Chapter IXFor almost a week, Friocksheim had been under strain. First had come the sultry spell, days of oppressive heat which set sensitive nerves on edge and brought a certain lassitude to even the most active of the guests. The storm, though it cleared the physical atmosphere, had coincided with the creation of a fresh tension. A cloud of suspicion, heavier than the cumulus in the sky, had settled down upon the house; and as the days passed without any sign of its dispersion, its influence showed more and more clearly among the house-party. Even Douglas Fairmile’s normal high spirits were unable to resist it entirely.“Something will have to be done about this business, Conway,” he complained, as they sat smoking in the Corinthian’s Room in the afternoon. “It’s gone on for three days now, and everyone’s feeling it more or less. We’re all getting off our feed, metaphorically of course.”Conway Westenhanger nodded without taking his eyes from the tapestry on the wall. He seemed to be studying it closely; but in reality Diana’s hunting hardly impinged on his attention. Like Douglas, he was feeling the strain, although personally he was free from any suspicion.“Unrestful atmosphere, right enough,” he commented, shortly.Douglas made a gesture of impotent irritation.“Everything’s at sixes and sevens,” he went on. “Even old Rollo—decent bird—is getting too much for me. If the talk drifts round towards the root of the trouble, he just smiles that far-away smile of his—as if he was thinking about something else entirely—and one almost expects him to tell us again that it’s all right, that the damned thing will turn up again in due course, and that we needn’t worry over it. Politeness carried to that pitch is enervating, Conway. That’s a fact.”“I feel the same myself. But somehow, he’s almost beginning to make me believe he really means it. A kind of hypnotic suggestion, I suppose. It’s impressive, whether you like it or not, to see a man take a loss like that so quietly. I couldn’t do it.”“Nor I. But he’ll have the lot of us in the jumps if this goes on. I’m not a suspicious oaf like Freddie, but it irks me all the same. It’s not so much that there’s a thief among us that bothers me. We’ve mixed with all these people before—bar Wraxall. What really puts my nerves on edge is that I don’t knowwhichof ’em’s the thief, I want to see the rest of us cleared.”Westenhanger’s eye travelled incuriously over the group of Diana’s nymphs and passed on to the stag at the other side of the tapestry; but it was evidently merely a mechanical movement. His thoughts absorbed the whole of his attention. Before he made any reply to Douglas the door opened and Helga Dangerfield came into the room. She nodded to them as she passed, and went into the library.“Where’s Wraxall to-day?” asked Westenhanger, merely to avoid leaving an impression on the girl that they had stopped talking on her account.“Digging up megatheriums or flint arrows somewhere in the neighbourhood,” said Douglas, taking the hint. “Or else he’s chaffering for the oldest nutmeg-grater in Frogsholme. He seems really keen on that sort of stuff.”Helga Dangerfield came through the library door with a book in her hand.“You like this room?” she asked, pausing for a moment as she passed. “So do I. It used to be my playroom when I was getting beyond the crawling stage.”“Nice floor for building castles on,” Westenhanger suggested, with a glance across the smooth marble pavement. “You must have had rather a jolly time. Plenty of room.”“Sometimes I wish I had it all over again.” She smiled at her own idea, than added: “I must hurry off; Nina and Cynthia are waiting for me.”As soon as she had left the room Douglas returned to the point at which the conversation had been interrupted.“Can’t you think of anything, Conway? I admit I’m not the star performer in the thinking orchestra. It’s up to you to play a solo while I do the grunts of approval down in the bass.”Westenhanger shook his head.“Eliminate and eliminate, that’s the only way. And the only thing we have to eliminate with is this left-handed affair. It’s none so easy, Douglas. The real bother rises out of the fact that most left-handed people are partly ambidextrous.”“I get your meaning up to the word ‘fact’,” said Douglas, apologetically, “but it seems to slip a cog after that somehow. What about words of one syllable? I seem to remember seeing special clubs for left-handed golfers. Not much ambidexterity about that, surely?”“That’s just the point,” explained Westenhanger. “I’ve been thinking about one or two left-handed people I know, and in most things you wouldn’t spot that they were left-handed at all. If it’s a one-handed job they’re doing, they may use their right hand oftener than their left. It’s only in two-handed things, like golf, or cricket, or billiards, or cutting hay with a scythe, that they give themselves away completely. It’s the arm-motion rather than the hand that seems to come in. This Talisman affair is a case in point. The thief was using his whole arm to get inside the case.”“That’s probably so,” conceded Douglas, reluctantly. “It isn’t so easy as I thought.”Before Westenhanger could elaborate his views, Eileen Cressage came hurriedly into the room. Her face was flushed with excitement; her eyes were bright; and her whole carriage showed that she had thrown off her load of difficulties at last. Westenhanger had never seen her looking so care-free.“TheKestrel’sback at last!” she announced breathlessly. “She’s making for the bay. I saw her from the headland, and hurried back to the house to tell you; that’s why I’m out of breath. I wanted you to hear the news at once, because it’s all right now. I’m sure Mrs. Brent will clear everything up when she comes ashore.”“That’s the best of news. I am glad, Eileen,” said Douglas, before Westenhanger could say anything. “You’ve stuck it out like a good ’un, but it’s about time it stopped.”Westenhanger added nothing to Douglas’s words. His expression spoke for him better than anything he could have said.“I can’t wait here,” Eileen explained rapidly. “I must get down to the beach and get on board as soon as the yacht comes in. I began to think she’d never come back. These three days have been like centuries for slowness.”“We’ll put you on board,” said Westenhanger. “Come along, Douglas.”“Thanks. But really I’d rather go by myself, if you’ll put the boat into the water for me.”They walked down to the boat-house, got out one of the boats and brought it round to the tiny jetty for her. She stepped lightly aboard, waved her thanks, and pulled with easy strokes to theKestrel, which had just let go her anchor. The two men watched her get safely on board the yacht and then turned back towards the house.“I suppose we’ll hear all about it to-night or to-morrow,” hazarded Douglas, as they left the jetty. “You seem a bit relieved, Conway; and I feel rather that way myself. It’s been a stiffish three days for a girl, thanks to Master Freddie.”“Iamrelieved,” Westenhanger acknowledged. “I’ve had her troubles very much on my mind, and I’m only too glad to see light ahead. But you needn’t expect to learn much about the Talisman business, Douglas; she never had anything to do with that, you know.”“At least one part of this infernal mix-up will be straightened out, though, and that’s always something.”Westenhanger made a gesture of assent.“One never knows what may come out, once people start talking,” he said, hopefully. “It’s quite on the cards we may hit on a new idea, after we’ve heard Mrs. Brent. She’s the missing witness, the only person who hasn’t had a chance to tell her story of what happened that night.”“Who’s that coming up in the car, I wonder,” said Douglas.Westenhanger looked across the lawn and saw a motor with a single passenger at the front door of the house.“Seems to be Eric Dangerfield.”“Something wrong with him, then,” Douglas commented. “Look at him hobbling up the steps with a stick. Seems as if he’d lamed himself a bit.”Eric Dangerfield’s figure laboriously ascended the steps and disappeared into the house.“Sprained ankle, or something like that,” was Westenhanger’s verdict. “Well, Douglas, we’ll just have to be patient. There’ll be no ’orrible revelations for an hour or two at least.”His guess was quite accurate. Eileen and Mrs. Brent came ashore from the yacht only in time to dress, and neither of them appeared until the remainder of the party had assembled. Eric Dangerfield limped into the dining-room, still using his stick.“Nothing much,” he explained in answer to a question. “I twisted my ankle rather badly and had to rest it. That’s why I didn’t get back here sooner.”Mrs. Brent took very little part in the conversation at the dinner-table, but when the servants had left the room after serving coffee, she glanced round to secure attention and then addressed the company in general.“I understand,” she said, with a certain sub-acid tone in her voice, “that during my absence, Mr. Stickney has been organising a symposium of sorts. It seems a pity not to give my contribution to the common stock, even if it is slightly belated. Suppose we all go into the drawing-room after dinner for a few moments. I shan’t detain you long.”It was impossible to learn from Rollo Dangerfield’s face whether or not he understood her reference. Much to his regret, he explained, neither he nor his wife could be there. They had a meeting in the village that evening which in courtesy they must attend.“I quite understand, Rollo,” Mrs. Brent hastened to reassure him. “You won’t miss much here, and in any case I can explain the whole thing to you to-morrow. It’s of no consequence.”She made no further reference to the matter until the whole party, with the exception of their host and hostess, had gathered in the drawing-room. Choosing her favourite chair, she made a sign to Eileen to sit down beside her, and then waited until the others had grouped themselves.“It appears,” she began, frowning in Freddie Stickney’s direction. “It appears that privacy has gone out of fashion since I went away. That’s a new phase for Friocksheim, and I don’t feel I’m much to blame for not anticipating it. Certainly, I didn’t foresee such a state of affairs, and to that extent I’m responsible for some events which ought never to have occurred.”She stared at Freddie as though he were some curious animal which she was inspecting for the first time.“It seems,” she went on acidly, “that no one can have any private affairs now, so I think the best thing is to have a complete clearing-up of some misunderstandings—is that the right word, Mr. Stickney?—which have got abroad. I don’t wish to leave any ground for such things in future. Miss Cressage agrees with me.”She turned to the girl.“Tell them the whole affair from start to finish, Eileen.”Eileen Cressage looked up, but paused for a moment or two before saying anything. Westenhanger could see that she hated the business, but was determined to go through with it.“Some of you know,” she began, “that the other night I lost a lot of money at bridge. I didn’t realise during the game how big a loss it was. Very foolish of me, I admit.”Mrs. Brent interrupted her sharply.“I think the facts will be quite sufficient, Eileen. I shouldn’t make any comments, if I were you.”Eileen accepted the correction, understanding the underlying motive.“I was taken aback,” she went on, “when I heard how much I owed Mrs. Caistor Scorton. I don’t wish to keep anything back now. It was far more than I could pay in any reasonable time. I lost my head, I’m afraid; I wanted at any cost to avoid a public explanation. So when a cheque was suggested, I filled one in and handed it over, intending to explain to Mrs. Caistor Scorton how matters stood, as soon as I could get her by herself.”Westenhanger let his eyes wander to Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s face, but it was absolutely expressionless.“I felt that was the best thing to do,” Eileen continued. “It avoided public explanations and unpleasantness for everyone, and it really made things no worse.”She paused, and Mrs. Brent took up the story, as though their parts had been pre-arranged between them.“I seldom interfere in other people’s affairs. I was brought up to believe that one shouldn’t be a busybody. But some things seem to me outside the rules of the game, and then an outsider can take a hand. I noticed a thing that evening which seemed to me outside the rules. Taking advantage of a girl in a tight corner is . . . well, I needn’t comment on it.”She darted a contemptuous glance at Morchard, without taking any pains to disguise it.“That was what happened that evening. Naturally, I stepped in.”Morchard’s face showed that he had not known this before. He made no comment, and Mrs. Brent continued.“I asked Eileen to come to my room after everyone had gone to bed. I wanted to have a good talk with her; strike while the iron was hot, you see, and get a promise out of her that she wouldn’t gamble in that way again. If I’d waited till next morning I wouldn’t have been able to make such a strong impression.”She glanced towards Freddie Stickney again.“I asked her to come to my room without letting anyone know she was coming, because things like that are better done without the chance of any other party poking his nose into the affair. It seemed to me quite a private matter, with which no one else had any concern. Curiously enough, Mr. Stickney, my views on that point are still unchanged.”Freddie’s beady eyes were fixed on the carpet. He refused to be drawn. At a gesture from Mrs. Brent, Eileen continued the narrative.“I waited until I thought everyone was out of the way. Then I took my bedroom candle, slipped on my dressing-gown, and made my way to Mrs. Brent’s room. That was where I was going when Mrs. Caistor Scorton saw me.”The girl had got over the worst of her story; she reached a point where no blame could attach to her, and her voice showed the difference. At last she was able to shake herself free from suspicions. Westenhanger noticed that she did not even look in Freddie’s direction. He had ceased to be of any importance.“I went down the staircase and along the corridor to Mrs. Brent’s room. She had been sitting up waiting for me. I’d like to tell you how kind . . .”“No comments, please, Eileen,” interjected Mrs. Brent again. “Let us have the facts.”The girl’s eyes met Mrs. Brent’s, resisted for a moment, and then dropped.“Very well,” she assented. “It’s for you to say. They’ll know how I feel without my putting it into words. I’ll go on. Mrs. Brent told me she would pay my debt. She gave me some advice. And she made me promise two things. The first was that I wouldn’t play bridge again for stakes higher than I could afford. I promised that. I’d had my lesson. The second promise was that I wouldn’t mention to anyone anything that had happened that night. I promised that, too. It seemed little enough to promise, after her kindness. She laid a good deal of stress on it. She said she hated to have anything of the kind known.”“I do,” confirmed Mrs. Brent. “I’ve no desire to publish things of that sort. It’s a private affair. Of course, I’d no idea then that privacy was a back number. I’ve learned.”Eileen took up her narrative again.“Mrs. Brent hadn’t £200 in notes with her. She gave me a cheque and told me to go up to London first thing in the morning and pay it into my account, so as to meet the cheque I had given Mrs. Scorton, in case it was paid in immediately. Meanwhile, the thunderstorm began.”Mrs. Brent interposed once more.“I found the storm was getting rather too much for my nerves after the first peal or two. Having someone in the room with me helped to steady things a little; so I asked Miss Cressage to stay with me until the thunder passed off. She waited with me till some time in the small hours. Then I let her go; for she had to get some sleep, and she had to be up in order to catch the first train.”She broke off and invited Eileen to continue.“I left Mrs. Brent’s room and went back to my own. Just as I got out of Mrs. Brent’s room, Helga passed me . . .”Helga Dangerfield’s face showed complete amazement.“You saw me?” she demanded. “You must have made a mistake. It was someone else, surely. Why, I fell asleep at the tail-end of the storm and didn’t wake up again till morning.”Eileen looked puzzled.“You were going towards the Corinthian’s Room, Helga. I thought perhaps you were looking for a book to read, if the storm had kept you awake. You were past before you noticed me, I thought; and I was quite glad you hadn’t seen me, since Mrs. Brent didn’t want anyone to know I’d been down to see her. You had your blue dressing-gown on. Don’t you remember?”Helga Dangerfield shook her head definitely.“You must have been dreaming, Eileen.”“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Eileen, “I’ll go on with the story. I went up to my room, blew out my candle, switched on my light, and crept into bed. I didn’t sleep for quite a long time. I was rather shaken up, you know, between the storm and the things that had happened. But I dropped off at last, and just wakened in time to catch the first train.”She looked round the circle till her eye fell on Eric.“You remember we went up to town together?”Eric nodded, but said nothing. Eileen took up the thread again.“In town, I went straight to my bank and paid in Mrs. Brent’s cheque. After that I did some shopping. Then I suddenly remembered something. I never wear jewellery, but I have some things. It struck me that I might raise something on them and so be able to repay Mrs. Brent part of her cheque at once. It would be a kind of relief to my mind. She’d know I was taking things seriously. So I went back to my bank, where I kept them; took them out; went to Starbecks with them. I’ve dealt with Starbecks for years. They know me quite well, and they made no difficulty about it. I didn’t get enough to repay Mrs. Brent entirely, but I felt it was always something done. As I was coming out of Starbecks’ door I met Mr. Westenhanger, and we had just time to get to the station and catch the train.”Mrs. Brent made a gesture to stop the girl at this point.“I think that covers the whole question,” she said. “Now I’ve just a word or two to say. If I had imagined what was going to happen, of course I’d never have asked Miss Cressage to give me that promise. But I hardly suppose that any sane person could have foreseen what was coming. It passes all reasonable bounds. I’ve nothing to say about Miss Cressage’s views on the matter. Apparently she believed in keeping private affairs confidential even under very great strain. She’d given her promise, and she kept it.”“What I felt,” explained Eileen, “was that I’d given you two promises together. If I broke one of them straight away, what reliance could you have placed on my word in the second affair? I had to keep both. And, of course, I had only to wait for you to come back. Then you’d let me off my promise, and I could explain everything. It only meant waiting, I thought. But I hadn’t quite counted on the construction that would be put on things.”Her eyes flashed indignantly as she turned to Freddie Stickney.“I haven’t enjoyed giving these explanations. Probably most of you haven’t enjoyed listening to them; but I’m sure you’ll understand why you had to hear them.”There was an almost inaudible murmur of sympathetic assent from most of the circle. As it died down, Mrs. Brent closed the incident in a phrase or two.“That’s all. Miss Cressage had one serious fault, apparently. She was over-straight. I shouldn’t have blamed her in the slightest if she’d told the whole story when she was asked. She preferred to keep the very letter of her promise. I don’t envy some people their feelings just now. But perhaps they haven’t any. Toads and so forth are said to be very insensitive creatures, and the reptiles generally feel little discomfort. So I am told.”She took Eileen’s arm gently, and they left the room together. Undoubtedly, as a creator of discomfort, Mrs. Brent ran Freddie close. Westenhanger caught Douglas’s eye, and they followed Mrs. Brent.“Let’s try the garden?” suggested Douglas. “Air in there seems a bit sultry for my taste. That last whang of Mrs. Brent’s wasn’t perhaps tactful; but it was nothing to what she might have said if she’d really let herself go. I’ve never seen her even peeved before; and to-night she was boiling underneath the surface. Even the trained observer, Freddie, can hardly have failed to notice the weather signs.”“Well, I suppose we’ll be rid of some of them by the first train to-morrow.”“No we shan’t! Nobody can leave Friocksheim till this Talisman business is cleared up. Your ways are not ours, Conway. All the rest of us are still under suspicion and we’ve got to hang on until the ‘All Clear’ signal goes. Pleasant prospect, isn’t it? Well, we needn’t talk to ’em more than’s needful.”Westenhanger looked gloomy.“There’s only one way out of it, then. We’ve got to find the thief, if we can, and as quick as we can.”“Right you are, but easier said than done.” Douglas’s voice did not sound very hopeful. “Another canter in the Elimination Stakes to begin with?”“All right. We’ll be rigid this time. To start with, we can put aside as completely cleared: ourselves, Mr. and Mrs. Dangerfield, Mrs. Brent, Nina, Cynthia, and Eileen Cressage. Do you O.K. that?”Douglas acquiesced with a nod.“No doubt in these cases. I’m going on character as much as alibis and so forth. Let’s sit down.”They found a garden seat which was dry and seated themselves.“Mrs. Scorton? No motive that I can see. I think she drops out also.”“Agreed.”“Then there’s Morchard.” An angry tone came into Westenhanger’s voice. “He’s out of it too. You see why? Well, naturally he was the man Mrs. Brent was getting at. Didn’t you see he offered to give Eileen the money if she’d come to his room? He’d be waiting there for her, not roaming about the house picking up the Talisman. Obvious, I think. Unless . . . Could he have taken it and meant to throw suspicion on her? No, he wouldn’t know she had been out of her room at all that night. No, that’s wrong. We can leave Morchard out of it.”Douglas kicked angrily at the ground.“The infernal thing is that one can do nothing to Morchard. The least row would lead to the devil of a scandal, and Eileen would suffer. It’s Freddie’s case over again, only fifty times worse. Our hands are tied.”“That’s so,” said Westenhanger, shortly. “Let’s go on.”Quite evidently he disliked the whole subject.“That leaves still in the net,” he continued, “Wraxall for one. I’m prejudiced in favour of Wraxall; but if he’d planned that theft beforehand, he’d have fixed up some very neat, circumstantial story to account for all his night’s doings, you may be sure. And he undoubtedly had the most complete tale of the lot. I’m morally sure he didn’t do it; but there’s a loop-hole all the same. Besides, we can’t afford to ignore possible motives, and there’s no question that he came here for one purpose only—to get the Talisman. Leave Wraxall in, eh? We’re trying to be inclusive, remember.”“Wraxall’s a good sort,” was Douglas’s verdict. “I can’t think he’s the man we’re after. But leave him in, since we can’t count him as definitely cleared.”“Freddie?”“I’m all for keeping Freddie under observation. I don’t say he took the thing, of course. Can’t go that length. But the line he’s followed all along has been just the sort of thing he might have been expected to do, if he were the man we want. Who would suspect him, when he volunteered as a sleuth from Sleuth Town? Good bit of camouflage for a criminal, I think. And he had a very poor account to give of himself when it came to the pinch, very thin. Freddie stays in, so far as I’m concerned.”“My feeling too. Well, that leaves only two more, both Dangerfields: Eric and Helga. I’m not an enthusiast for Eric. Rather a rotter, it seems to me. But there’s nothing very definite against him; we agreed on that before.”“Leave him in, then,” Douglas decided. “We can’t say more than ‘not proven’ for him, can we?”“That brings us to Helga. I say, Douglas, did you make anything of that affair to-night? The girl wasn’t lying. Neither was Eileen.”“That was what I felt,” concurred Douglas. “Neither of ’em was lying, to my mind. And yet the thing seems flatly impossible unless one of them was giving the truth a pretty wide miss.”“It might have been someone else in a similar dressing-gown,” suggested Westenhanger, half-heartedly.“No good, Conway. The only other women available are Mrs. Dangerfield and Mrs. Scorton. They’re both rather under middle height. Helga’s a well-built girl, taller than the average. There could be no mistake about it.”Westenhanger cogitated for a time.“I’ve got it!” he said, at last. “It’s self-evident. Eileen was wide awake, obviously. But suppose Helga walks in her sleep? She wouldn’t know she’d been there at all, if she got back to bed eventually without waking up. That would account for the affair, wouldn’t it? It’s the only simple solution. It might even explain other things as well.”He ruminated for a few more seconds before continuing.“I’ll ask Eileen about it to-morrow. She was excited at that time, or she’d probably have spotted it as somnambulism at once. Perhaps she’ll remember something if she thinks over it. This may turn out to be the key to the whole damned thing.”
For almost a week, Friocksheim had been under strain. First had come the sultry spell, days of oppressive heat which set sensitive nerves on edge and brought a certain lassitude to even the most active of the guests. The storm, though it cleared the physical atmosphere, had coincided with the creation of a fresh tension. A cloud of suspicion, heavier than the cumulus in the sky, had settled down upon the house; and as the days passed without any sign of its dispersion, its influence showed more and more clearly among the house-party. Even Douglas Fairmile’s normal high spirits were unable to resist it entirely.
“Something will have to be done about this business, Conway,” he complained, as they sat smoking in the Corinthian’s Room in the afternoon. “It’s gone on for three days now, and everyone’s feeling it more or less. We’re all getting off our feed, metaphorically of course.”
Conway Westenhanger nodded without taking his eyes from the tapestry on the wall. He seemed to be studying it closely; but in reality Diana’s hunting hardly impinged on his attention. Like Douglas, he was feeling the strain, although personally he was free from any suspicion.
“Unrestful atmosphere, right enough,” he commented, shortly.
Douglas made a gesture of impotent irritation.
“Everything’s at sixes and sevens,” he went on. “Even old Rollo—decent bird—is getting too much for me. If the talk drifts round towards the root of the trouble, he just smiles that far-away smile of his—as if he was thinking about something else entirely—and one almost expects him to tell us again that it’s all right, that the damned thing will turn up again in due course, and that we needn’t worry over it. Politeness carried to that pitch is enervating, Conway. That’s a fact.”
“I feel the same myself. But somehow, he’s almost beginning to make me believe he really means it. A kind of hypnotic suggestion, I suppose. It’s impressive, whether you like it or not, to see a man take a loss like that so quietly. I couldn’t do it.”
“Nor I. But he’ll have the lot of us in the jumps if this goes on. I’m not a suspicious oaf like Freddie, but it irks me all the same. It’s not so much that there’s a thief among us that bothers me. We’ve mixed with all these people before—bar Wraxall. What really puts my nerves on edge is that I don’t knowwhichof ’em’s the thief, I want to see the rest of us cleared.”
Westenhanger’s eye travelled incuriously over the group of Diana’s nymphs and passed on to the stag at the other side of the tapestry; but it was evidently merely a mechanical movement. His thoughts absorbed the whole of his attention. Before he made any reply to Douglas the door opened and Helga Dangerfield came into the room. She nodded to them as she passed, and went into the library.
“Where’s Wraxall to-day?” asked Westenhanger, merely to avoid leaving an impression on the girl that they had stopped talking on her account.
“Digging up megatheriums or flint arrows somewhere in the neighbourhood,” said Douglas, taking the hint. “Or else he’s chaffering for the oldest nutmeg-grater in Frogsholme. He seems really keen on that sort of stuff.”
Helga Dangerfield came through the library door with a book in her hand.
“You like this room?” she asked, pausing for a moment as she passed. “So do I. It used to be my playroom when I was getting beyond the crawling stage.”
“Nice floor for building castles on,” Westenhanger suggested, with a glance across the smooth marble pavement. “You must have had rather a jolly time. Plenty of room.”
“Sometimes I wish I had it all over again.” She smiled at her own idea, than added: “I must hurry off; Nina and Cynthia are waiting for me.”
As soon as she had left the room Douglas returned to the point at which the conversation had been interrupted.
“Can’t you think of anything, Conway? I admit I’m not the star performer in the thinking orchestra. It’s up to you to play a solo while I do the grunts of approval down in the bass.”
Westenhanger shook his head.
“Eliminate and eliminate, that’s the only way. And the only thing we have to eliminate with is this left-handed affair. It’s none so easy, Douglas. The real bother rises out of the fact that most left-handed people are partly ambidextrous.”
“I get your meaning up to the word ‘fact’,” said Douglas, apologetically, “but it seems to slip a cog after that somehow. What about words of one syllable? I seem to remember seeing special clubs for left-handed golfers. Not much ambidexterity about that, surely?”
“That’s just the point,” explained Westenhanger. “I’ve been thinking about one or two left-handed people I know, and in most things you wouldn’t spot that they were left-handed at all. If it’s a one-handed job they’re doing, they may use their right hand oftener than their left. It’s only in two-handed things, like golf, or cricket, or billiards, or cutting hay with a scythe, that they give themselves away completely. It’s the arm-motion rather than the hand that seems to come in. This Talisman affair is a case in point. The thief was using his whole arm to get inside the case.”
“That’s probably so,” conceded Douglas, reluctantly. “It isn’t so easy as I thought.”
Before Westenhanger could elaborate his views, Eileen Cressage came hurriedly into the room. Her face was flushed with excitement; her eyes were bright; and her whole carriage showed that she had thrown off her load of difficulties at last. Westenhanger had never seen her looking so care-free.
“TheKestrel’sback at last!” she announced breathlessly. “She’s making for the bay. I saw her from the headland, and hurried back to the house to tell you; that’s why I’m out of breath. I wanted you to hear the news at once, because it’s all right now. I’m sure Mrs. Brent will clear everything up when she comes ashore.”
“That’s the best of news. I am glad, Eileen,” said Douglas, before Westenhanger could say anything. “You’ve stuck it out like a good ’un, but it’s about time it stopped.”
Westenhanger added nothing to Douglas’s words. His expression spoke for him better than anything he could have said.
“I can’t wait here,” Eileen explained rapidly. “I must get down to the beach and get on board as soon as the yacht comes in. I began to think she’d never come back. These three days have been like centuries for slowness.”
“We’ll put you on board,” said Westenhanger. “Come along, Douglas.”
“Thanks. But really I’d rather go by myself, if you’ll put the boat into the water for me.”
They walked down to the boat-house, got out one of the boats and brought it round to the tiny jetty for her. She stepped lightly aboard, waved her thanks, and pulled with easy strokes to theKestrel, which had just let go her anchor. The two men watched her get safely on board the yacht and then turned back towards the house.
“I suppose we’ll hear all about it to-night or to-morrow,” hazarded Douglas, as they left the jetty. “You seem a bit relieved, Conway; and I feel rather that way myself. It’s been a stiffish three days for a girl, thanks to Master Freddie.”
“Iamrelieved,” Westenhanger acknowledged. “I’ve had her troubles very much on my mind, and I’m only too glad to see light ahead. But you needn’t expect to learn much about the Talisman business, Douglas; she never had anything to do with that, you know.”
“At least one part of this infernal mix-up will be straightened out, though, and that’s always something.”
Westenhanger made a gesture of assent.
“One never knows what may come out, once people start talking,” he said, hopefully. “It’s quite on the cards we may hit on a new idea, after we’ve heard Mrs. Brent. She’s the missing witness, the only person who hasn’t had a chance to tell her story of what happened that night.”
“Who’s that coming up in the car, I wonder,” said Douglas.
Westenhanger looked across the lawn and saw a motor with a single passenger at the front door of the house.
“Seems to be Eric Dangerfield.”
“Something wrong with him, then,” Douglas commented. “Look at him hobbling up the steps with a stick. Seems as if he’d lamed himself a bit.”
Eric Dangerfield’s figure laboriously ascended the steps and disappeared into the house.
“Sprained ankle, or something like that,” was Westenhanger’s verdict. “Well, Douglas, we’ll just have to be patient. There’ll be no ’orrible revelations for an hour or two at least.”
His guess was quite accurate. Eileen and Mrs. Brent came ashore from the yacht only in time to dress, and neither of them appeared until the remainder of the party had assembled. Eric Dangerfield limped into the dining-room, still using his stick.
“Nothing much,” he explained in answer to a question. “I twisted my ankle rather badly and had to rest it. That’s why I didn’t get back here sooner.”
Mrs. Brent took very little part in the conversation at the dinner-table, but when the servants had left the room after serving coffee, she glanced round to secure attention and then addressed the company in general.
“I understand,” she said, with a certain sub-acid tone in her voice, “that during my absence, Mr. Stickney has been organising a symposium of sorts. It seems a pity not to give my contribution to the common stock, even if it is slightly belated. Suppose we all go into the drawing-room after dinner for a few moments. I shan’t detain you long.”
It was impossible to learn from Rollo Dangerfield’s face whether or not he understood her reference. Much to his regret, he explained, neither he nor his wife could be there. They had a meeting in the village that evening which in courtesy they must attend.
“I quite understand, Rollo,” Mrs. Brent hastened to reassure him. “You won’t miss much here, and in any case I can explain the whole thing to you to-morrow. It’s of no consequence.”
She made no further reference to the matter until the whole party, with the exception of their host and hostess, had gathered in the drawing-room. Choosing her favourite chair, she made a sign to Eileen to sit down beside her, and then waited until the others had grouped themselves.
“It appears,” she began, frowning in Freddie Stickney’s direction. “It appears that privacy has gone out of fashion since I went away. That’s a new phase for Friocksheim, and I don’t feel I’m much to blame for not anticipating it. Certainly, I didn’t foresee such a state of affairs, and to that extent I’m responsible for some events which ought never to have occurred.”
She stared at Freddie as though he were some curious animal which she was inspecting for the first time.
“It seems,” she went on acidly, “that no one can have any private affairs now, so I think the best thing is to have a complete clearing-up of some misunderstandings—is that the right word, Mr. Stickney?—which have got abroad. I don’t wish to leave any ground for such things in future. Miss Cressage agrees with me.”
She turned to the girl.
“Tell them the whole affair from start to finish, Eileen.”
Eileen Cressage looked up, but paused for a moment or two before saying anything. Westenhanger could see that she hated the business, but was determined to go through with it.
“Some of you know,” she began, “that the other night I lost a lot of money at bridge. I didn’t realise during the game how big a loss it was. Very foolish of me, I admit.”
Mrs. Brent interrupted her sharply.
“I think the facts will be quite sufficient, Eileen. I shouldn’t make any comments, if I were you.”
Eileen accepted the correction, understanding the underlying motive.
“I was taken aback,” she went on, “when I heard how much I owed Mrs. Caistor Scorton. I don’t wish to keep anything back now. It was far more than I could pay in any reasonable time. I lost my head, I’m afraid; I wanted at any cost to avoid a public explanation. So when a cheque was suggested, I filled one in and handed it over, intending to explain to Mrs. Caistor Scorton how matters stood, as soon as I could get her by herself.”
Westenhanger let his eyes wander to Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s face, but it was absolutely expressionless.
“I felt that was the best thing to do,” Eileen continued. “It avoided public explanations and unpleasantness for everyone, and it really made things no worse.”
She paused, and Mrs. Brent took up the story, as though their parts had been pre-arranged between them.
“I seldom interfere in other people’s affairs. I was brought up to believe that one shouldn’t be a busybody. But some things seem to me outside the rules of the game, and then an outsider can take a hand. I noticed a thing that evening which seemed to me outside the rules. Taking advantage of a girl in a tight corner is . . . well, I needn’t comment on it.”
She darted a contemptuous glance at Morchard, without taking any pains to disguise it.
“That was what happened that evening. Naturally, I stepped in.”
Morchard’s face showed that he had not known this before. He made no comment, and Mrs. Brent continued.
“I asked Eileen to come to my room after everyone had gone to bed. I wanted to have a good talk with her; strike while the iron was hot, you see, and get a promise out of her that she wouldn’t gamble in that way again. If I’d waited till next morning I wouldn’t have been able to make such a strong impression.”
She glanced towards Freddie Stickney again.
“I asked her to come to my room without letting anyone know she was coming, because things like that are better done without the chance of any other party poking his nose into the affair. It seemed to me quite a private matter, with which no one else had any concern. Curiously enough, Mr. Stickney, my views on that point are still unchanged.”
Freddie’s beady eyes were fixed on the carpet. He refused to be drawn. At a gesture from Mrs. Brent, Eileen continued the narrative.
“I waited until I thought everyone was out of the way. Then I took my bedroom candle, slipped on my dressing-gown, and made my way to Mrs. Brent’s room. That was where I was going when Mrs. Caistor Scorton saw me.”
The girl had got over the worst of her story; she reached a point where no blame could attach to her, and her voice showed the difference. At last she was able to shake herself free from suspicions. Westenhanger noticed that she did not even look in Freddie’s direction. He had ceased to be of any importance.
“I went down the staircase and along the corridor to Mrs. Brent’s room. She had been sitting up waiting for me. I’d like to tell you how kind . . .”
“No comments, please, Eileen,” interjected Mrs. Brent again. “Let us have the facts.”
The girl’s eyes met Mrs. Brent’s, resisted for a moment, and then dropped.
“Very well,” she assented. “It’s for you to say. They’ll know how I feel without my putting it into words. I’ll go on. Mrs. Brent told me she would pay my debt. She gave me some advice. And she made me promise two things. The first was that I wouldn’t play bridge again for stakes higher than I could afford. I promised that. I’d had my lesson. The second promise was that I wouldn’t mention to anyone anything that had happened that night. I promised that, too. It seemed little enough to promise, after her kindness. She laid a good deal of stress on it. She said she hated to have anything of the kind known.”
“I do,” confirmed Mrs. Brent. “I’ve no desire to publish things of that sort. It’s a private affair. Of course, I’d no idea then that privacy was a back number. I’ve learned.”
Eileen took up her narrative again.
“Mrs. Brent hadn’t £200 in notes with her. She gave me a cheque and told me to go up to London first thing in the morning and pay it into my account, so as to meet the cheque I had given Mrs. Scorton, in case it was paid in immediately. Meanwhile, the thunderstorm began.”
Mrs. Brent interposed once more.
“I found the storm was getting rather too much for my nerves after the first peal or two. Having someone in the room with me helped to steady things a little; so I asked Miss Cressage to stay with me until the thunder passed off. She waited with me till some time in the small hours. Then I let her go; for she had to get some sleep, and she had to be up in order to catch the first train.”
She broke off and invited Eileen to continue.
“I left Mrs. Brent’s room and went back to my own. Just as I got out of Mrs. Brent’s room, Helga passed me . . .”
Helga Dangerfield’s face showed complete amazement.
“You saw me?” she demanded. “You must have made a mistake. It was someone else, surely. Why, I fell asleep at the tail-end of the storm and didn’t wake up again till morning.”
Eileen looked puzzled.
“You were going towards the Corinthian’s Room, Helga. I thought perhaps you were looking for a book to read, if the storm had kept you awake. You were past before you noticed me, I thought; and I was quite glad you hadn’t seen me, since Mrs. Brent didn’t want anyone to know I’d been down to see her. You had your blue dressing-gown on. Don’t you remember?”
Helga Dangerfield shook her head definitely.
“You must have been dreaming, Eileen.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Eileen, “I’ll go on with the story. I went up to my room, blew out my candle, switched on my light, and crept into bed. I didn’t sleep for quite a long time. I was rather shaken up, you know, between the storm and the things that had happened. But I dropped off at last, and just wakened in time to catch the first train.”
She looked round the circle till her eye fell on Eric.
“You remember we went up to town together?”
Eric nodded, but said nothing. Eileen took up the thread again.
“In town, I went straight to my bank and paid in Mrs. Brent’s cheque. After that I did some shopping. Then I suddenly remembered something. I never wear jewellery, but I have some things. It struck me that I might raise something on them and so be able to repay Mrs. Brent part of her cheque at once. It would be a kind of relief to my mind. She’d know I was taking things seriously. So I went back to my bank, where I kept them; took them out; went to Starbecks with them. I’ve dealt with Starbecks for years. They know me quite well, and they made no difficulty about it. I didn’t get enough to repay Mrs. Brent entirely, but I felt it was always something done. As I was coming out of Starbecks’ door I met Mr. Westenhanger, and we had just time to get to the station and catch the train.”
Mrs. Brent made a gesture to stop the girl at this point.
“I think that covers the whole question,” she said. “Now I’ve just a word or two to say. If I had imagined what was going to happen, of course I’d never have asked Miss Cressage to give me that promise. But I hardly suppose that any sane person could have foreseen what was coming. It passes all reasonable bounds. I’ve nothing to say about Miss Cressage’s views on the matter. Apparently she believed in keeping private affairs confidential even under very great strain. She’d given her promise, and she kept it.”
“What I felt,” explained Eileen, “was that I’d given you two promises together. If I broke one of them straight away, what reliance could you have placed on my word in the second affair? I had to keep both. And, of course, I had only to wait for you to come back. Then you’d let me off my promise, and I could explain everything. It only meant waiting, I thought. But I hadn’t quite counted on the construction that would be put on things.”
Her eyes flashed indignantly as she turned to Freddie Stickney.
“I haven’t enjoyed giving these explanations. Probably most of you haven’t enjoyed listening to them; but I’m sure you’ll understand why you had to hear them.”
There was an almost inaudible murmur of sympathetic assent from most of the circle. As it died down, Mrs. Brent closed the incident in a phrase or two.
“That’s all. Miss Cressage had one serious fault, apparently. She was over-straight. I shouldn’t have blamed her in the slightest if she’d told the whole story when she was asked. She preferred to keep the very letter of her promise. I don’t envy some people their feelings just now. But perhaps they haven’t any. Toads and so forth are said to be very insensitive creatures, and the reptiles generally feel little discomfort. So I am told.”
She took Eileen’s arm gently, and they left the room together. Undoubtedly, as a creator of discomfort, Mrs. Brent ran Freddie close. Westenhanger caught Douglas’s eye, and they followed Mrs. Brent.
“Let’s try the garden?” suggested Douglas. “Air in there seems a bit sultry for my taste. That last whang of Mrs. Brent’s wasn’t perhaps tactful; but it was nothing to what she might have said if she’d really let herself go. I’ve never seen her even peeved before; and to-night she was boiling underneath the surface. Even the trained observer, Freddie, can hardly have failed to notice the weather signs.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll be rid of some of them by the first train to-morrow.”
“No we shan’t! Nobody can leave Friocksheim till this Talisman business is cleared up. Your ways are not ours, Conway. All the rest of us are still under suspicion and we’ve got to hang on until the ‘All Clear’ signal goes. Pleasant prospect, isn’t it? Well, we needn’t talk to ’em more than’s needful.”
Westenhanger looked gloomy.
“There’s only one way out of it, then. We’ve got to find the thief, if we can, and as quick as we can.”
“Right you are, but easier said than done.” Douglas’s voice did not sound very hopeful. “Another canter in the Elimination Stakes to begin with?”
“All right. We’ll be rigid this time. To start with, we can put aside as completely cleared: ourselves, Mr. and Mrs. Dangerfield, Mrs. Brent, Nina, Cynthia, and Eileen Cressage. Do you O.K. that?”
Douglas acquiesced with a nod.
“No doubt in these cases. I’m going on character as much as alibis and so forth. Let’s sit down.”
They found a garden seat which was dry and seated themselves.
“Mrs. Scorton? No motive that I can see. I think she drops out also.”
“Agreed.”
“Then there’s Morchard.” An angry tone came into Westenhanger’s voice. “He’s out of it too. You see why? Well, naturally he was the man Mrs. Brent was getting at. Didn’t you see he offered to give Eileen the money if she’d come to his room? He’d be waiting there for her, not roaming about the house picking up the Talisman. Obvious, I think. Unless . . . Could he have taken it and meant to throw suspicion on her? No, he wouldn’t know she had been out of her room at all that night. No, that’s wrong. We can leave Morchard out of it.”
Douglas kicked angrily at the ground.
“The infernal thing is that one can do nothing to Morchard. The least row would lead to the devil of a scandal, and Eileen would suffer. It’s Freddie’s case over again, only fifty times worse. Our hands are tied.”
“That’s so,” said Westenhanger, shortly. “Let’s go on.”
Quite evidently he disliked the whole subject.
“That leaves still in the net,” he continued, “Wraxall for one. I’m prejudiced in favour of Wraxall; but if he’d planned that theft beforehand, he’d have fixed up some very neat, circumstantial story to account for all his night’s doings, you may be sure. And he undoubtedly had the most complete tale of the lot. I’m morally sure he didn’t do it; but there’s a loop-hole all the same. Besides, we can’t afford to ignore possible motives, and there’s no question that he came here for one purpose only—to get the Talisman. Leave Wraxall in, eh? We’re trying to be inclusive, remember.”
“Wraxall’s a good sort,” was Douglas’s verdict. “I can’t think he’s the man we’re after. But leave him in, since we can’t count him as definitely cleared.”
“Freddie?”
“I’m all for keeping Freddie under observation. I don’t say he took the thing, of course. Can’t go that length. But the line he’s followed all along has been just the sort of thing he might have been expected to do, if he were the man we want. Who would suspect him, when he volunteered as a sleuth from Sleuth Town? Good bit of camouflage for a criminal, I think. And he had a very poor account to give of himself when it came to the pinch, very thin. Freddie stays in, so far as I’m concerned.”
“My feeling too. Well, that leaves only two more, both Dangerfields: Eric and Helga. I’m not an enthusiast for Eric. Rather a rotter, it seems to me. But there’s nothing very definite against him; we agreed on that before.”
“Leave him in, then,” Douglas decided. “We can’t say more than ‘not proven’ for him, can we?”
“That brings us to Helga. I say, Douglas, did you make anything of that affair to-night? The girl wasn’t lying. Neither was Eileen.”
“That was what I felt,” concurred Douglas. “Neither of ’em was lying, to my mind. And yet the thing seems flatly impossible unless one of them was giving the truth a pretty wide miss.”
“It might have been someone else in a similar dressing-gown,” suggested Westenhanger, half-heartedly.
“No good, Conway. The only other women available are Mrs. Dangerfield and Mrs. Scorton. They’re both rather under middle height. Helga’s a well-built girl, taller than the average. There could be no mistake about it.”
Westenhanger cogitated for a time.
“I’ve got it!” he said, at last. “It’s self-evident. Eileen was wide awake, obviously. But suppose Helga walks in her sleep? She wouldn’t know she’d been there at all, if she got back to bed eventually without waking up. That would account for the affair, wouldn’t it? It’s the only simple solution. It might even explain other things as well.”
He ruminated for a few more seconds before continuing.
“I’ll ask Eileen about it to-morrow. She was excited at that time, or she’d probably have spotted it as somnambulism at once. Perhaps she’ll remember something if she thinks over it. This may turn out to be the key to the whole damned thing.”