He sat down a little wearily and drew his chair closer to the fire.
"A dreadful accusation," he said. "Monstrous, of course. If anyone else had made it I don't know what one could have said about it. But you see, everybody recognises Zoff's exaggerated temperament, if only subconsciously. No one took this seriously, not even the police." He sighed. "That's that, then," he said.
Margot was silent. She sat looking at the blue flames among the red coals and the forefront of her mind was busy, or attempting to be busy, with Zoff and Kit in an idle speculation on the kind of relationship which must once have existed between them to produce this simple fidelity in him. But in the back of her mind she knew that she was waiting, listening, hoping for Denis to come in. While resenting the fact bitterly, she could not escape from it. Once she fancied she did hear a step in the hall and her heart stirred roughly, disturbing her breath. She frowned and sat up impatiently.
"Kit, oughtn't we to get Zoff to go home to Cap d'Azur?"
"Eh?" He came out of his thoughts with a start. "I wish you would, my dear. I don't know how much she's said to you, but I admit I've gone so far as to suggest it. I'm in the devil of a position. This is my son's house. I made it over to him some years ago. Kind of a wedding present, as a matter of fact. Then the war came and he was kept in India and I offered it, with his consent, to Zoff for the duration. Now he's on his way home with a wife and young children and naturally he expects to live in it." He paused and shook his head. "She's not even happy here," he said sadly. "Between ourselves, she's been very dissatisfied. First it was the cooking arrangements. Then she said the place was infested with flies, and we saw to that. And now she thinks the rooms are too small. Yet she won't let me have her flown back to the South. She could be there in a few hours, you know. She's thinking about her luggage. There's a ton of it and she'd have to have it crated and sent on after her. She doesn't like that."
He glanced around the room and she followed his eyes. Zoff's belongings were everywhere, none of them looking particularly moveable. The Vincennes candelabras alone each slender branch a mass of exquisite porcelain flowers presented an alarming packing problem.
"Hullo, clock stopped." He got up and trotted across the room. "That won't do. Zoff's superstitious about things like that."
The clock was a great possession. It had been made by Jerome Martinot for Henri XIV and it stood over four feet high, a graceful if extravagant gesture in ormolu and buhl, with a bold enamel face and a gilt Father Time on its crest. The screws supporting its heavy bracket must have defaced Aunt Birdwood's pitch-pine panelling and its flamboyance made the Wheatleys pale, but taken by itself, it was a lovely thing. Zoff adored it. It had been given her by a king and she insisted on taking it with her everywhere she went, despite Genevieve's protests that she might more conveniently have adopted a steam roller as a mascot.
Margot sat watching Kit's precise back as he unlocked the case.
"All right?" she enquired.
"Margot, come here." His tone startled her and sent her over to him.
"What is it?" she demanded, and he stepped back to show her.
The hands of the clock were slender and finely wrought but they were made of iron and were very strong. And yet someone had forced them out of the true, wrenching the pins and twisting the points. Inside, the pendulum lay flat in the case, its shaft broken in two.
She stood staring at the damage, the senseless spite of it sending the colour out of her face. In this house, where so much had been talked of mock violence, this example of the genuine thing was startling. Someone had been considerably exerted to do wanton harm. In Aunt Birdwood's drawing room the discovery seemed blankly incredible.
"I can't believe it," she said.
"Touch the bell, will you, my dear?" Kit's head was still half in the clock.
Felix arrived after an interval. He came sidling round the door, openly reproachful at the extra journey, but when he saw the trouble his jaw dropped.
"Sacre!" he said and burst into a noisy flood of patois. "It is a portent, this. A bad omen. There is an enemy. Someone, some vandal, some unspeakable sale cochon has been in the house. We shall have serious trouble. Madame will be enraged. She must be told at once. Possibly it will kill her."
"All the more reason she should not be told." Kit spoke testily. "Don't make such an infernal noise, Felix. Don't be a fool, my man. Pull yourself together. Go and fetch Genevieve and-and no word to Madame. I never did like that fellow," he added as the door closed. "An unbalanced boor and a damned bad servant, in my opinion. A nasty business, this, Margot. Some wretched charwoman with a grievance, I suppose."
"A very strong charwoman." Margot spoke absently and found him staring at her. He opened his mouth to speak and changed his mind.
He was holding the pendulum shaft and peering at the break through one glass of his pince-nez when Genevieve appeared with Felix behind her. She was furious; the very set of her head shawl betrayed it. Her sturdy figure advanced on the clock, her small eyes surveyed it, and then she faced them.
"Mon Dieu, Margot, you have only been back ten minutes and then this occurs. Madame will be beside herself."
Kit grimaced. "Neither myself nor Miss Margot are guilty," he said with that touch of superiority which always annoyed Genevieve. "You have some cleaner with a grudge against you, I'm afraid."
"There is no cleaner save myself." The old woman's French was as broad as her bosom. "Do you think I would permit one of these clumsy foreigners in here with Madame's priceless valuables? No! If I did, this is what I should expect. One of this household has done this. I know what Madame will say."
"But, Genvieve, that's ridiculous and it's also very rude."
Margot's protest was firm. "Was the clock all right when you came in to light the fire?"
"Naturally it was. Poor Madame, this will set her off again on her terrors. I tell you, petite, I know what I know."
"They have no sense of insult." Sir Kit made the observation with infuriating detachment. "I've noticed it time and again. Genvieve, that will do. Not a word to Madame Zoff-any. I'll get a man in at once and we'll get everything put right before she hears of it. We can go into the mystery later. The repairs are the main thing. Meanwhile you must keep her out of this room if you can."
Some of the fury died out of Genevieve's eyes at this promise of escape from the storm she anticipated, but she was still flustered.
"It will not be difficult," she said drily. "Monsieur le docteur is with her now."
"The doctor?"
"He was expected. It was arranged yesterday. Madame desires Mademoiselle to see him."
Kit glanced questioningly at Margot, but she shook her head.
"This is the first I've heard of it. I'll come up with you now, Genvieve. Kit, my dear, are you sure we can leave this to you? It seems a frightful imposition."
"Yes, yes, run along. I'll see to it. Don't tell Zoff."
Felix shuffled forward. "Madame will expect to know," he murmured, but wilted before the look that Kit gave him.
Genevieve touched the ormolu moulding with a caressing forefinger.
"Quel dommage," she said softly. "It is a horror, this, to happen to such an old friend. Come, mademoiselle."
Margot went after her. Why Zoff should have arranged for her to interview her doctor at this time of night she had no idea. It signified nothing, of course. In that house Zoff's whim was the only reason for everything.
A recollection occurred to her as she walked slowly up the stairs behind the panting old woman.
"I have to go to London tomorrow. There's a luncheon. It's being given for me. I'll be back in the evening."
"So much the better." Genevieve was breathing heavily. "It is not right that Madame should be alone with this young Cotton."
"That's idiotic, darling."
"Very well." Genevieve paused on the step to raise a crumpled, angry face. "See Monsieur le docteur, and if Madame is mistaken, then tell me this: why does he come? N
obody wants him. Why does he come?"
Margot had nothing to say. The question had been there in her own mind.
"You see?" Genevieve was breathless. "It is quite possible that Madame is not being mistaken. It is possible that he has something in mind." She went on again, hauling her heavy body upward by the banisters. Once on the landing, she glanced round. "Ah," she said, "here is Monsieur le docteur waiting. M'sieu, permit me, this is Mademoiselle Robert. Mademoiselle, Monsieur le docteur Phillip Ledbury."
Margot turned to meet Zoff's latest doctor. After years of experience she was prepared to find him of any variety, eminent, unknown or witch, yet the man who came smoothly toward her, his hand outstretched, was unexpected. He was young, and gravely good-looking in a way long since out of fashion. Sleek golden hair flowed back from his high forehead. Perfect features were covered with a milky skin, and the hand which touched hers was long and white and gentle. His aplomb was superb. He swooped down upon her and gathered her into his confidence in an instant.
"Oh, I'm so glad to meet you, Mademoiselle Robert, I wonder if we could go in here and talk for a moment? I don't know whose room it is. Oh, yours? Splendid. I just want a few words with you in private. You'll go in to Madame Zoffany, will you, Genvieve? You'll find her perfectly comfortable, I think. Just see she keeps the lights lowered tonight, won't you? I think she's been a little unwise to read and write by artificial light. That's all right, then. In here, Mademoiselle Robert."
He parted them and swept them into the two doors with the ease and energy of a sheep dog at the trials. He talked all the time, his voice brisk and persuasive, but he did not smile. Not even a polite curl disturbed the perfection of his mouth or lit the cold greyness of his eyes.
Margot went into the bedroom, and he followed her and seated himself upon the bed without apology.
"It's so difficult to speak frankly before servants, however old and trusted, don't you think? I wonder if you'll smoke? You won't? Oh, splendid. But do if you'd rather." He put away his case with a little snap, drew up one knee, which he clasped, and surveyed her earnestly over it.
"'Now I know you're not a grandchild," he began. "Zoff she lets me call her Zoff, by the way, because she knew my grandfather in Vienna, which is rather sweet of her-well. Zoff has explained everything to me, and I saw at once, of course, that you were the person with whom I should have my little chat."
Margot nodded encouragingly. She had placed him now as a product of one of the older universities who for some family reason must have taken up medicine. His type abounded in the other professions. She sat down on the dressing stool.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Ah, you see that, do you? That's very good. Quite excellent. Sometimes relatives don't realise their responsibilities." He was still unsmiling, still clasping one long, thin shin. "Of course my sole interest is in my patient. You do understand that, don't you? I'm not in the least concerned with dear old Zoff's family affairs, but I am most desperately interested in her health."
"Naturally," she murmured, and he cocked an eyebrow at her and relaxed a little.
"At any rate, I'm convinced of one thing. She must not be allowed to see this young Maquis recruit of a grandson of hers again. As her doctor I forbid it. I can't put it plainer, can I?"
"I don't suppose you can," she said stiffly. Her first reaction was one of intense irritation. His airy reference to Denis's war service was distasteful. But her next thought was more disturbing. Surely no professional man would make a statement like this without good reason? Something must have been happening in this big, brightly lit house that she did not understand at all.
The doctor was still talking.
"I am relying on you to see that I am obeyed," he was saying. "They must not meet, either alone or with other people present. She is wonderfully strong constitutionally, but there's a definite heart murmur there and of course she's not young. The time has come when she must take care of herself."
Margot looked at him in astonishment. This description of Zoff's heart trouble was very different from the picture she had received from the woman herself.
"I thought she was seriously ill," she said.
"Seriously but not dangerously," he corrected her pedantically. "The actual condition is not alarming, or even unusual, in one of her age, but those two attacks were so extraordinary-and, if I may say so between ourselves, so significant-that I really must insist that every possible precaution is taken. I do hope I make myself clear."
"I don't think I know about the attacks." She was sitting up stiffly, her head a little on one side, her eyes alarmed. She looked very lovely and he warmed to her, betraying his youth in a sudden burst of confidence.
"Oh well, if they haven't told you, I can understand," he said. "It really is the oddest thing, and to be frank, I've never seen anything like it and I'd have pressed for another opinion if she hadn't made such a complete recovery. It's probably some kind of hysteria, although she's hardly that kind of subject, is she, d'you think?"
Margot shook her head.
"No," he agreed quickly. "Highly strung and temperamental, of course, but hardly hysterical. And yet, on the evidence, I can't account for it in any other way. I've not been her medical adviser for very long. She used to call in old Dr. Kay from Peter Street, and then found him rather unsympathetic, I'm afraid, and sent for me. I've been attending her for about three months now. She was going on perfectly well, I thought, and then one day a most extraordinary thing happened." He paused to fix Margot with his paie, unsmiling eyes. "Genvieve sent for me in a great state and I found Madame in a very curious condition. She had been very excited and almost incoherent, Genvieve told me, and had then appeared to faint. She had come round by the time I arrived, and although there was evidence of some exhaustion, there was nothing to worry about. Genvieve had propped her up by an open window, and although I examined her thoroughly, I found very little amiss. Yet something had happened. Her story was that she had been talking to her grandson from the Maquis alone in the drawing room, and that after he left her she lost consciousness."
He hesitated.
"I could see she didn't like the man, of course," he said, "but she was semi delirious when Genvieve came in and she was alone then. I shouldn't have taken it very seriously if it hadn't happened again on his next visit. This alarms you, does it?"
Margot drew her glance from his face and got up.
"No," she said. "No, I don't think it does, not yet."
"Have you ever known anything like it to happen to her before?"
"No, I haven't, but-but are you sure, Doctor, that Mr. Cotton had anything to do with this at all?"
"Naturally I'm not, or I should have had to take some action." His voice ran on easily. He was enjoying it, she thought wryly.
"But he was in the house each time, and each time, significantly enough, he had just left her when the attack occurred."
"Was Denis there the second time?"
"Oh yes. Zoff was in her bedroom and Denis Cotton had gone in to say good-bye to her. Genvieve heard him leave the house and then went up to her mistress. She found her lying on her bed, her handkerchief pressed to her lips. She was practically unconscious. Fortunately Genvieve carried her to the window, drenched her with eau de cologne, and then had the sense to ring me. When I came, Zoff was weak but quite normal, save for a slight worsening of the heart condition and some nausea. She could tell me nothing, except-which seemed to me to be rather cogent, you know that she did not remember Cotton going."
"I see." Margot spoke huskily. "Have you spoken to Denis?"
"I? Good heavens, no!" He seemed scandalised. "That's not my province. No, my duty is to protect my patient and then, if I am convinced that an attack is being made on her, to inform the police. I'm a doctor. I can't go interfering in anything that is not my direct concern. I did feel I should speak to someone other than a servant, though, and Zoff begged me to come this evening and see you. To be honest, I expected someone older."
He was still very self-possessed, still happy in his own importance.
"Do you think you can enforce my orders? She mustn't see him this time. If he's heard anything about it at all, I am amazed that he came again."
Margot ignored the final comment.
"No," she said slowly. "No, he mustn't see her again. I do understand that. For both their sakes. It's a coincidence, of course, or else, as you say, some sort of hysterical seizure. Are you sure there was nothing else to explain it, Doctor?"
"I'm not infallible," he said with dignity, "but I've found nothing to account for it. On each occasion recovery was complete in twenty-four hours. I haven't made any official complaint, for the elementary reason that I've no evidence against anybody. However, should something else occur whilst Mr. Cotton was again in the house, well, the probability of it being another coincidence would be rather strained, wouldn't it?"
He was silent for an instant, but added almost immediately:
"Believe me, I know it's very awkward, but you do see the need for caution, I hope?"
"I do. You can rely on me," she agreed quickly. "It's some sort of nerve storm, of course, brought on by the sight of Denis, if that's possible. She's never liked him, you see. She quarrelled with his mother."
To her relief he knew the story.
"That was the elder daughter, of course?" he said. "The one there was the case about?"
She nodded and he sat looking at her earnestly.
"It's terribly fascinating, you know," he remarked unexpectedly, "especially in view of all the new work that has been done in the psychotherapeutic field lately. There's probably quite a fixation there-desperately interesting. We'll get Brogan or McPhail to see her later on. Meanwhile I'll leave it to you. I shall drop in tomorrow, probably in the afternoon, just to jolly her along."
He got up and moved over to the door, his golden head a good foot above her own. As he passed her he hesitated.
"In your opinion this Denis person couldn't possibly have done anything-stupid? Is that so?"
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