Reflected Glory

by John Russell Fearn

  “There have been queerer things,” Castle assured him, entirely complacent. “So she dresses up like a child and sits in a room filled with miniature furniture, does she?”

  “Apparently so. I have the word of Miss Vane and the Midhampton police inspector on that—and, partly, Miss Farraday’s own ad­mission of the fact.”

  “Hmmm—quite remarkable, but not unique. And she has been seen playing with dolls and a pram?”

  “So I understand.”

  “And the moment she realized that Clive Hexley would not be able to paint she renounced her engagement to him? Yes....” Castle brooded. “Yes, that seems to run true to type,” he confessed.

  “What type?” Calthorp looked puzzled.

  Castle did not answer. He made several more notes and then glanced across the desk.

  “I can’t say much until I’ve seen the young lady for myself,” he said. “And it isn’t going to be easy. If she is what I think she is she’ll be on her guard the moment she knows I’m trying to probe. I’ve got to have her at her ease, completely unaware that I’m really a bogy-man.” He chuckled fleshily. “Since she lives in that remote spot, coming to London only occasionally, it’s most unlikely that she will recognize me if I arrive at Midhampton in the midst of a motor smash.”

  “Motor smash?” the chief inspector exclaimed, startled.

  “I’ll try anything once to achieve my object. Matter of fact, London’s getting a bit too stifling in this weather. I could do with a few days in the country. The wife was saying only yester­day that I ought to take her and Brendy for a vacation. So maybe I will, and include business as well.”

  “Should I know Brendy?” Calthorp asked, puzzled.

  Castle motioned a podgy hand to a round-faced girl with fair hair pictured in a silver frame on his desk.

  “My daughter,” he explained, proudly. “You’ve never met her? Hmmm— I don’t believe you have. Sixteen—and home for the summer vacation.” Castle lunged forward, resting his massive forearms on the desk and considering Calthorp with his bright blue eyes. “Con­sider the set-up,” he said. “My wife, daughter, and I are on a motor trip: we meet with an ‘accident’ outside Miss Farraday’s home. I’ll borrow a car of ancient vintage for the job. If Miss Farraday has any Christian streaks at all she’ll give us a hand. Once in her domain it will take blasting to remove us until I have found out all I want. And I don’t think she’ll suspect anything for a moment. Brendy will take good care to keep her off guard.... Er—I’ll be a lawyer on vacation,” Castle added, grinning. “I can borrow the address of a big friend of mine, and I’ll get some cards rush-printed. Being a lawyer will be the nearest I’ll ever get to making a fortune, I expect.”

  “Okay, it’s up to you,” Calthorp said, in his usual impersonal fashion. “As you say, I don’t see how Miss Farraday can know you are a ‘plant’—”

  “Oh! Has she a car?”

  “No.”

  “Splendid. That may make things better for me.”

  “What do I do in the meantime?” Calthorp asked. “Lie low?”

  “As low as possible. Don’t do a thing. The more Miss Farraday thinks you’ve forgotten all about her, the better. The freer her mind will become and, I hope, the more she’ll talk.”

  Calthorp considered for a moment, then: “I suppose the thing is entirely ethical? You entering Miss Farraday’s home under false pretences?”

  “There will be no false pretences,” Castle chuckled. “The ‘ac­cident’ will be genuine—apparently—and if Miss Farraday wants to help why should we stop her? We’re not forcing her to do anything: I’m simply using psychological reaction and guessing ahead what she’ll do— Damnit, man, you Scotland Yard chaps use your wives, sisters, and daughters shamelessly when you want a woman angle to solve a case. Where’s the difference? To preserve law and order any trick is permissible. I know just how far I can go, don’t worry.”

  Satisfied, Calthorp got to his feet with Dixon beside him.

  “Okay then, doc, I leave it to you—and you’ll let me know the moment you’ve got anything worthwhile?”

  “Surely. But don’t tie me down as to how long that may take. Miss Farraday isn’t going to be such an easy problem to solve as you perhaps imagine.”

  * * * * * * *

  Towards half past three the following afternoon, when she had returned from Guildford to attend the adjourned inquiry on Clive Hexley’s disappearance, Elsa found her thoughts interrupted by the ringing of the front door bell as she sat in her study writing. For a moment or two she sat puzzling, then it came again even more urgently. She put down her pen and rose.

  In the porch way she beheld a round-faced, fair-headed girl without a hat, obviously distraught, dust smothering her neat grey two-piece and in smudges across her left cheek.

  “Thank heaven there’s somebody here!” she exclaimed in relief. “I was beginning to think— There’s been an accident,” she hurried on, gulping. “In the car—my father and mother. I just don’t know what to do. I think they’re—”

  “Where’s the accident happened?” Elsa interrupted, impressed by the girl’s panic-stricken youth.

  Brenda Castle waved an arm behind her. “Just outside your front gate—or rather a few yards down the road. Please, would you help me? I’m all in pieces—”

  “Of course I will.”

  Elsa left the house quickly as the girl turned and followed her down the front path. Almost immediately, to the right, Elsa saw an ancient touring car with its engine telescoped into a telegraph pole. A big, heavy man with silver hair was slowly climbing out of the wreck, fingering his forehead painfully—though it was apparent­ly unmarked.

  In the front seat, next the steering wheel, a woman of middle age lay motionless with her head on the back cushions. The glass of the windscreen had been smashed in half a dozen places.

  “Dad, you’re all right then!” the girl cried, rushing towards him in relief and catching his arm. “Oh, thank heaven— But what about mum?”

  “I—I don’t know, my dear,” Dr. Castle muttered, dazed. “As a matter of fact I haven’t yet realized what’s happened.”

  He appeared to make a tremendous effort to gather his wits, gave Elsa a bemused glance, and then with his daughter’s help set to work to raise his “unconscious” wife free of the car. They laid her down gently beside the wreck and Castle chafed her wrists and hands vigorously.

  “You can’t attend to her properly out here,” Elsa said, having summed things up. “Come into the house where she can lie down. I’ll give you a hand.”

  Castle looked at her gratefully. “You’re most kind, miss— And maybe it would be best.... To whom am I indebted?”

  “I’m Miss Farraday—and that is my home back there. Your daughter came and told me about the accident.”

  “Oh? She did? Good girl!” Castle rubbed his forehead again. “You must forgive me, Miss Farraday. I haven’t properly collected my senses yet— Now, Brendy, give me a hand with your mother.”

  Elsa lent a willing hand too and between them the white-faced, middle-aged lady with the aquiline features and greying hair was transported from the dusty road into the lounge of Elsa’s home. There she was placed on the settee and Elsa left the room hurriedly to get sal volatile and sponge and cold water.

  “Excellent work, Brendy,” Castle murmured to his daughter. “No wonder you are in such demand in your amateur dramatics group— In a moment or two, my dear,” he added to his wife, “you may begin to recover gracefully—and don’t forget your act. Everything depends on it. Later, you can remove that matt-white powder which gives you so much in common with a cadaver.”

  The “unconscious” Mrs. Castle gave a quick nod and became still again as Elsa came back into the room. By degrees, and appearing suitably bemused, Edith Castle drifted back to awareness and held her forehead tightly.

  “What—? Where...?” she asked in puzzlement. “Adam! Where are we?”

  “In the home of this generous young
lady,” Castle answered, nodding to Elsa as she smiled faintly. “This is Miss Farraday— She came to our help after the smash.”

  “Smash?” Mrs. Castle repeated in bewilderment; then she seemed to remember. “Oh, of course! The car! You drove into something, didn’t you?”

  “A telegraph pole, my dear,”’ Castle agreed sadly. “I assure you that it must have been a stone or something which hit the front wheel— You’ve been unconscious,” he hurried on. “How are you? How do you feel? Anything hurting?”

  His wife moved experimentally, helped by Brenda. Then as she tried to rise she fell back wincing.

  “Something—low down on my back,” she said, gasping a little. “It hurts abominably.”

  Castle glanced about him worriedly as he heaved to his feet.

  “Have you a phone, Miss Farraday? I must call a doctor—”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t,” Elsa apologized.

  “Then where do I find a doctor? I must have him right away.”

  “There’s Dr. Phillips in the village high street. He’s the only one around here.”

  “I’ll get him,” Brenda volunteered, “even if I run all the way. I go to my left when I leave the gate, don’t I, Miss Farraday?”

  “That’s right, and continue into the high street at the end of the lane,” Elsa instructed.

  Brenda hesitated for a moment, realizing that the effort to per­haps get Elsa out of the house in order to direct the way had failed. She caught a slight nod from her father and dashed out, racing off down the front pathway.

  “Just take it easy, my dear,” Dr. Castle advised. “In case it is something internal and you disturb it.... Oh, what a ghastly business this is!” he broke off in dismay. “All of us on our way for a holiday down south—and now this! Really, Miss Farraday,” he added. “You are most kind.”

  “I’m only too glad to be of service,”’ she responded. “Perhaps there is something I can get you? A drink of tea maybe?”

  “That would be fine—” Castle began; then he shook his head firmly. “No. If something internal should be wrong a hot drink might cause serious damage. Thanks all the same.”

  “But you can have one, surely—? And your daughter too when she returns, Mr.—er—?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Castle apologized. “Confused, you know. The name’s Bennington. I’m Adam Bennington and this is my wife Edith. The youngster is Brenda, as you’ve probably gathered.”

  “Yes.” Elsa nodded and smiled again. “Well, you just lie still, Mrs. Bennington, and I’ll see about some tea for us. I don’t sup­pose the doctor will be long.”

  Elsa went from the room again and Castle removed a silk handkerchief from his untidy lounge suit. It was an oldish one he was wearing, especially for the occasion. He mopped his cherubic face gently.

  “So far, so good,” he breathed. “Your acting is worthy of an Oscar, my dear.”

  “At the moment, maybe,” she murmured, “but what happens when the doctor gets here? I shan’t be able to fool him!”

  “My dear, as a psychologist you can take it from me that the patient can fool the doctor—especially a rustic one as he will be—any time he or she wishes. You can describe your symptoms; he can assume what is causing them. How does he know what is going on inside unless he has X-ray photographs? Leave it to me to help you if you get in a jam. He’ll fix you up with a nice ail­ment to keep you here, unless I’m mistaken.”

  “You get on the strangest cases, Adam!”

  “Yes, don’t I? And I always find you so co-operative—not forgetting junior,” he added, with a little chuckle.

  Saying no more he glanced about the room pensively, and almost immediately his gaze settled on the door with the eight shiny-headed screws driven into it. For a full half minute he considered it and then be murmured:

  “So that’s what Calthorp meant! Most interesting!”

  His wife glanced at him and half started to asked a question, then she stopped as Elsa reappeared pushing a tea trolley. Castle studied her in that queer, detached way he had, summing her up in detail whilst appearing not to be taking any particular notice of her. Photographically he sized up her youthful figure, the quietness of her expression, the steadiness of her grey eyes. The dark afternoon frock she was wearing seemed, if anything, to make her appear even more receding.

  “You are sure you won’t try some tea, Mrs. Bennington?” she asked, as she poured it out.

  “I’d love to, but— Well, maybe my husband knows best.” Mrs. Castle gave a convincing little gasp as she moved slightly. Elsa looked, at her for a moment and then handed a cup of tea to the huge psychiatrist.

  “I feel,” he said, sitting down again and holding the cup with his little finger pointing obliquely, “that we are a dreadful nuisance, Miss Farraday. The moment we know how my wife is we’ll be on our way again.”

  “There’s no hurry,” Elsa assured him, settling in the armchair with teacup in hand. “And in what do you propose to move? Surely not that car you’ve wrecked—? And I’m afraid I haven’t one which I can loan you.”

  Castle gave a start. “Great heavens, I’d forgotten all about the car! I’ll have to phone— I mean get in touch with a garage. I’ll send Brenda the moment she gets back.”

  “Really, Adam, you’re rather hard on the child,” his wife pro­tested, languidly. “She was involved in the accident as much as we were, remember. She must be in need of a few moments’ rest instead of tearing about in this blazing sun.”

  “At sixteen? Nonsense!” Castle said. “Besides, I want us to be on the move as quickly as possible. We have trespassed on this young lady’s good nature too much already....”

  “Please don’t think that,” Elsa interrupted. “I’m only too glad of the company. I don’t get many callers, you see, and for strangers to drop in—even if it is somewhat precipitately—makes quite a welcome change.”

  “Oh, well then....” Castle shrugged his fleshy shoulders. “Maybe Brenda should rest a few minutes when she returns. Yes,” he added, thinking and considering his teacup, “I suppose it is lonely here. You live quite on your own, Miss Farraday?”

  “Yes.” Elsa looked at him absently for a moment and then added, “Of late, though, I seem to have attracted attention—unwittingly. You may have noticed from the newspapers that I’m mixed up with the disappearance of a Chelsea artist.”

  Castle smiled blandly. “Are you really? Frankly, Miss Farraday, I wouldn’t know. I don’t read newspapers much: too full of crimes, threats of war, and the sordid side of life. I prefer to consider the bright side.”

  “I can understand that,” Elsa replied, surveying his immense size and—though he was looking worried to conform to the occasion—the unmistakably genial lines of his face. “I think it must be a great gift, to be able to always look on the bright side and enjoy it. I seem to be quite incapable of it.”

  “I suppose some people are,” Castle admitted, and, typically, he did not advance any further. Though the way was wide open for him to develop the topic and even extract information from the girl, he refrained. That was never his way. He had the gift of sliding unnoticed into a person’s inmost consciousness and seeming sub­limely disinterested whilst doing it.

  “Here’s your daughter and the doctor,” Elsa exclaimed suddenly, getting up as she glanced towards the front windows—and simulta­neously there was the sound of car brakes.

  She opened the front door and Brenda Castle came blundering into the lounge with all the gracelessness of sixteen, followed by a tall middle-aged, dour-faced G.P. He nodded to Elsa, with whom he was evidently acquainted; then at Castle’s beckoning hand he drew up a chair and settled beside Mrs. Castle.

  Castle watched broodingly, then glanced inquiry as the doctor finally stood up after having listened to Edith Castle’s recital concerning her ailment.

  “I can’t tell exactly what the trouble is without a complete examination,” the doctor said, “but I’m sure it’s nothing alarming. Mostly the outcome of
shock, I imagine. Reaction in the legs is normal and reflexes seem to be all right. Since there are no head injuries I suppose it was the shock of the impact which caused you to faint, madam?”

  “She saw what was coming,” Castle answered for her. “That, and the actual smash, frightened her severely, I’m afraid.”

  “I see....”

  “Perhaps her back trouble is only a wrench in the lumbar region,” Castle suggested. “It’s not uncommon....”

  Judging from his expression Dr. Phillips did not like being taught his business, but just the same he nodded.

  “Very probably. One of the most common injuries, in fact, when the body is suddenly and violently twisted as in a car smash. While it is not serious in itself it is capable of causing a good deal of inconvenience to the sufferer for a few days until it wears off.”

  “A few days?” the psychiatrist repeated. “But—but you don’t mean that my wife can’t be on her way in an hour or two?”

  “My dear sir, if your wife moves about in her present overstrained condition I won’t be responsible,” the doctor said grimly. “What is more I would like to make a more thorough examination if the condition does not clear up. Can’t afford to take chances with these things.”

  Castle fondled his chins. “Well, if you say so that is as it must be, I suppose. I must find a taxi from somewhere and have her carried to it. Then maybe we can put up at an hotel in the village.”

  “You are giving yourself a great deal of unnecessary worry, Mr. Bennington,” Elsa said, after a moment. “There are two spare rooms in this house which I can soon put to rights for your wife and yourself—and Brenda. You mustn’t think of letting your wife journey about, even in a taxi, until she is a good deal better.”

  “But—”

  “That’s very generous of you, Miss Farraday,” the doctor said. “I’ll be here tomorrow for a further look at you, Mrs. Bennington. Good day.”

  He turned and began to hurry out, obviously a busy man—then Castle called after him.

  “Just a moment, doctor! Would you mind giving my daughter a lift as far as the village? I want her to find a garage and have my car removed.”