Footsteps in the Dark (23 page)

"It must have been about ten o'clock, sir, from what Bowers tells me."

"But how funny!" said Celia. "What in the world cann have possessed them? Do you suppose they got bored, and went to look up the Colonel?"

"Well, Miss Celia, they may have done so, but all I can say is it's not like Miss Margaret to go ordering a fire to be lit if she means to go out the moment it's done."

"A fire? Did she order a fire?" Charles asked.

"Yes, sir, she did. Mr. Peter came out to the kitchen with the library scuttle, which was empty." She looked over her shoulder at Bowers. "Round about ten o'clock that would have been, wouldn't it, Bowers?"

Just about then, or maybe a minute or two after," Bowers agreed.

"But you say they went out at ten," frowned Charles. "So they must have, sir," Bowers replied. "Because it didn't take me more than five minutes to fill the scuttle, and when I took it back to the library, which I did straight away, there wasn't a sign of either of them. I didn't set much store by it, but when I came back with the tray ten minutes after that, and they still weren't there, I did think it was a bit funny, and I mentioned it to Mrs. Bowers, just in a casual way."

"Perhaps Margaret has induced her brother to walk up to the ruin by moonlight," suggested Mrs. Bosanquet, who had caught perhaps half of what had been said. "It is a very clear night, but I must say I think it was imprudent of the dear child to go out with the wind in the north as it is."

"My dear Aunt Lilian, they wouldn't spend an hour at the chapel!" Charles said.

"An hour! No, certainly not. But have they been gone for so long as that?"

Celia was looking at her husband. "Charles, you're worried?"

"I am bit," he confessed. "I can't see why they should want to go out like that. No one came to the house during the evening, I suppose?"

"No, sir, no one to my knowledge. That is, no one rang the front-door bell, nor yet the back either."

"They must have gone to the Colonel's!" Celia said.

"Then what did they want a fire for, Miss Celia?" struck in Mrs. Bowers.

"Perhaps they thought it was such a sudden change in the weather that we might be cold after our drive," Celia suggested.

"No, madam, they never thought that, for as I was just saying to Bowers, Mr. Peter brought that scuttle out, and said Miss Margaret was feeling shivery, and was going to light the fire. Which she must have done - unless you did, Bowers?"

"No, I never lit it," Bowers answered. "It was burning up fine when I brought the scuttle in."

Charles strode over to the library, and went in. "Windows been shut all the evening?" he asked.

"No, sir. When I came in I found them just held together. I'll show you, sir." He drew back the bolts, and placed the windows as Peter had left them. "Like that, sir."

"I see. With the bolt holding them together?"

"Yes, sir. I particularly noticed that, because I saw by it that they couldn't have gone out on to the terrace."

"You didn't notice anything else out of the ordinary? Nothing was disturbed?"

"Well, sir, things were a bit untidy, but only in a natural way, if you understand me. Ash trays full, and the paper on the floor, and the cushions a bit squashed. Nothing else, sir."

Celia laid her hand on Charles' arm. "Charles, you don't think anything can have happened to them, do you?" she asked anxiously.

"I hope not, but I don't quite like the sound of it. Can you think of any reason for them wanting to go out at ten o'clock?"

"No,_ I can't. Unless Aunt Lilian's solution is the right one. After all, we never did go up to the chapel by moonlight, and Margaret more than once said she'd like to."

"I'd better go up and take a look," Charles decided. "You others might search the house - though why they should conceal themselves I can't imagine."

"Charles, take your revolver!" Celia called after him, as he left the room.

"I'm going to," he said over his shoulder.

It was quite a little walk to the chapel from the house, and he did not come back for nearly twenty minutes. They had heard his voice occasionally, shouting the names of the missing couple, but no answering call had come to their ears. Both Celia and Mrs. Bosanquet were feeling very anxious by the time he returned, and when lie shook his head in answer to their eager inquiries they began to look rather scared.

"But it is quite ridiculous!" Mrs. Bosanquet said. "They must be somewhere!"

"Undoubtedly," said Charles. "But where? You've been all over the house?"

"Yes, there's no sign of them," Celia replied. "You - don't think they can have gone up to the ruin, and - and found the Monk, and he - did something to them?"

"I should hope it would- take more than that dratted Monk to tackle the pair of them!" snorted Mrs. Bowers.

But the idea was taking hold of Celia. "Supposing he had a gun?"

"If Peter had any sense he wouldn't take Margaret up to the chapel at night without his revolver," Charles said. "I'll go and look in his room, and see if it's in his dressingtable. That's where he keeps it." He went out, but this time he was soon back again, and in his hand he carried Peter's revolver. Looking distinctly grim he laid it down on the table.

Celia's fingers gripped the arms of the chair she had sunk into. "Then they were unarmed! Charles, it's the Monk! I know it's the Monk! Oh, fool, fool that I was to suggest they should stay here alone this evening."

"Steady!" Charles said. "Don't leap to conclusions, Celia. For all we know they had a perfectly good reason for going out, and they'll walk in any moment. They may even have walked down the road to meet us, as Bowers suggested, and we missed them."

"How could we miss them?"

"Easily. We were all talking, and I for one never scrutinise pedestrians."

"But they'd have stopped us!" Celia pointed out.

"Not necessarily. You must remember that our headlights were on, and the glare would prevent them recognising the car till it was abreast of them. And I was driving pretty fast, too. They may have called to us, and failed to make us hear."

Celia looked at the time. "But, darling, it's a quarter to twelve, and we've been in three-quarters of an hour! They must have got back by now. Why, if they set out at ten they've had time to get as far as the Vicarage and back again by now!"

"No, not quite," Charles said. "Not that I see either of them walking all that distance just to meet us. I'll tell you what: I think I'd better get the car out of the garage again, and run back as far as the Vicarage, just in case they were cracked enough to walk as far as that, and have met with some accident. Sprained ankle, or something of that sort. Then if I don't find them I'll go in to Ackerley's place, and ring up the police-station from there, and bring Ackerley himself along to help me search." He picked up Peter's revolver. "Bowers, you know how to handle this, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Bowers answered, taking it.

"I want you to stay in this room with Mrs. Malcolm and Mrs. Bosanquet, and on no account to leave them. Quite understand?"

"Don't you worry, sir!" Mrs. Bowers said, picking up the poker. "I just wish that Monk would come in, that's all! I'd Monk him!"

Celia nodded bravely. "Yes, that will be best. Don't waste any time, Charles: we shall be all right. There's nothing we can do while you're gone, is there? It's so awful to have to sit here so helplessly."

Charles was buttoning up his overcoat again. "I'd rather you stayed all together in this room," he said. "I daresay there's no reason for me to be alarmed about you, but I'm not taking any more risks. I'll be back as soon as I possibly can." He bent and kissed Celia's pale lips. "Keep your pecker up, old lady. I shall probably meet them in the avenue." He hurried away as he spoke, and the next instant they heard the front door bang behind him.

Charles went quickly round to the garage, and got the car out. He laid his revolver on the seat beside him, and after backing and turning the car, drove off down the avenue to the gates.

The Vicarage lay on the other side of the village, and Charles drove through the narrow, deserted street at a pace that made a solitary pedestrian leap out of harm's way. There was no sign of Peter and Margaret anywhere along the road, and since they had pleaded a previous engagement as their excuse for not joining the dinnerparty that evening, they would certainly not have gone into the Vicarage. Moreover the house was in darkness, and seeing this, Charles turned the car, and started to drive back the way he had come.

In the village street he overtook a bicyclist, and his powerful headlights showed this late plodder to be Constable Flinders. Charles drew up beside him. "I've got your case for you, Flinders," he said. "Can you leave that bicycle, and come up to the Priory?"

Mr. Flinders stared at him. "Lor', sir, what's happened?"

"Mr. and Miss Fortescue have disappeared, and I'd like you to go up and stand guard over my wife and aunt. Leave - no, shove it on the back seat. Can you?"

"Me bike, sir? It'll dirty your cushions, won't it?" the constable said dubiously.

"What the hell does that matter? Lift it in."

"Well, if you say so, sir, I will," the constable said, and hoisted his bicycle into the back of the car. He then got in beside Charles, and instinctively grasped the seat with both hands as the car shot forward. "Sir," he said solemnly, "if I was on dooty and saw you driving like this I should have to run you in. I should really, sir."

"No doubt, but I happen to be in a hurry. Now look here, this is what has happened." Briefly he told Flinders of his brother's and sister-in-law's unaccountable disappearance.

The constable listened in open-mouthed astonishment, and at the end of it collected his wits sufficiently to say: "Well, one thing I can tell you, sir. It ain't Mr. Titmarsh, for he's not been out of his house the whole evening."

"I didn't suppose it was," said Charles impatiently. "No, sir," said the constable, rather hurt, "but it narows it down, so to speak, don't it, when we know for certain it wasn't him?"

"When we get to the Priory," Charles said, paying no Iced to this, "I'll put you down, and you can cycle up to the house and wait for me there. I'm going on to Colonel Ackerley's house to telephone to Manfield, and I hope to bring the Colonel back with me to help search the grounds."

"Do I understand you to mean, sir, that you mean to call in them chaps at the police-station?"

"You do."

The constable coughed. "In a manner of speaking, sir, that should have been left for me to do, if I see fit."

"I'm afraid you'll have to overlook the irregularity for once," Charles replied, pulling up at the Priory gates.

The constable got out, and extricated his bicycle from the back of the car. "Very irregular, sir, that's what it is," he said. "I don't hardly know what to say about it."

"Think it out on your way up to the house," Charles advised him, and drove on while this retort was slowly filtering through to the constable's brain.

No light shone from any window in the White House, but since it was now some time past midnight Charles had hardly expected the Colonel to be still up. He drove to the front door, switched off his engine, and got out, thrusting his unwieldy gun into the deep pocket of his overcoat. He found the electric bell, and pressed it. He heard it ring somewhere inside the house, and kept his finger on it for some time.

Nothing happened. Charles rang again, and beat a loud tattoo on the door with the rather ornate knocker.

There was still no answer. The Colonel must be a heavy sleeper, Charles thought, and remembered that Ackerley's butler and cook slept over the garage, a few yards from the house. He stepped back into the drive, and scanned the upper windows, wondering which was the Colonel's room. Setting his hands to form a funnel round his mouth he shouted: "Colonel! Colonel Ackerley!"

No answer came from the house, but a light showed above the garage, and presently a window was thrown up there, and a voice called: "Who is it? What do you want?"

Charles walked along till he stood under this window. The Colonel's butler was leaning out. "I want to use the Colonel's telephone," Charles said. "It's very urgent. Is he in?"

"I'm sure I don't know, sir," the butler answered rather sulkily. "Who are you?"

"Charles Malcolm, from the Priory. I can't make the Colonel hear at the house. Think you could come down and let me in?"

The butler's voice changed. "Mr. Malcolm! I beg your pardon, sir: I didn't recognise you. Yes, sir, I'll be down in just a moment if you wouldn't mind waiting."

He drew in his head, and. Charles paced up and down in front of the house in a fret of impatience. Presently the butler came down, having pulled on a pair of trousers and a coat. "Sorry to keep you, sir. You wish to use the telephone? I hope nothing serious, sir?"

"It is rather. Is the Colonel out, or just a heavy sleeper?"

"I expect he's out, sir. He very often goes out after dinner. I believe he plays bridge at the County Club at Manfield, sir."

"Very late to be still at the club, surely?"

"The Colonel never goes to bed much before midnight, sir. And, of course, I don't know when he comes in, as I don't sleep in the house." He inserted a key into the Yale lock of the front door, and turned it. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll go first and switch on the light. The telephone is in the study, sir. This way, please."

He ushered Charles into the Colonel's sanctum, and discreetly left him there, shutting the door as he went out.

It did not take Charles long to get connected with the police-station and he was lucky enough to find someone intelligent on duty. This officer said that he would get on to the inspector at once, and he promised that a couple of men should be sent off to the Priory as soon as the inspector was informed of what had occurred.

Charles hung up the receiver, and was just about to leave the room when an idea struck him, and he lifted the receiver off its hook again. When the exchange spoke he gave the number of the Bell Inn, and waited.

After a considerable pause, he heard Spindle's unmistakable voice. "Ullo! Bell Inn. "Oo is it?"