by Vernon Loder
‘I wonder what Barley is after,’ Tollard said to himself as he left to go upstairs to his bedroom. ‘And I wonder what he thinks. Some of those cats—’
He stopped there, and went upstairs quickly. As he passed the door of his wife’s room, he heard her moving about with her slow, light tread. He shrugged, and did not go in.
He left at half-past two for town. By three, the other guests had filled two cars, and set off for Heber Castle, a show place in the neighbourhood that was open to visitors. Mrs Tollard did not go with them. She pleaded a headache, and did not come down after lunch. Mr Barley went in one car, with Elaine Gurdon, Nelly Sayers, young Haine, and Mrs Minever. Mrs Gailey, the two Heads, and a friend who had dropped in, took the other.
‘I thought Margery looked awful at lunch,’ said Mrs Gailey, as they drove along through the sun-soaked country. ‘What a pathetic face she has.’
Mr Head grunted. ‘I don’t know really why she tries to play bridge. She has no idea of any conventions, and seems to think that the whole game consists in doubling.’
‘Perhaps that is why she looks pathetic,’ said the friend, with a smile.
Mrs Head frowned. Bridge was no subject for humour. ‘She might think of her partners,’ she remarked severely.
‘And now Ned is going off suddenly,’ said Mrs Gailey.
The friend grinned. ‘There’s the reason for the pathos. Young wife, departing husband! Why, some of them weep buckets!’
‘Tollard looked a bit fed-up too, I thought,’ observed Mr Head. ‘Last night he muddled every hand.’
‘Blow bridge!’ thought Netta Gailey. She wished she were in the other car with Nelly Sayers, who could talk of interesting things without introducing some detestable hobby. In the other car, Miss Sayers was also seeking information.
‘Mr Tollard left in rather a hurry,’ she said to Mr Barley. ‘Business, I suppose?’
‘Men always have business for an excuse; we women are not so lucky,’ grumbled Mrs Minever.
‘Business,’ agreed Mr Barley, avoiding Elaine’s eye.
‘If I had such a jolly pretty wife, I wouldn’t let any business take me away,’ said Ortho Haine enthusiastically.
‘A single man doesn’t know what a married man may do,’ said Mrs Minever.
They picnicked in a lovely dell, duly made the tour of the castle, and returned in good time for dinner. Mr Barley’s first duty on reaching home was to enquire after Mrs Tollard’s headache. She herself was not yet visible, and her maid told Mr Barley that she was not sure if her mistress would leave her room that day.
‘I hope she is not really ill,’ said he solicitously.
‘Oh no, sir. But she has a blinding headache, and will be glad if you will excuse her at dinner tonight, sir.’
‘I shall have something sent up to her. You might perhaps ask her if she would care to see a doctor. I could telephone for Browne.’
‘No, thank you, sir. She told me to tell you not to trouble, only please to excuse her.’
‘Mrs Tollard will not be down tonight,’ he told his guests, when they assembled at dinner. ‘I should think it must be a touch of neuralgia myself.’
All expressed sympathy, though Elaine’s face wore a look of slight scepticism, as if she doubted the cause of the malaise.
‘She did look seedy this morning,’ said young Haine.
‘She is a pale type,’ said Mrs Minever.
After dinner, Mrs Minever, the Heads, Mr Barley, and the Heads’ friend, with Elaine and Ortho Haine, decided for bridge. Nelly Sayers wanted Mrs Gailey to go with her to the billiard-room, where they could discuss Margery and her neuralgia to their heart’s content, but a fourth was wanted for the second table, so she sat down with a book.
At half-past eleven the last rubber had been played, and Mrs Minever closed her bag, and got up. She was followed by Mrs Gailey, Elaine, and the others, the Heads lingering almost to the last to discuss some incident in the evening’s play. Then they too disappeared, and Mr Barley was left alone with Haine, who was yawning heavily.
‘Fine woman, Miss Gurdon,’ he said to his host, raising a desultory hand.
‘Very,’ said Mr Barley. ‘Brilliant even. I have a great respect for her.’
‘Doesn’t seem to be much love lost between her and Mrs Tollard,’ drawled Haine.
Mr Barley frowned. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t say that. But you’re tired, Haine. What about bed?’
‘Bed it is, sir,’ said Ortho obediently. ‘Good-night.’
Mr Barley retired last, looking thoughtful. Half an hour later, and the house was quiet. It was a still and warm night. Isolated in its park, there were no sounds from the main road that bounded the grounds on the south side.
Mr Barley fell asleep at twelve. He had tired himself speculating about Tollard and his wife. They would come round in time, he thought. These tiffs were a part of many married lives.
He was awakened about half-past five next morning by a sound. It seemed to him low but penetrating. He sat up in bed, and listened. A soft thud followed. He got out of bed, slipped on his trousers, slippers, and a dressing-gown, and was about to go out into the lobby when there was a knock at his door.
‘Come in,’ he said, in a disturbed voice.
He thought it might be his man. To his surprise it was Elaine Gurdon.
She wore moccasin slippers, and had on a silk dressing-gown over her night-dress. Her hair had been loosely coiled on top of her head, and held there by a long obsidian pin, with an amber head. He noticed that she was very tense, though she was in perfect control of herself.
‘What’s the matter?’ he stammered.
She put a finger on her lips. ‘Don’t rouse anyone yet. Come with me, please. Mrs Tollard is very ill. She may be dead. I have just come from her room.’ Mr Barley tried twice to speak. His face was ashen. He trembled as he stood staring at Elaine. Then he followed her out of the room, and down along the passage to the bedroom occupied by Margery Tollard.
CHAPTER III
THE DRESSING-GOWN
THE bedrooms on the right side of the lobby faced south. The one occupied by Margery Tollard had a door communicating with that formerly used by her husband, which was, of course, empty since his departure.
Still silent, but much shaken, Mr Barley followed Elaine Gurdon to the door, watched her turn the handle, and push the door open. Then he advanced ahead of her into the room.
Something in the posture of the figure that lay face upwards on the floor near the window told him that Mrs Tollard was dead. He stopped to stare for a few moments, passing his hand agitatedly over his forehead. Then, accompanied by Elaine, he went forward and looked down into the dead face.
It looked haggard and tormented, the lips drawn back from the teeth in an ugly way. He shuddered.
‘I must send for the doctor at once. I don’t understand what can have happened. Will you help me get her on to the bed?’
Elaine shook her head doubtfully. ‘I don’t think it wise. I have seen many dead people before now, and this doesn’t look natural.’
‘You can’t mean murder?’ he asked, his jaw dropping.
‘I mean we had better leave her where she is,’ said Elaine. ‘Telephone at once to the doctor, and to the police. That is the only thing to do. I shall stay here until they come, or until you return.’
‘Please do,’ he said. ‘I suppose we shall have to tell the others? Shocking affair, dreadful, awful! But I must telephone. That can’t wait.’
He hurried out of the room, and slipped downstairs. He was anxious to alarm no one just yet, and at that hour most of the guests were wrapped in heavy sleep. It took him some time to get a reply from Dr Browne’s house, but, when the sleepy man at the other end of the wire heard what had happened, he assured Mr Barley that he would drive over at once.
Mr Barley next rang up the police station. Another short wait here. Then he heard the sergeant’s voice, hurriedly told him of the tragic event, and went upstairs again.
N
o one had been disturbed. Elaine was standing looking out of the window when he returned to the room. A great deal was required to shake her nerve. She had seen death too near, and too often, to lose control.
‘You will notice that this window is wide open, Mr Barley,’ she said in a low voice, as he went to her side, ‘top and bottom.’
‘So was mine,’ he said, rubbing his hands nervously together. ‘It was a very hot night.’
‘At all events, remember it,’ she said, so significantly that it rang in his head for long after. ‘Is the doctor coming?’
‘Yes, and the police sergeant. Dear me! Dear me! What ought I to do? The people here will be alarmed. Will it be wise to defer telling them?’
‘For the present, yes,’ she said.
‘And later on I could make arrangements for them to go.’
She shook her head. ‘The police may want to see them all.’
The thought of the police worried him. ‘I think I must lock up this room then. We can’t stand here. I don’t like it. If we could have put her on the bed, it would have been different, but she looks terrible lying there.’
‘Very well,’ said Elaine. ‘It’s lucky most of the others are sleeping in the other wing of the house. Only Mr Haine is in this—beside my room, and her husband’s.’
‘Poor Tollard!’ he said, ‘I had forgotten him. What a blow it will be! How he will reproach himself for being away. But, Miss Gurdon, surely it’s possible she died naturally? She was not well yesterday, had a violent headache, and did not come down later—’
She touched him on the shoulder. ‘We shall see all that later. We had better lock up this room. I must get dressed, and you too. The doctor might be here in a few minutes.’
He turned to the door. ‘You are so practical. Yes, I must dress at once. I am sure Browne will be shocked when he sees her. But we mustn’t talk here.’
He let her out, followed himself, withdrawing the key, and locking the door from the outside. He was far more disturbed than Elaine, unusually shaken for such a stolid and experienced man.
‘Don’t tell the others till after breakfast, if you can avoid it,’ she whispered, as they parted outside her room.
He shook his head mournfully, and went off to complete his dressing. He did not shave. As he put on his collar he suddenly remembered that Miss Gurdon had not told him why she had gone into the dead woman’s room. He supposed that, like himself, she had heard that extraordinary sound, and the thud. In the light of what he now knew, it occurred to him that the latter noise must have been the sound of Mrs Tollard’s fall. In that case her death must have taken place at the most a few minutes before Miss Gurdon came to tell him that something was wrong.
That this should happen was troubling enough of itself to the good host and kindly friend, but in addition he had a liking for Mrs Tollard. It may have been that her rather pathetic face and air appealed to him; or her habit of speaking to him as if he stood in some protective relation to her. At all events he felt her death deeply.
He was sorry for Tollard too. The man had not seemed very happy of late. Probably there had been some slight marital differences, but these things fade away in the face of death. Ned would be horrified when he learned what had happened.
It was as well that most of the guests slept well that morning. One or two may have heard the doctor’s car drive up, but at that early hour no one thought anything of it. Mr Barley, in a fret of impatience, let the doctor in, asking him to be as quiet as he could.
‘A good many guests,’ he added anxiously.
‘I see,’ said Browne, in a quiet voice. ‘Will you lead the way, Mr Barley.’
Barley took him upstairs. In the passage near the door of Mrs Tollard’s room, Elaine Gurdon stood waiting. Barley whispered an introduction, Browne bowed, looked curiously at Elaine, whom he had heard lecture, and waited till Mr Barley had unlocked the door.
He advanced into the room, and bent down to look at the dead woman. Mr Barley stopped near him, his heavy face quivering. Elaine slipped in, but remained near the door, her face intent.
Dr Browne pursed his lips, studying the face of Mrs Tollard carefully. Something he saw in it seemed to check him in an impulse to lift the body.
‘Just a moment,’ he whispered over his shoulder to Mr Barley.
Mr Barley stepped gingerly over to him, and listened to a few rapid words that Elaine could not catch. But, watching the doctor’s moving lips, she thought she saw them shape the word ‘Poison.’
‘Yes, we had better wait for the sergeant,’ replied Mr Barley.
Through the open window they heard a slight crunch of loose gravel. The doctor stepped over, glanced out, and nodded back at the others. Barley took this gesture to mean that the police sergeant had arrived on his bicycle. He left the room softly, but hurriedly.
Browne looked at Miss Gurdon. She approached him, and put a question in a low voice.
‘What do you think? She was not very well yesterday.’
He shrugged. ‘I prefer to say nothing for the moment.’
She nodded, and went back to where she had stood before. In a very short time Mr Barley ushered in the sergeant, who tried to cover his excitement by looking very grim and important. This sort of case had not come into his hands before.
He and the doctor spoke together in whispers for a few moments. Then, between them, they raised the dead woman into a sitting position, supported by their arms, being careful not to disturb the position of the lower portion of the body.
As they raised her, Dr Browne removed one arm suddenly, and glanced at the sergeant. ‘Something here,’ he said softly. ‘Can you hold her yourself for a moment, sergeant? I felt something against my sleeve.’
The sergeant did as he was bid. Mr Barley stared eagerly at the two men. Elaine drew herself up, and seemed to be frozen by some sudden thought.
Browne put a hand to a spot beneath Mrs Tollard’s left shoulder-blade, made a gentle plucking movement, and stared at something he held between his fingers. It looked to the others like a dark wooden sliver, or long thorn. The sergeant opened his mouth, restrained an exclamation, and fixed his eyes on this strange object.
‘Lay her back again, please,’ said Browne, his voice troubled.
The sergeant complied. Browne rose to his feet, and approached Mr Barley.
‘If you will leave the room, and Miss Gurdon too, please, I will make an examination,’ he said.
‘But what is it?’ stammered Barley.
‘I am unable to say yet,’ said the doctor.
Mr Barley, greatly shaken, advanced to Elaine, and told her that they must both retire. She nodded absently, and went out with him. The door was shut.
He turned to her when they were in the passage. ‘Will you come down to the library, Miss Gurdon? We can’t talk up here. There has been enough noise already.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘But, if I were you, I should telephone to the superintendent at Elterham as well. The sergeant does not impress me.’
‘And to Tollard,’ he assented. ‘Dear me! Dear me! This is indeed a tragedy.’
He went downstairs to the telephone, and Elaine to the library. If it struck her as odd that the elderly and experienced business man’s nervousness contrasted unfavourably with her own poise and practicality, she bestowed no further thought on it.
She was sitting smoking a cigarette when Mr Barley returned.
‘I couldn’t get Tollard at his house,’ he said, ‘but the superintendent is coming at once.’
‘Good,’ said Elaine, ‘the sooner the better.’
He took his favourite attitude before the fireplace, and now his coat-tails positively swung like leaves in a gale.
‘I believe that Browne has discovered something terrible,’ he said. ‘He found something. It may have been some species of weapon, though it was very small.’
‘I had a glimpse of it,’ agreed Elaine.
‘It looked like a splinter, or a long thorn,’ he said.
‘I thought I recognised it. But we can make sure very easily. If I am not mistaken, you put up a trophy of some of my curios in the hall. We’ll have a look at it now.’
He gave her a puzzled look, then nodded. ‘I don’t know what you mean, but we can go there if you think it will help us.’
She rose, threw her cigarette into the grate, and preceded him into the hall.
On one of the walls, at a considerable height from the ground, hung a small trophy of South American Indian arms. Chief among them was a blow-pipe and a little receptacle for darts.
‘Get a step-ladder,’ said Elaine, as he came behind her, and followed her glance upwards.
He stood still for a moment, his brows knotted, then went off. When he came back with a light step-ladder he had got in the kitchen, he began to adjust it.
‘Lucky the servants have their own stairs,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have asked them not to begin cleaning in this part of the house till I tell them. Grover was just coming down when I stopped him.’
She nodded assent, placed the step-ladder near the wall and mounted it before he could, stop her. With a quick hand she detached the miniature quiver for darts, and brought it down.
‘There were six, weren’t there?’ she asked.
He gaped, beginning to see her point, then nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. But surely—’
She took out the darts from the receptacle with the utmost care. ‘I really ought not to have let you have these,’ she murmured, ‘but it can’t be helped now.’
‘There are only five,’ he said, staring at the venomous things in her hand.
She nodded grimly. ‘Just five. Now we know where we are.’
Mr Barley’s eyes grew wide with horror. ‘Then you think that thing upstairs—?’ he began.
‘I am sure of it,’ said Elaine.
‘But they were not poisoned surely?’ he gasped. ‘The other day, you know, you showed us how that pipe was used.’
Elaine nodded. ‘The chief from whom I got those had a couple of dozen made for me. The poisoning is a later operation. Naturally, I used harmless darts.’