Almost at the end of the corridor a slim shaft of light coming from an open door was cast on the opposite wall and caught the corner of a walnut tallboy. The girl saw and went forward.
The open door disclosed the well of the back stairs. She peeped through, but the place seemed deserted. One more look she sent over her shoulder, then glided towards the tallboy and softly pulled out the bottom drawer of its upper half. The drawer ran easily and made no sound, but the brass handles clinked as she released them and the tiny noise made her start guiltily.
The drawer was empty; the girl put one hand in, feeling with trembling fingers along the back.
Something impelled her to look up; the breath caught in her throat, and her groping hand was checked. A shadow had appeared in the panel of light on the wall, the shadow of a man's head.
The girl's eyes remained riveted on it while seconds passed. No sound had betrayed his approach, but someone was behind her, watching.
She slid the drawer home inch by inch; her throat felt parched, her knees shook.
A smooth voice that yet held a note of menace spoke: "Were you looking for something, miss?"
She turned; under the mask she was deadly pale. The valet stood in the doorway behind her, motionless.
She said with what assurance she could muster: "How you startled me! I have been admiring some of this wonderful old furniture. I wonder if you can tell me if this is a William and Mary piece?"
His eyes travelled slowly to the tallboy and back again to her face. His tight mouth relaxed into a smile that was curiously unpleasant. It seemed to triumph, to gloat; the girl felt her skin prick, but stood still, waiting.
"The tallboy," said Collins softly.
She swallowed. "Yes. Do you know its date?"
He put out his hand and passed it over the polished surface caressingly. His smile grew. "No, miss," he said politely. "I fear I do not. You are very interested in it, are you, miss?"
"I'm interested — yes. I must ask Mr. Fountain about it."
There was a footstep on the stone stairs; a woman's voice called: "Mr. Collins! Is that you up there? Mr. Collins, will you come? They'll be in to supper in a minute; the champagne ought to go on the ice."
He turned his head; the smile had faded. "I'll be down in a minute, Alice." He looked at the girl beside him with narrowed, calculating eyes. "I think you had better go downstairs, miss," he said. "This way, if you please."
He went before her down the passage; she had no choice but to follow him. He led her to the front stairs and stood aside for her to go down them. She hesitated, desperately seeking an excuse to keep him with her.
A big, scarlet-clad figure stood talking to a Mary Queen of Scots upon the half-landing. He looked round and saw the valet. The girl's heart gave a frightened leap, for the scarlet figure was that of her host and the hour of unmasking must be very near at hand. She slipped past him and went down to the hall.
"Oh, there you are, Collins! I want you," Fountain said.
An ugly look came into the valet's face and was swiftly gone again. He said: "Yes, sir," and followed his master downstairs.
The contadina's eyes stole to the big grandfather clock. In less than five minutes midnight would strike. Unconsciously her hands clasped and unclasped in the folds of her dress. Fountain had gone across the hall to the dining room with Collins; they were standing in the doorway, and Fountain seemed to be giving the valet some instructions. The man was watching her, she knew, though he did not appear to be looking in her direction. Two other people had joined Fountain; the valet bowed and went into the dining room.
At once the contadina began to edge her way through the crowd in the hall to the staircase. There was probably a second door into the dining room, which gave access to the back part of the house where the kitchens were situated, but the girl dared not let slip her opportunity..
A Harlequin with whom she had danced earlier in the evening detained her as she tried to slip past him. He showed a tendency to keep her beside him, pointing laughingly to the clock. One minute to twelve; she made an excuse that she had left a ring in the cloakroom and escaped him. She reached the top of the stairs as the first chime began and ran towards the archway.
The passage was silent and deserted; at the top of the back stairs the door still stood ajar. She reached it, cast a quick glance through, and with a shuddering sigh of relief pulled it to. The shaft of light disappeared, the latch clicked. The girl went to the tallboy and pulled open the drawer she had tried before. Straining her ears to catch the sound of a footstep approaching up the stairs, her hands went feverishly about their work, pressing, scratching along the back of the drawer. Something moved there; the false back came away, revealing a space behind. The girl thrust her hand in, feeling for some object. There was nothing there.
For a moment she stood quite still, her hand in the drawer. Then slowly she drew it out and replaced the false back. There was a bitter twist to her mouth. She pushed the drawer home.
"Admiring the furniture?" said a drawling voice.
She started uncontrollably and swung round. Leaning against the archway that led to the hall was Mephistopheles, without his mask.
The dry sob that broke from her was one of startled nerves. "You!" she panted. "You followed me up here!"
"Why not?" he said.
She could not answer; she stood staring at him, backed against the tallboy.
"Do you usually inspect the furniture in the houses you visit?" inquired Mr. Amberley in a conversational voice.
She made an effort to pull herself together. "I'm interested in period pieces."
"Are you indeed?" He strolled forward and saw her stiffen. "I'm quite uninstructed in these matters. But I'm most curious to know what you find to interest you inside the tallboy."
She said, trying to speak naturally: "Of course - I should not have opened the drawer. I only wanted to see whether it ran easily I haven't stolen anything, if that's what you think. There - isn't anything to steal."
"You don't have much luck, do you?" he said.
A footstep sounded in the hall; Fountain's boisterous voice said: "Half a moment, you people; I'm going to rout out the picture gallery. Aha, Miss Elliott, so I did spot you! It was the dimple that gave you away. Couldn't disguise that, you know!"
The contadina stood like a statue, but through the mask her eyes were fixed on Amberley's face in a rather desperate entreaty.
Fountain came through the archway into the passage humming a dance tune. He had almost turned right, in the direction of the gallery, when he caught sight of the couple at the other end of the passage. He stopped. "Hullo!" he said, surprised. "What are you two up to?"
Amberley looked down at the girl for a moment, then he turned. "Hullo!" he answered. "We're admiring the tallboy. Do you know the date of it?"
"Lord, what a chap you are for antiques!" said Fountain, going towards them. "No, I haven't the foggiest. But it's a show piece all right. Rotten things, tallboys, I think. If you put things in the top drawers you have to have a pair of steps to get 'em out again. But you can't put me off with furniture, my boy! No, no, it's midnight, and masks off! Now who's this pretty lady?"
He was standing before the contadina, burly and ovial, a hand advanced to take off her mask. Mr. Amberley caught his wrist and held it. "Oh no!" he said. "My privilege. You're very much de trop."
Fountain burst out laughing. "De trop, am I? All right, all right, I won't spoil sport! Tallboys indeed! You tell that to the marines."
Someone called: "Basil! Do come here!" from the direction of the stairs, and Fountain began to walk away, saying over his shoulder: "Mind you claim the penalty for being masked after midnight, Amberley!"
In another moment he was gone. The contadina's muscles relaxed. She said: "Why did you do that? Why didn't you let him unmask me?"
"You ought to be grateful to me for not letting him," said Mr. Amberley.
"I am grateful. But why did you do it? I know very well you don't t
rust me."
"Not an inch," said Mr. Amberley. "But I'm handling you myself."
"If you think I'm a thief - oh, and a murderess too! - why don't you give me up to the police?" she said bitterly.
"Well," said Mr. Amberley, "having given way to a somewhat foolish impulse and refrained from mentioning your presence on the scene of the murder to the police, I can't very well come out with it now. And who am I to question your interest in antiques?"
She put up her hand and ripped her mask off; her face was flushed, her eyes stormy. "I hate you!" she shot out. "You didn't shield me out of- out of consideration! It was because you want to solve what you choose to think is a mystery by yourself!"
"Quite right," agreed Mr. Amberley. "Though somewhat involved."
She looked as though she would have liked to hit him. "Then let me tell you I'd rather you went downstairs now and let the Fountains know I'm a gate-crasher and a thief than — than have you following me and spying what I do!"
"I haven't the smallest doubt of that," he replied. "After all, what would happen if I gave you away to the Fountains? You would merely be shown the door. That wouldn't help me in the least."
She prepared to leave him, but paused to say: "All right! But if you think you're going to find out anything about me you're wrong."
"Would you like to take a bet on it?" he inquired.
But she had gone. Mr. Amberley gave a laugh under his breath, stooped to pick up the handkerchief she had dropped, and began to stroll away towards the hall.
Chapter Five
Mr. Amberley, with a sloth his cousin found disgusting, spent most of the next morning in a somnolent state in the garden. A burst of hot sunshine induced Felicity, always optimistic, to put up the hammock. Mr. Amberley observed this, and approved. Felicity found him stretched in it an hour after breakfast, tried to turn him out, failed, and went off very scornfully to play hard-court tennis.
But Mr. Amberley was not destined to be left for long in peace. Shortly after twelve o'clock his aunt came out and poked him with her sunshade. He opened his eyes, surveyed her in silent indignation, and closed them again.
"Dear Frank — so sylvan. But you must wake up. The most tiresome thing."
Without opening his eyes Mr. Amberley murmured a sentence he knew by heart. "Bridges haven't sent the fish, and unless I will be an angel and run into Upper Nettlefold for it there won't be any lunch."
"No, nothing like that. At least, I trust not. That man who annoys your uncle."
"Which one?" inquired Mr. Amberley.
"Colonel Watson. In the drawing room. Must I invite him to lunch?"
Mr. Amberley was at last roused. He sat up and swung his long legs out of the hammock. "I forgive you, Aunt Marion," he said. "It was very nice of you to come and warn me. I shall take my book into the woodshed. On no account ask him to lunch."
Lady Matthews smiled. "I do sympathise, my dear. Of course I do. But not a warning. He has been talking to your uncle for half an hour. The gold standard, you know. So incomprehensible and unsuitable. He came on business. Something very legal, but he wouldn't go. If he had only told Humphrey that he wanted to see you! We have only just discovered it. Not that he said so. It was sheer intuition on my part. Do come, my dear. Be very rude, and then he will not want to stay to lunch."
"All right, I will be. Very rude," said Mr. Amberley, and descended from the hammock.
"So sweet of you, Frank, but perhaps better not," said his aunt dubiously.
The chief constable's manner when Mr. Amberley lounged in through the long window in the drawing room was an admirable mixture of casual surprise and friendly gratification. "Ah, hullo, Amberley!" he said, getting up and shaking hands. "So you are still here! This is a pleasant surprise. How are you?"
"Sunk in apathy," said Mr. Amberley. "Just about half awake. Certainly not more."
This seemed to provide the colonel with the opening he wanted. He laughed and said: "Sunk in apathy! Surely that can't mean bored?"
"Not yet," said Mr. Amberley.
His uncle gave a sudden snort of laughter which he managed to turn into a cough.
"You want something to occupy your mind," said the colonel in a jocular way. "Perhaps you'd like to try your hand at our little murder case!"
Mr. Amberley saw fit to treat this as a joke. Colonel Watson abandoned the facetious vein. "Seriously, my dear fellow, I should be delighted if you cared to give us a hand with it. It's a most interesting problem. Quite in your line."
"Very kind of you, sir, but you don't want an amateur dabbling in these professional matters."
The colonel realised that he did not like Mr. Amberley. Looking back, he could not remember that he ever had liked him. Those hard eyes had a way of staring contemptuously through one, and that ironic smile was the most irritating thing he had ever seen. The fact was the fellow was too damned conceited. Obviously he wasn't going to beg, as a favour, to be allowed to have a hand in the solving of this worrying murder. The colonel dallied for a moment with the idea of taking him at his word and leaving him out of the thing altogether. It would afford him distinct gratification just to turn the conversation on to quite trivial matters, chat for a little and then go, leaving this insufferable young man to wish he had not been so offhand.
The idea was very tempting, but the colonel put it aside. He was rather dismally aware that he was not a particularly clever man, but he hoped that he was clever enough not to cut off his nose just to spite his face. It was all very well for the inspector to say that they would clear the whole mystery up as soon as certain data came to hand, but Colonel Watson had no great opinion of the inspector's ability to probe any mystery. A good routineman, yes, and a capable man, but it was no use blinking facts; this sort of thing was not in his line. Of course he didn't want to call in Scotland Yard. The colonel could quite sympathise with him over that; he didn't want to call in Scotland Yard himself. He hated those highly efficient persons who came from the Yard, and complained that they should have been called in sooner, before the trail was cold; and took the whole matter out of one's hands. Really, when one considered it, they were worse than Frank Amberley. He was much ruder than they were, because they took the trouble to disguise their scorn of the previous conduct of the case, and he never had any hesitation in condemning what he chose to think blamable. But at least he could not relegate them all to the status of lower schoolboys, and to do him justice he hadn't, over that Bilton affair, wanted to take all the credit of success to himself.
He ought not to consult a layman. It was irregular, and he did not like irregularity. He ought to have swallowed his pride and called in the Yard at once. He had allowed himself to be overruled by the inspector, and now he dreaded having to apply to the Yard, for they would have considerable justification for complaining of a cold trail. There would be a great deal of unpleasantness about it. On the whole it would be much better to let young Amberley — well, he wasn't so very young, perhaps. Must be about thirty-five, he supposed. Still, too young to sneer at his elders. Never mind about that; no denying the fellow was remarkably astute. Yes, better to let young Amberley see what he could do. He was naturally pretty well known at the Yard, too, so it wasn't like calling in a stranger. If the Yard got to hear about it they wouldn't object. And really the way he had handled that Bilton case was masterly.
The inspector, of course, would be furious. He had never got over that young devil sending him off twenty miles on a wild-goose chase and saying afterwards by way of explanation that he had put him on to a false trail because be couldn't do any harm there.
A smile flitted across the colonel's worried countenance. He could still see the inspector's face; he wouldn't have missed that incident for worlds. Serve the inspector right! He was a self-important ass. And if he didn't like Amberley being let into it he could damned well lump it. The colonel had a shrewd suspicion that the tiresome young man was nosing about a bit for his own amusement. Well, if he wanted to dabble in detection he had better
do it on behalf of the police.
He looked up and was annoyed to find that Mr. Amberley, still leaning against the window frame, was watching him with that ironical smile he so much disliked. Damn the fellow! Do him good to have a setback once in a while.
"Look here, Amberley!" he said abruptly, "I wish you would give me a hand over this case."
"I know you do," replied Mr. Amberley, still smiling. "Frank, behave yourself," said his uncle.
"Oh, I know his little way, Matthews!" said the colonel.
"I've worked with him before. Now, own up, Amberley, you want to have a finger in this pie!"
"All right," said Frank. "But it's in."
"I thought as much. Now you know we can't have outsiders interfering, my dear fellow. No need for me to tell you that."
"Not a bit. I won't interfere."
"No, no, you misunderstand me! That wasn't what I meant."
"I know exactly what you meant, Colonel. You want me to act for the police. Very, very irregular."
"Possibly! Possibly! But you have worked with us before, after all. This case ought to interest you. It's one of the most incomprehensible I have ever struck."
"Ah!" said Mr. Amberley. He reached out his hand towards an open box of cigarettes and took one, and stood tapping it on his thumbnail. "I don't think I want to work with the police," he said.
From the other end of the room Sir Humphrey spoke. "Then pray don't, Frank. I very much dislike this bringing of unsavoury cases into one's home. I see enough in my official capacity without…'
"Quite, Uncle," Mr. Amberley said abstractedly. He put the cigarette between his lips and felt in his pocket for matches.
"Do you mean you take no interest in the case?" asked Colonel Watson, at a loss.
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