there. Tell them about the murder and tell them to get the police on the ’phone at once. And get yourself some brandy or something. You’ll need it, poor thing!”
Vera made a careful note of his orders.
“I’ll see to that. I’m going now, Howard. Goodbye.”
She ran out of the iron gate and saw with immense relief the broad prospect of the lawns before her. Out at last! Then she hurried off in the direction of the house.
Chapter Three
The Immediate Results
As she took short cuts across the lawns, Vera kept a sharp lookout; but no one was in sight. She had expected this; for if anyone had been in the vicinity of the Maze they would assuredly have been attracted by Howard’s shouts for assistance. She wasted no time in seeking in the gardens for help, but hurried at her best speed to the house, where she could at least get in touch with the police by means of the telephone.
When, breathless with the last spurt she had made, she entered the hall, she found it empty. The whole place seemed deserted and silent. For a moment she thought of searching from room to room; but she changed her mind almost immediately.
“I must keep my head,” she impressed on herself. “I know nothing about the servants’ quarters and I’d lose time if I begin hunting. That last sprint took it out of me; and I’m not fit to rush about. Someone else must do that instead.”
She passed into the nearest room and rang the bell, keeping her finger pressed down on the button. “That ought to bring them quick enough.”
In a few moments she heard steps, and one of the maids appeared. The sight of her amazed face reminded Vera of the picture she herself must present: dishevelled, breathless, and without shoes on her feet.
“Are there any men in the house, Shelton? Quick, don’t waste time.”
The maid stared at the haggard girl before her as though in this strange figure she could hardly recognise the cool and graceful Miss Forrest of normal life.
“What’s come to you, Miss?” she asked, without replying to the question.
“Mr. Shandon’s been murdered. Is Mr. Stenness here, or Mr. Hawkhurst? Or anyone else? Go and find them immediately, if they’re anywhere about.”
Then, as the girl still seemed dazed by the news:
“Can’t you do as I tell you? Hurry! There’s no time to lose.”
A picture rose in her mind of the murderer returning to the Maze and coming upon the defenceless Howard. Unlikely, of course, but after this afternoon she would be slow to call anything unlikely. The maid’s slowness irritated her overwrought nerves.
“Will you go?”
But by this time the idea of murder had penetrated the dull mind of Shelton and produced a reaction which Vera had not foreseen.
“Mr. Shandon murdered, and the man creeping about the place! I’d never dare to go out of this room, Miss. He might be in the hall now, waiting for me. Oh, oh!”
Her voice rose in hysteria. Vera looked at her wearily.
“Want to scream, Shelton? Perhaps it’s the easiest way after all. I’d have done it myself if I’d had any breath left. Come along with me.”
And taking the hysterical girl with her, she made her way to the front door.
“Now scream as loud as you like.”
Shelton had not waited for the suggestion. Already she was shrieking at the top of her voice.
“Anybody in the house or near it ought to hear that,” Vera said to herself contentedly, as Shelton continued to screech. “Now, that’ll do. Will you be quiet? I want to listen if anyone has heard you.”
It proved more difficult to stop the outcry than it had been to start it. The screams passed into a serious attack of hysteria. But they had served their purpose. From the back of the house appeared two panic-stricken maids, while almost simultaneously Stenness, the secretary, hurried down the main staircase.
“Thank goodness, a man at last!” Vera said, in relief.
Handing over the hysterical Shelton to the care of the other maids, she led Stenness into the nearest room and gave him the state of affairs in the fewest words. He listened intently without interrupting her with a single question. From his unruffled manner, one might have supposed that murders were all in the day’s work. And his calmness had the effect of soothing Vera’s nerves, which had been jarred afresh by the maid’s outbreak. When she had completed her narrative he nodded in comprehension and left the room for a few moments. On his return he had a tumbler in his hand.
“Drink this, Miss Forrest. You’ll need something to pull you together. I’ve sent one of the maids to ring the bell in the stable yard. That’ll bring up a couple of gardeners fairly soon. They’ll think it’s a fire, you know.”
He persuaded her to sit down, then went to the bell and rang it. It was some time before any answer was made; and finally Shelton and another maid appeared together, evidently clinging to each other for company. “Go up and get fresh shoes and stockings for Miss Forrest. Can’t you see she needs them?”
When the two girls had gone he turned to Vera.
“Nothing like making them do something, otherwise we’d have the whole lot down with their nerves.”
He glanced at his wrist-watch,
and seemed to be making some rather intricate mental calculation which dissatisfied him.
“You’ll be safe enough here, Miss Forrest. I must get off to telephone for the police and put them on the alert. Then I’ll go down and get Mr. Torrance out of the Maze. You want nothing else?”
Vera made a negative gesture, and he hurried out of the room. The telephone occupied him for only a very short time; and in a few minutes Vera, through the window, saw him setting off in the direction of the Maze, accompanied by one of the gardeners. Both, she noticed, were armed with shot-guns. She began to admire the efficiency of Stenness. Hitherto she had looked upon him as the sort of man whose life was spent in pure routine; and it was a mild surprise to find how competently he had risen to this emergency. He had wasted neither words nor time; everything essential had been done without hesitation. He had even noticed her feet and had thought of sending for shoes and stockings for her.
When the maids brought her fresh outfit she took the opportunity of questioning them.
“Was Mr. Stenness the only man in the house when I came back?”
“Yes, Miss. Miss Sylvia took her uncle away with her in the car—Mr. Ernest, I mean. And Mr. Neville went out of the house before poor Mr. Shandon did. And Mr. Hawkhurst, he went out quite early on. I saw him passing the window with his air-gun in his hand.”
Vera had ceased to listen. The word “air-gun” had linked up in her mind with the memory of the dull concussions which she had heard in the Maze. That was the noise she had heard—the dull report of an air-rifle! And the metallic rasping was the grating of the spring as the murderer recharged his weapon. But the recognition of the noises left her even more perplexed.
“Of course, one can kill a rabbit with an air-gun; but one couldn’t kill a man with it even at close range. And yet I’m certain it was an air-gun that I heard. I’d have recognised it at once if it hadn’t been that I was so shaken up by the way things happened.”
She puzzled over the problem for a time without success; and at last dismissed it from her mind and began to make arrangements which she thought might be necessary when the men returned to the house.
Murder in the Maze (A Clinton Driffield Mystery) Page 5