Deadly Hall

by John Dickson Carr

  “Somebody else?”

  “Me.”

  For some time he had been conscious of the stir that heralded departure. To distant, indistinct orders, with a great churning and foaming of paddle-wheel, the Bayou Queen vibrated, moved, and backed from the dock.

  As once more they headed downstream on the Ohio with My Old Kentucky Home played on the calliope, he told Penny about the letter from Ira Rutledge and the letter from Dave.

  “What this soberest of family lawyers has to communicate to me, and with whom else he must communicate as well, remain profound, inexplicable secrets.”

  “It does seem odd, doesn’t it?” Penny wrinkled her forehead. “Have you heard, Jeff, that they’re probably going to sell the Hall?”

  “Yes; it’s no secret; they told me. The prospective buyer is one Earl George Merriman of St. Louis; the decision will be handed down May 1st.”

  “Serena won’t like that; she won’t like it at all. Well, we’re under way now, at least. How’s the time going?”

  Jeff went into the bathroom, retrieved his watch, and strapped it to his wrist.

  “Just past eleven,” he said. “Does it matter?”

  “No, not really. But we mustn’t stand here gossiping, must we? We’d better join the others, or they’ll think I want to monopolize you.

  “I do want to monopolize you, Penny; at some not too distant date I must tell you just how and how much I want to monopolize you. In the broad, mundane light of near-noon, however, we’d better present ourselves for inspection. Have you travelled by this boat before?”

  “No, not by any steamboat.”

  “Before we join the others, do you care for a conducted tour? At least I can show you what little I’ve learned myself of our temporary floating home. Would that be agreeable?”

  “Jeff, I’d love to! I’ve repacked the little bag; just let me drop it in Serena’s room, and I’d love to! Will that be agreeable?”

  “It will be excellent, my pocket Circe. Sending you to the wrong room was only a misunderstanding by the purser’s assistant; your suitcase has been restored. This way, then, and in a few moments more …”

  Presently, with Penny attentive at his side, they circled the sun deck (“Those are the officers’ quarters forward; we mustn’t wander there”), they descended to the texas deck and looked into the texas lounge without even encountering overcurious Mr. Minnoch. On the cabin deck, where passengers still lingered at the rails, Jeff led her inside and down the grand staircase.

  “I’ve been here before,” Penny told him. “This is the Plantation Room, where we eat. Through there, beyond that hall, is the Old South Lounge.”

  The Old South Lounge—panelled in Confederate gray, with a great shield of the stars and bars above its dummy mantelpiece, as well as overstuffed furniture and a good many round tables down its length—looked dusky despite sunlight outside. At a table near the middle they found Serena, Dave, and Charles Saylor, the two latter in a state of some emotion. Serena and Dave were seated; Mr. Saylor stood up to face them, as though in mid-flight of narrative.

  “Shall I go on?” he asked.

  “My dear fellow,” said Serena, who seemed to be stifling a yawn, “I can’t think of anything that interests me less. Still, if it gives you any pleasure …”

  “I don’t say it gives me any pleasure! But you’re not sore, are you? I mean, you don’t think it’s funny?”

  “Not having a warped sense of humor …”

  “I didn’t mean funny ha-ha, dammit! I meant—”

  “Yes, Chuck, you needn’t interpret.” She broke off to present him to Penny, and then settled back again. “We’re quite well aware of your good intentions; you’ve already explained often enough. He’s been telling us about G-l-a-m-i-s, which he’s been careful to call Glams in the most precise way.”

  “Of course he calls it Glams,” cried Dave, “if he’s done anything like the right research! Go ahead, Chuck. Nobody’s stopping you.”

  “I don’t know whether it’s a fact or only part of the legend,” Saylor pursued, “but it’s mentioned in every account of Glams Castle that’s ever been written. They were looking for the secret room, see?” he continued, including the two newcomers. “Out of every window in the castle they hung something white and conspicuous, like a towel or a pillow-case. It’s a big building, of course …”

  “Big?” echoed Serena. “It must be positively enormous, if they could find as much linen as that.”

  “For the sake of argument,” Dave demanded, “couldn’t we stop quibbling long enough to hear this?”

  Saylor indicated phantom windows.

  “When they’d done that, according to the story, there was one solitary window without a marker. They searched and searched; they’ve gone on searching to this day. But they still can’t find the lost window of the lost room. Quite a story, eh?”

  “Yes, it’s quite a story,” agreed Dave, “except that such tactics wouldn’t work at Delys Hall either.”

  “Why not?”

  “In the first place, we’ve got no reason to assume it’s a room in any conventional sense, or that there’s any window at all. What we want is a secret hiding place of some kind, which is not really hidden if you know how to look.”

  “In that case, Dave,” up went Saylor’s forefinger, “there must be a way to it from inside the house.”

  “Well, where do you start looking for a way?”

  “If you let me call the shots, I’d start looking somewhere in the neighborhood of that killer staircase.”

  “Killer staircase?” repeated Penny, her voice faltering. “I expect I’ve been at the Hall as much as anybody has, but what on earth do you mean by killer staircase?”

  “He doesn’t mean anything,” Jeff snapped, “except that he never means anything he says.”

  Saylor had retreated, left arm lifted as though toward off a blow.

  “All right, all right! I said I wouldn’t talk about it and I wouldn’t have, only Dave went on and on until he got it out of me. That’s the truth; ask Serena! And it’s only a wild fancy of mine, nothing to alarm or upset any such pretty ladies as these two.”

  “It doesn’t upset me, thanks very much,” Serena assured him. “I’m shock-proof and free of fancy, at least of superstitious fancy. Have you any sensible suggestion?”

  “Yes, I have. I was telling Jeff at breakfast I might write to somebody; maybe that’s your own best course.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s one man in America who’s the authority on secret hiding places, secret passages, that sort of stuff. He’s studied ’em all over the British Isles and on the continent of Europe; in this country too. There are more of ’em abroad than here, though we’ve got some good ’uns on our own soil. So this fellow’s the man for you.”

  “Do you by any chance mean Malcolm Townsend?” asked Dave.

  “Yes, I mean Malcolm Townsend; he wrote a book that’s the standard work. You’ve already heard of him?”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of him. A couple of years ago he wrote to father and asked permission to have a try at the Hall. Father, you remember,” Dave glanced at Serena, “didn’t want anybody messing around at that time. He wrote back courteously and said he feared it would be impossible. But Mr. Townsend’s letter is still there, with his address in Washington. Why do you think I’ve made a special trip to Washington now, if not to see him about the same matter?”

  “And did you see him, Dave?” inquired Serena.

  “Would I go all that distance and let myself be put off? Well, I wasn’t put off. He’s got a lecture to deliver, and the meeting of some antiquarians’ society too. But it’s all right! He’s coming by train; he’ll be in New Orleans Saturday morning, only a day after we get there ourselves. Then we ought to see some action. I still think the secret’s in that logbook grandpa left, if somebody can just spot the clue.”

  At the entrance of the lounge appeared the burly blue-uniformed figure and red face of Captain Joshua
Galway, with Kate Keith clinging solicitously to his arm. Kate whispered something in her companion’s ear. They had taken only a step or two inside the door; both instantly wheeled round and went out again.

  There was a little space of silence.

  “The Galways,” observed Dave, “have been Yankees for about a hundred years. So naturally, of course, they’d decorate this lounge in a way that would have gladdened the hearts of Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee. What do you think, Serena? Is our Kate making up to Captain Josh too?”

  “She’d better not be,” Serena said, “or Mrs. Captain Josh will take an axe to somebody. Aren’t you jealous, Dave? Aren’t you—”

  Whereupon Serena’s languid manner underwent a complete change.

  “Really, Penny,” she cried, getting up in haste, “there’s something I must tell you. I must tell you at once, and apart from the hearing of these good but obtuse people. You wanted a word in private with Jeff; you must please allow me a word in private with you. It won’t wait; it can’t wait! Don’t argue, dear; just come along!”

  Penny, her face protesting but as good-natured as ever, allowed herself to be swept out of the room.

  Dave spoke as though inconsequentially.

  “Well, how do you like that?” he said. “There goes the gal with no notions or fancies. But they’re all alike, when you get right down to it: Serena, Penny, every daughter of Eve since the beginning of time!”

  “Yes, very sudden,” Saylor conceded, “and might bear thinking about. Hardly to the point at this moment, though.”

  “No, not to the point at all; let’s see where we were. This coming Saturday will be April 23rd. That gives us a full week to search. If the expert can come up with something really good, we mightn’t even …”

  But Chuck Saylor would not permit Dave to finish. Saylor, clearly, already saw himself as one of the searchers.

  “If we find the secret room, Dave …”

  “What’s the matter with you? Hoy!”

  The other’s eyes, set rather close together above a long nose, had wandered towards infinity. Now his gaze returned, hesitant but determined.

  “I was just thinking …”

  “Let’s hear it!”

  “If we find the secret room, and it’s somewhere near that staircase …”

  “Well?”

  “It would be the height of something or other, wouldn’t it, if we found another dead man inside?”

  6

  WHEN JEFF CALDWELL afterwards reviewed subsequent events of that journey downriver, between lunch on Tuesday until their arrival at New Orleans late Friday afternoon, he realized that he had seen or sensed little except the obvious. Apart from one or two trifling incidents, nothing in particular seemed to happen before the last night afloat, when too much threatened to explode at once.

  The boat could slow down or increase speed at will, her whistle bidding hoarse hello to passing craft. Below Louisville they negotiated the Ox Bow Bends of the Ohio. Then, presently, the broad Ohio became the still broader Mississippi.

  He did not go ashore at Memphis, high on the Fourth Chickasaw Bluff of the left bank. He did not even see Vicksburg, which they passed during the small hours of Thursday morning. Natchez, he decided, should be another matter.

  Time also passed in much talk with little said. At the insistence of Jeff, backed up by Serena, Penny, and even Dave, they managed to dissuade Chuck Saylor from too much speculation about the alleged secret room at Delys Hall. But sandy-haired Mr. Saylor must always speculate about something, usually the sensational. He related every grisly detail of what the newspapers had called a love-nest strangling in New York, and dealt slanderously with all concerned.

  Jeff’s only real difficulty, as unexpected as unexplained, occurred with Penny.

  Ever since Serena’s communication before lunch on Tuesday, Penny had altered. It was not that she tried to avoid him or showed any lack of friendliness. But she seemed no longer responsive, eager, or particularly interested. Some sort of wall had been built up between them, keeping her beyond reach. The more he knew himself to be falling for Penny, the less encouragement he received. He tried tentative questions as early as Tuesday night.

  The boat’s amenities included a white orchestra, five active young men in maroon jackets, black trousers, white shirts, and black ties. Following dinner, most evenings, they played for dancing in the after cabin lounge.

  On Tuesday evening, to the thump of a lively fox trot from Hit the Deck, Jeff and Penny were circling the far from crowded floor when she said she didn’t care to go on deck for a breath of air.

  “Is anything wrong, Penny?”

  “Wrong? Good heavens, no! What could be wrong?”

  “That’s what I’ve been wondering. Have I offended you again? Or did Serena tell you something to cause a change?”

  “I haven’t changed one bit! It’s got nothing to do with you, not really. Serena’s your friend, Jeff. She’s fond of you; in private she shows it. And I’m just the same as I always was. You’re not often absurd, but you’re being absurd now.”

  Then, too, there had been that conversation with Dave before dinner, when he and Dave finished cigarettes on the texas deck as twilight gathered.

  “Dancing tonight,” Dave had announced, humming a bar or two. “It’s not formal any night, unless you want to dress for the captain’s ball later. Penny, at least, won’t go formally. She won’t wear an evening gown, I mean, or you’d probably tear the whole thing off her before the end of the first dance.”

  “For God’s sake, Dave, won’t anybody drop that tedious joke?”

  “What’s tedious about it, or a joke either? If you never wondered how Penny looked in the nude before you actually saw her that way, you’re not the man I take you for! I’ve wondered often enough, I can tell you!”

  “Just a minute, now! This guff about seeing Penny … seeing Penny …”

  “In the nude, you mean? Only this morning, I understand …”

  “But—!”

  “Yes, I know! It was a mistake; Serena told me it was a mistake. They’d directed Penny to the wrong room when you walked in.”

  “But, Dave—!”

  “It happened, didn’t it? So it had to happen somehow. You’re not likely to have smashed the door down, and I don’t see her inviting you in to watch her take a shower. Kate Keith would, and others might too; not Penny!”

  Dave, of course, would never have referred to it if Penny had been present or within hearing. Nor, so far as Jeff knew, had he commented to anyone else.

  But could any aspect of that unfortunate shower business explain her present attitude? Though Penny had denied this almost as soon as it happened, she sometimes made remarks contradicted in both directions by her behavior afterwards. He had debated the issue before his tentative approach that night resulted only in a denial of everything.

  During Wednesday night’s dancing he almost questioned her again, but decided to refrain. With Penny technically in his arms if spiritually miles away, he must not allow himself to grow lightheaded and babble. Easy, Caldwell! Don’t rush your fences or jump the gun!

  Wednesday’s dancing was both preceded and concluded by one incident that might have provoked argument. After dinner a little procession trooped up from the Plantation Room and through the broad hall, where stateroom doors opened inwards rather than on deck, towards the after cabin lounge at the far end. Kate Keith and Dave went first; Penny followed, with Jeff at her side; Serena and Chuck Saylor lingered a little way back.

  “Mrs. Keith!” called Saylor, who had been treating Kate with powerful gallantry ever since they were introduced. “Mrs. Keith!”

  Kate, in semi-formal yellow, disengaged her arm from Dave’s and turned.

  “Today, Mrs. Keith,” Saylor intoned, “you went ashore at Memphis. You went on your own, disdaining company. When you returned, it’s whispered in Gath, you were carrying a paper bag with the distinct outline of a bottle inside. I mustn’t be Mr. Buttinsky; if
I’m getting out of line, madam, just tell me to go fly a kite. However, if you should invite us to your room for refreshment …?”

  “Are we such a gang of topers as that?” asked Dave, eyeing him without favor. “Do we need liquor to sustain us before we can face the evening? If I were you, Kate, I’d ask at the gift shop whether they’ve got any good kites.”

  “Sorry, Dave!” Saylor threw off apology in haste. “But you all know how it is.”

  “ ’Deed and I do know how it is!” breathed Kate. “Later, of course, would be much better!”

  The dancing swayed and wheeled, mostly fox trots varied by the occasional waltz, with a sufficiency of partners for every girl in their party. Penny, chatting lightly, to Jeff seemed more remote than ever. Well before midnight, when the orchestra would call it a day, they adjourned up to the texas lounge and claimed one of its oblong mahogany tables.

  Disappearing for no great time, Kate returned with a paper-wrapped parcel which she passed to Saylor under the table and whose contents, surreptitiously inspected, proved to be a square-faced bottle labelled London Dry Gin.

  “Tells us a good deal about the lady’s character,” muttered Saylor, as Kate drew Dave to another table. “Among other things, she doesn’t lack generosity. Let’s see: it’ll be Natchez tomorrow, eh?”

  It was. They reached Natchez towards noon on Thursday.

  Throughout these days, except at meals, they had seen almost nothing of enigmatic, heavily moustached Mr. Minnoch. With his travelling companion, another middle-aged man as lean as Minnoch was stocky, having smooth gray hair in contrast to Minnoch’s baldness, he champed his way through many courses at the table of some amiable elderly couple who beamed on everybody. Otherwise Messrs. Minnoch and Bull kept to themselves, evincing no curiosity at all.

  Jeff finished the book of detective short stories which had defeated him that first night, finding them well up to their author’s high standard. And it fascinated him merely to watch the river. Just when you thought it only muddy brown, you caught tinges of green, of blue, of both, or of all three together. But his preoccupation with Penny had not lessened. If he could persuade Penny to accompany him ashore at Natchez, he must see how she behaved away from this atmosphere.