She could hear her watch ticking and pulled down her glove to look at it. The luminous hands stood at twenty minutes past six; Collins was late. A fear that he might be going to play her false dispelled for a moment her growing sense of foreboding, Her lips tightened; she began to listen for the sound of an approach-footstep.
She heard nothing, not so much as the snap of a twig, until the scrape of the door-handle made her heart give a frightened jump. She got up, pressing down the safetycatch of her gun.
A man stood in the doorway; she could not distinguish his features. She waited, hardly breathing.
"Are you there, miss?" The words were spoken so softly that she barely heard them. The voice was the valet's.
"Yes. You're very late," she said, and switched on her torch.
He seemed to leap towards her. "Put it out! Don't show a light!" he whispered urgently.
She obeyed him but said as coolly as she was able: "Take care. You're likely to get shot if you dash at me like that. What's the matter?" The torch-light had given her a brief glimpse of his face, unnaturally pallid, sweat glistening on his forehead. He sounded out of breath and seemed to be listening intently, his head a little bent.
He moved to her side and grasped her left wrist. "For God's sake, get away from here!" he whispered. "I shouldn't have let you come. I warned you it wasn't safe. Someone followed me. Get out quickly!"
Almost without meaning to she lowered her voice, trying to keep it steady. "You're trying to put me off. I'm not having any. We're here to talk business."
He spoke with a kind of suppressed venom. "You know what happened to your brother. Do you want to go the same road? I tell you I'm being watched. Come away from here quickly!"
He pulled her towards the door. Realising that his agitation was not feigned she went with him and allowed him to hurry her back into the shelter of the trees. He stopped to listen again. She could hear nothing, but he drew her still farther into the shade.
He let her go. "I daren't stop. I swear I'm on the level. I'll meet you, but not here. It's getting too hot for me. You ought never to have rung me up." He broke off to listen again. "He's on to me," he whispered. "I'll have to go. For God's sake, miss, go back to London! You're in much worse danger than you know. I'll meet you - on my word, I will!"
"You'd better," she said. "You know what I'm holding."
He gave a soundless chuckle. "Half a loaf, miss. That's not enough."
"Enough to make things unpleasant for you," she said harshly.
"Do that and you'll never get your other half," he said. His tone held a menace. "You were mad to come here. You're not safe. I can't be on the watch all the time. You're not safe a moment."
She said steadily: "I shall stay at Upper Nettlefold till I get what I came for."
His hand closed on her wrist again compellingly. With his lips almost touching her ear he breathed the one word: "Listen!"
The wood seemed all at once, to her overwrought nerves, to be alive with tiny, nameless sounds. The fallen leaves rustled, perhaps a rabbit stirred amongst them; a twig cracked; the shadow of a tree seemed to move.
The man's fear communicated itself to Shirley. She felt that hidden eyes watched her and suddenly wanted only to get away from this haunted spot. Her hand shook in the valet's hold. He let it go and gave her a little push. "Go! You mustn't be seen with me. For God's sake, go!"
He moved away softly as a ghost. The night seemed to close in on Shirley, full of unknown perils. For a moment she knew a feeling of sheer panic that held her as though by force where she stood, her knees shaking. She threw it off and managed to take a step forward on to the ride. It had grown so dark that nothing was clearly distinguishable any longer. Not daring to switch on her torch she began to walk quickly away from the pavilion, restraining an impulse to break into a run.
She was brought up short by a circle of light that suddenly appeared a little way to the left of the ride, moving uncannily over the ground. There was someone else in the wood, searching.
She turned and made for the cover of the trees, hardly caring what direction she took. A great beech tripped her with its long roots; she fell, and looking back, saw the light moving towards her. She scrambled up, thankful in the midst of her fright that the safety-catch on her Colt was up. She broke into a run, heading for the thickest part of the wood.
Brambles caught at her coat and slashed her ankles; she tore free and reached a clump of blackberry bushes growing between the slender stems of some silver birch trees. She crouched down behind them, watching the light waver through the undergrowth.
She could hear footsteps now, deliberate steps, coming closer. A slight sound behind her brought her head round with a jerk, but she could see nothing.
The footsteps passed the bush; she could just perceive the darker shadow of a man's form. He stopped and stood still, listening, she guessed. The light he carried began to describe a circle; she wondered how dense the bushes were, whether dense enough to conceal her.
The man moved; he was coming round the bush. Her thumb felt for the safety-catch; she stayed still, waiting.
Then the boding silence was broken by a sound so incongruous that it came as a shock to her. Someone not far away was whistling "The Blue Danube."
The light disappeared; a faint rustle, the brush of a body passing through high bracken came to Shirley's cars, followed by complete silence. The whistle died away, the shadow had gone.
It was minutes before she dared to move. She crept forward in the direction where she judged the ride to be, stopping every few paces to stand still and listen. The light was no longer visible; it had vanished altogether, scared away by the sound of a waltz tune whistled in the distance.
She walked on, thrusting her way through the undergrowth, still not daring to use the torch.
No light warned her that she was still being followed. Several times she thought that she could hear the sound of a panting breath not far behind; once a twig cracked ominously, but when she stood still, peering behind her, she could see nothing and hear nothing.
She moved forward again; again she heard the heavy breathing, closer at hand now.
She fled on and stumbled out onto the ride. With the close turf under her feet and the dim outlines of the trees on either side to guide her she broke into a run.
A light flashed full into her face; a tiny scream, instantly checked, broke from her. She stood still and levelled the gun.
A cool, faintly mocking voice spoke: "Whither away, Miss Brown?" it said.
Her pistol-hand fell to her side; she drew a long, sobbing breath. "You!" she gasped, dizzy with relief. "It's only - you!"
"That," said Mr. Amberley strolling towards her, "is not particularly complimentary. You seem to be in a hurry."
She put her hand out, clasping the sleeve of his coat; there was something comforting about its very roughness. "Someone following me," she said. "Someone following me."
He took her hand in a strong clasp; she was aware, through her jumbled emotions, that she was no longer afraid. She held Mr. Amberley's hand gratefully and followed the beam of his torch as it swung round.
Then a sharp exclamation rose to her lips. The torch had lit up a face for one moment, a face that shone pale in the bright light and disappeared instantly behind a bush.
"Who is that man?" she gasped. "Over there - didn't you see? He was watching us. Oh, let's get away!"
"By all means," agreed Amberley. "It's not really much of a night for a country walk."
"Did you see?" she insisted. "A man by that bush. Who was he? He was following me. I heard him."
"Yes, I saw," replied Amberley. "It was Fountain's new butler."
She drew closer to him instinctively. "I didn't know. He was following me. I - I don't quite - please let us go!"
Mr. Amberley drew her hand through his arm and began to walk with her down the ride towards the gate. Once she glanced back, saying nervously: "You're sure he's not still following?"
"N
o, I'm not sure, but I'm not letting it worry me," said Amberley. "Probably he is seeing us off the premises. This happens to be private property, you know."
"You don't think that!" she said sharply. "He wasn't following for that reason."
"No?" said Amberley. "Well, suppose you tell me what the reason is?"
She was silent. After a few moments she pulled her hand away and said: "What are you doing here?"
"Getting back to your normal self, aren't you?" remarked Mr. Amberley. "I thought it was too good to last. What I should like to know is, what are you doing here?"
"I can't tell you," she said curtly.
"Won't tell me," he corrected.
"Perhaps. I notice you haven't answered me."
"Oh, there's no mystery about me," said Amberley cheerfully. "I was following you."
She stopped dead in her tracks. "You? You followed me? But how? How did you know where I was going."
"Intuition," grinned Mr. Amberley. "Aren't I clever?"
"You can't have known. Where were you?"
"Outside the Boar's Head," he replied. "I came on in my car. I should have liked to offer you a lift, but I was afraid you might not take it."
She said hotly: "It's intolerable to be spied on like this!"
He laughed. "You didn't think it quite so intolerable a few minutes ago, did you?"
There was a pause. Shirley began to walk on, her hands in her pockets. Mr. Amberley kept pace beside her. After a moment a gruff voice said with difficulty: "I didn't mean to be ungrateful."
"You sound just like a little girl who has been well scolded," said Mr. Amberley. "All right, I forgive you."
The ghost of a chuckle escaped her. "Well, I was glad to see you," she admitted. "But all the same, it isn't fair of you to - to follow me. Was it you who whistled?"
"A habit of mine," said Mr. Amberley.
She looked up, trying to see his face. "You complain that I'm mysterious, but are you being quite open with me?"
"Not in the least," he said.
She was slightly indignant. "Well, then -'
"You can't have something for nothing, my girl," said Mr. Amberley. "When you decide to trust me I'll be as open as you please."
She said: "I do trust you. I didn't at first, but that's all done with. It isn't that I don't want to confide in you, but I daren't. Please believe me!"
"That a sample of your trust, is it? I don't think much of it."
She was strangely anxious to explain herself "No, it isn't what you think. I'm not afraid that you'd give me away, or anything, but I daren't tell a soul, because if I do - oh, I can't make you understand!"
"You're mistaken; I understand perfectly. You're afraid I might put my foot in it and queer your pitch. I said I didn't think much of your trust."
They had reached the gate and passed through it on to the road. A little way down it a red tail-lamp glowed; they walked towards it.
"Mr. Amberley, how much do you know already?" Shirley asked abruptly.
She knew that he was smiling. "Something for nothing, Miss Brown?"
"If I only knew - had some idea - I don't know what to do. Why should I trust you?"
"Feminine instinct," said Mr. Amberley. "If you'd only tell me…'
"I shan't tell you anything. You shall come all the way. Didn't I say so?"
"You're quite unreasonable," she said crossly, and got into the car.
Chapter Thirteen
Mr. Amberley breakfasted early next morning, and had been to Upper Nettlefold and back before the rest of the family had risen from the table. He sauntered in to find Sir Humphrey fuming and Felicity just about to go out.
Sir Humphrey was declaiming against the dilatory methods of glaziers, but he stopped when he saw his nephew and requested him to listen to that fellow Fountain's behaviour. Felicity slipped from the room, making a grimace at her cousin.
"What's the matter?" inquired Amberley.
It appeared that Fountain had done something unmannerly, boorish and inexplicable. He had sent a servant over at nine in the morning to ask for the return of his book. Had Frank ever heard anything to equal it?
"Never," said Amberley, not visibly impressed. "Which servant?"
"I fail to see that it matters."
"Nevertheless, it does matter," said Amberley, and rang the bell. When Jenkins came in he put the question to him and learned that it was the valet who had come. "I thought so," said Amberley. "Getting desperate."
Sir Humphrey jabbed his glasses onto his bony nose. "Why did you think so? Are you going to tell me that all this business has something to do with your - your meddlesome investigations for the police?"
"Everything," said Amberley. "Didn't you guess?"
"Damn it, Frank, next time you come and stay in my house…'
"But I'm enjoying it all so much," interposed his wife, emerging from her correspondence. "Shall we be murdered, Frank? I thought these things didn't happen. So very enlightening."
"I hope not, Aunt. I might be, of course. You never know."
She glanced up at him shrewdly. "Not pleased, my dear?"
"Not so very," he admitted.
"Annoying," she said, "losing things. I once lost my engagement ring. It turned up. Better not say where, perhaps."
He took his pipe out of his mouth. "You're too acute, Aunt. I shall go and play golf with Anthony."
"I prefer that you should not mention this disagreeable occurrence to Fountain," said Sir Humphrey stiffly. "I myself intend to ignore it."
"I should," said Amberley. "It would surprise me very much if he knows anything about it."
He arrived at the manor to find Corkran practising approach-shots on the lawn. Corkran hailed him with enthusiasm. It appeared that Amberley was just the man he wanted to see. He announced that the manor had just about got his goat. Joan was right: there was something about the darned place that made everyone behave in an odd manner. He enumerated the various vagaries, starting with his prospective relative's moodiness, and passing on by way of the murder of Dawson to the night prowlings of Collins and the extraordinary conduct of Baker. He wanted to know what Amberley made of a butler who started to dust the library at ten o'clock at night.
"Damn it, butlers don't dust!" he said. "Have you ever seen one at it?"
"Dusting the library?" repeated Amberley.
"Absolutely. Those people from the grange - woman with a face like the back of a cab, and spouse - were here to dinner and we played bridge. I went to fetch my cigarette case, which I'd left in the library, and I'm dashed if that Baker fellow wasn't there dusting the books. Well, I mean to say! Told me he didn't like to see them so dusty and understood Fountain didn't allow the skivvies to touch 'em. A whole lot of eyewash about not having time - no, leisure - to do it in the daytime. Too jolly fishy by half. What do you think?"
"I think I'd like to see Mr. Baker."
"Well, if you stick around long enough you will. He's gone to fetch me some more golf balls," said Anthony morosely.
The butler came out of the house at that moment with three golf balls on a silver tray.
"Looks like an egg-and-spoon race," said Anthony. "Silly ass!"
Baker came sedately across the lawn; he did not look at Amberley, but went to Corkran and presented his tray. "Your golf balls, sir. I could only find three in your bag."
Anthony took them with a brief word of thanks. The butler turned to go, but halted as Mr. Amberley spoke."Just a moment."
Baker turned and stood waiting, his head deferentially inclined.
"Do you know if Mr. Fountain sent to Greythorne for a book that was borrowed the other day?"
Baker flashed a quick look up at him. "A book, sir?" He seemed to choose his words carefully. "I could not say, sir, I am sure. I do not think that Mr. Fountain gave any such order. Not to my knowledge."
Mr. Amberley's pipe had gone out. He struck a match and held it between his cupped hands; over it his eyes held Baker's. "It's not important. Sir Humphrey had fi
nished with it." He threw the match away. "Interested in books, Baker?"
The butler gave his little cough. "I do not get much time for reading, sir."
"Only dusting," said Anthony.
The butler bowed. "Exactly so, sir. I do my best with indifferent success, I fear. Mr. Fountain has a large library."
"Quite a valuable one," drawled Amberley. "To connoisseurs."
"So I believe, sir." Baker met his gaze limpidly. "I fear I know very little about such things."
"A book is just a book, eh?"
"Yes, sir. As you say."
"Well, what the devil should it be?" demanded Anthony, pausing in the act of taking a chip-shot onto the terrace.
The butler permitted himself a discreet smile. "Will I here be anything else, sir?"
"Not at present," said Amberley, and transferred his attention to the golf enthusiast.
Anthony professed himself entirely at sea over the whole business. He complained that Amberley was as bad as the rest of them; prowling about and saying nothing. "And just what are you doing?" he said. "I'm damned if I know."
"I'm looking for lost property," said Amberley.
"Whose lost property?"
"I'm not sure."
Anthony blinked at him. "Look here, what the devil are you driving at?"
"I'm sure, of course," said Amberley maddeningly, "but I've no proof. Awkward, isn't it?"
Anthony shook his head. "I can't cope with it. I thought you were looking for Dawson's assassin, and now you say…'
"I've never had much interest in Dawson's murder," said Amberley.
Mr. Corkran raised his eyes to heaven. "Of course I shall end up in a looney-bin," he said. "I can feel it coming on.
In spite of what he had told Sir Humphrey Mr. Amberley did not invite Corkran to play golf, but drove away from the manor to Carchester, where the chief constable and Inspector Fraser were awaiting him.
They found him in a discouraging mood. Colonel Watson was dismayed, the inspector triumphant. The inspector was following up a trail of his own and held forth on its possibilities until he realised that Mr. Amberley was not listening to him.
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