Footsteps in the Dark (18 page)

"Not a bit," Celia assured him. "I say instead that you'll take a brighter view after dinner."

It was not until shortly before ten o'clock that Bowers came in to announce the arrival of M. Duval. Charles had cut out of the bridge four, and was standing behind the Colonel, watching him play, with considerable skill, a difficult hand. Bowers came up to him, and said softly: "M. Duval, sir. I've shown him into the study."

"No spade, Colonel?" Celia asked quickly.

The Colonel, frowning over the dummy she had laid down for him, glanced at his own cards again. "Bless my soul, did I pull out that club? Thanks, partner." He picked the club up again and followed suit. The third player seemedd to be wool-gathering. The Colonel said impatiently: "Come on, Roote!"

The doctor, who had been looking at Charles, started. "Sorry, sorry! What's led?" He played, and again looked at Charles. "Didn't know you'd struck up a friendship with Duval, Malcolm."

"I shouldn't describe my dealings with him exactly as a friendship," Charles answered. "I allowed myself to be inveigled into buying one of his pictures, and since then he's been trying hard to make me buy another. All right, Bowers, I'll come."

He followed the butler out, and went across the hall to the study.

The artist was standing peering out of the window into the darkness. He started round as the door opened, and Charles saw that he was in one of his most nervous moods. No sooner was the door shut than he said hurriedly: 'M'sieur, you permit that I draw the curtains?"

"Certainly, if you like," Charles replied.

"I must not be seen here," Duval said, pulling the curtains across the window. "Once I thought I heard a step behind me, but when I looked there was no one. I do not think I am followed here, but I am not sure. Sometimes I hear noises, but perhaps they are in my head. For it is very bad, m'sieur, ah, but very bad!"

"I'm sorry," Charles said. "Now what is it you want to see me about?"

The artist drew closer to him. "There is no one outside? You are sure? No one can hear?"

"No, no one."

Duval cast a glance round the room. "I do not like this house. I do not know where the stairs are, but he goes up them like a ghost, m'sieur, and he can hear."

"The stairs," said Charles patiently, "are at the other end of the hall, and since each step has its own creaking board I defy anyone to go up like a ghost. The only people in the house are ourselves, my family, my servant and his wife, and three guests, who are playing bridge in the library."

Duval said suspiciously. "Those three? Who are they?"

"Dr and Mrs. Roote, and Colonel Ackerley."

Duval seemed satisfied, but he sank his voice even lower. "M'sieur, I will be quick. I come to say to you that you must not set your gendarme to watch me. You must tell him there is no harm in poor Duval. M'sieur, it is true! I do not do you any evil when I am in your garden, and I must go there, though I fear greatly, yes greatly! It is there I think I find the Monk. Something I have discovered. But your gendarme he challenge me, and I go away before I have discovered the great mystery. M'sieur, I implore you permit that I search here."

"My dear fellow," Charles said, "I really can't have you prowling about the grounds. My wife doesn't like it, and I warn you I've got a revolver, and I'm liable to shoot if I see anyone suspicious lurking near the house."

This threat did not have much effect. "But me you know, and you would not shoott me after all your so great kindness. No, no, I know better. And I tell you it is of importance - of importance unheard of that you do not let that gendarme follow me. If I am watched what can I do? And he, that imbecile, he goes so clumsily he can be heard, and it is not only Duval who hears him." "You mean - you think you're on the track of the Monk."

The guarded look came creeping back into the artist's wild eyes. "I do not say."

"Then in that case I fear Ido not call off my watchdog."

"But, m'sieur, I have told you I do no harm! I would not hurt you, or those others. What do I care for them? But nothing!"

"Look here," Charles said, "why all this mystery? You've already said you expect to find the Monk in these grounds."

The artist passed his hand across his brow. "Sometimes I do not know quite what I say. I do not wish to tell you that, for you understand it is no use if someone else finds him. I must be that one. M'sieur, think! For years I have waited. At first I did not care: I was content. But now I am not any longer content, and I think that it is better to have courage than to go on like this. For me, I have genius, and I will not be what you call underdog all my life. Better dead, m'sieur! Yes, I have thought that. Better dead! But I do not mean to die. Not like that other. For see, m'sieur! I am armed." He showed Charles a wickedlooking knife, and grinned fiendishly. "That would slip between the ribs, hein! Softly, oh but softly! When I hear footsteps in the dark, I take hold of him, my little knife, and courage comes to me."

"Indeed? said Charles, beginning to think that the man was really mad. "And do I understand that that is meant for the Monk?"

Duval nodded. "Yes, but I do not wish to kill him. No, that is not good. I wish only to see his face, for once I have seen it, m'sieur, he is in my power, and I hold him like that." He closed his fingers tightly.

"Well, when he's in your power," Charles said, "perhaps you'll be so good as to tell him to cease haunting this house."

"Yes, perhaps I do that for you, m'sieur, if you let me search as I please. For I have made up my mind that even if I must go down amongst the dead to do it I will find him."

"Let's hope no such journey will be necessary," Charles suggested, and was surprised to see that leering secret smile twist the artist's mouth again. "In the meantime, I don't think you need worry about Constable Flinders."

"And I may search? You will not forbid me?"

"Well, we'll see about that," Charles said, bent only on getting rid of him. "And now I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to go, because I can't leave my guests any longer."

The artist clutched his wrist. "You will not tell the gendarme to arrest poor Duval?"

"No, I won't do anything like that," Charles promised, and opened the door. He saw Duval out into the porch, and watched him dart out of the beam of light thrown through the open door. With a shrug of the shoulders he shut the door again, and went back to the library.

As he entered the room Celia looked up as though she were about to say something, but encountering a warning frown changed her mind.

"Well, Malcolm, bought another picture?" the Colonel chaffed him. "You know, you haven't yet shown us the first one you bought."

Charles shook his head. "I never show it to people after dark," he said. "It upsets them. Did you make your contract, by the way? That four spade one you were playing when I left you?"

"Yes, we made it," Ackerley replied. "Oughtn't to have, but Roote discarded a diamond. Aha, Roote, caught you napping that time, didn't I? Can't think why you held on to the heart."

Dr Roote merely grunted. He had embarked on his third whisky since dinner, and though still perfectly sensible was looking slightly hazy. In a little while his wife, seeing him look round for the decanter again, gave the signal for the party to break up. Colonel Ackerley stayed on for about twenty minutes after the Rootes had gone, and then he too took his departure.

Gathering up the scattered cards, Celia said: "I'm sorry for that little woman. I should divorce you, Charles, if you got fuddled every evening."

"I do not at any time approve of drunkenness," announced Mrs. Bosanquet, "and when a doctor falls into the habit of taking rather too much, I consider it most reprehensible. Now, if one of us was attacked by appendicitis in the middle of the night, what would be the use of sending for Dr Roote? Mrs. Bowers was telling me that they say in the village that he can't be got out of bed at night to attend to anyone, and we all know what that means."

"If you get attacked by appendicitis, Aunt, we'll send for Ponsonby, from Manfield," Peter promised.

"Yes, my dear, I hope that you would. But my appendix was removed some years ago," said Mrs. Bosanquet with mild triumph.

An hour later, as Peter was about to blow out his candle, and go to sleep, his door opened softly, and Charles came in, fully dressed.

"Hullo!" Peter said. "Anything wrong?"

"No, but I've got a fancy to do a little sleuthing myself. Do you feel like accompanying me?"

Peter raised himself on his elbow. "Who are you going to track?"

"Friend Duval. Unless he's clean cracked, he thinks he's on to the Monk's trail, and I can't help feeling it might be worth our while to follow him."

The bed creaked in the adjoining room, and in a moment Margaret appeared in the open doorway with her dressing-gown caught hastily round her. "If you don't want to be overheard you'd better see that the door's shut in future," she said. "Go on. What did Duval say tonight?"

Charles gave them a brief resume of the artist's conversation. Peter sat up when he had finished. "The knife business makes it look as though he's mad," he said, "but if we don't try and find out what he's up to we're a couple of fools. If you'd like to clear out, Sis, I propose to dress."

"You can take your clothes into my room," said his sister disobligingly. "I want to hear some more. Who did he think was following him, Charles?"

"I don't know. The Monk, presumably. I have an idea he's afraid of Strange."

Conscious of her brother's sidelong scrutiny Margaret said calmly: "Why?"

Charles told her what Duval had said that morning when Strange had entered the taproom with the landlord. She nodded. "I see." She watched Peter swing his legs out of bed, and sat down, folding her dressing-gown more tightly round her.

Peter collected his clothes, and disappeared into her room. Through the open doorway his voice reached them: "What about Celia?"

"She doesn't like it, but she says if Margaret will go and keep her company and I promise to run no risks I may go just this once."

Margaret raised her eyes. "What are you going to do, Charles?"

"It all depends," he answered. "I don't propose to run any unnecessary risks, and from Duval's account the Monk is a dangerous customer. But if by following Duval we can get a sight of the Monk it's worth doing."

"You mean, you'd follow the Monk, and see where he went to?"

"That's the general idea."

Margaret looked straight ahead of her for a moment, as though she were considering. "Yes," she said at last. "I think perhaps you ought to. But don't shoot, Charles. Either of you. You don't want to land yourselves in a mess, and you mustn't forget that you don't know what the Monk is after. He may not be doing anything criminal."

"The only shooting I'm likely to do will be in selfdefence," Charles replied.

Peter came back into the room in his shirt-sleeves. "Don't you worry, Sis. We shan't get into trouble."

"You might get excited, and do something you wouldn't do in cold blood," she insisted. "And I've got a sort of idea that the Monk doesn't want to hurt any of us."

Peter got into his coat, and buttoned it. "Where did you get that idea from, if I may ask?"

"I don't know. But I do feel that you oughtn't to leap to conclusions." She got up. "Well, I'll go along to Celia now. Good luck, you two." She went out, leaving her brother to frown after her.

"Strike you that Margaret takes an unduly sympathetic interest in the Monk?" he said. "I don't quite like it. That fellow, Strange, has been getting at her, if you ask me."

"She's too sensible," Charles said. "Are you ready?"

Together they went downstairs, and let themselves out by the front door. The night was rather overcast, but the waning moon shone fitfully through the clouds.

"Good: shan't need our torches," Charles said, slipping his into the pocket ofhis tweed coat. "The chapel is our goal, I think. That's where Flinders saw Duval."

They made their way to the ruin, and cautiously inspected it. No one was there, and a deep silence brooded over the place. They searched the ground all about it without success, and at last Peter said: "Look here, it's no use wandering aimlessly through the woods. It 'ud be more sensible if we walked down to Duval's cottage to see whether he's there or not. If he's tucked up in bed I think we can safely write him down a lunatic. If he's not there -well, he may still be a lunatic, but we can lie in wait for him on the road and see which direction he comes from. That'll narrow the field for us to-morrow night."

"All right," Charles said reluctantly. "Not that I think it helps much, but I agree we shan't do much good going on like this."

They started to walk down the right-of-way. "What's more," Peter pointed out, "it's just possible that he may not have ventured out yet. After all, he knew we had a dinner-party, and since he seems very loth to let anyone catch sight of him he'd be bound to give the party some time to break up." He flashed his torch on to his wristwatch. "It's only just on midnight. Duval might well think we should still be up."

"True," Charles agreed. "Anyway, we can but try your idea."

They walked on in silence, until they came to the place where the right-of-way joined the main road into Framley. A few yards up the road the lane that ran past Duval's cottage branched off. They turned into this, and went softly up it till they saw the broken gate that led into the cottage garden. They paused in the lee of the untrimmed hedge, and craned their necks to obtain a glimpse of the tumble-down building. No light shone from either of the upper windows, but they thought they could see a dim glow in the ground floor.

"How many rooms?" Peter whispered.

"One downstairs, besides the kitchen."

Peter stole to the gate, from where he could get a clear view of the cottage. He rejoined Charles in a minute or two. "There is a light burning downstairs," he whispered. "But I think the curtains are drawn. I move that we walk up past the place and wait under the hedge to see whether he comes out or not. If he does he's bound to come this way, and he won't see us if we're the other side of the gate."