Stranger by the Lake (25 page)

The box was sitting on my dressing table. I could hardly wait to open it, but I realized that Aunt Agatha should have that privilege. I would take it to her as soon as I could dry off myself and change into some fresh clothes. A loud clap of thunder crashed nearby. The whole house seemed to shake. It began to rain harder, heavy drops pouring down like pellets. I took off my damp clothes and dried my face, rubbing the towel over my hair. Earl was curled up lazily at the foot of the bed, watching me change into a leaf-brown dress and a pair of dark gold slippers.

“Ready for another walk?” I inquired.

Earl looked dubious, but he followed me out of the room nevertheless. Lights were burning in the hall, but they were spaced at intervals and the walls danced with velvety black shadows. I held the box in-my arms, thinking of Aunt Agatha's excitement when I presented it to her. Another clap of thunder crashed, causing the windows to rattle violently. Rain pounded on the roof. Earl seemed nervous, cowering beside me as we moved slowly down the hall. At the east wing he paused, bristling suddenly. I felt the clammy air eddying out into the hall.

“What's wrong?” I said. “Why are you——”

Someone whistled. Earl looked up at me questioningly and then darted down the dark wing, disappearing into the shadows. My pulses leaped, and I was paralyzed with fright, so stunned I could hardly breathe. I heard a door opening, closing, a loud click as the door was locked. Earl barked furiously, the sound muffled. Someone had lured him into a room and locked him in. I peered down the shadowy hallway, and I saw the dark form moving in a doorway, just as I had seen it my first morning at Gordonwood. Pitch-black shadows stirred, scurrying along the walls of the east wing. I felt my throat go dry. My heart started pounding. The form moved, walking down the hall toward me. For several seconds I was unable to move, held there by sheer, icy panic, and then I turned.

I ran towards Mildred's room. The door was standing partially open, a wedge of light spilling out into the hall. I darted inside, slamming the door behind me, leaning against it, panting. It was half a minute before I had the presence of mind to lock it.

“Mildred,” I cried, “someone is——”

The room was empty. Mildred had probably gone to carry a dinner tray to my aunt. Two oil lamps burned brightly, shedding a golden glow over the flocked tan wallpaper and the cocoa brown carpet. I caught my breath, still leaning against the door, the box clutched in my arms. The door was securely locked, and no one could get in without breaking it down. I was safe, at least for a while. There was a telephone sitting on the dressing table, and I hurried toward it. I would call Paul.…

I didn't lift the receiver. I stared at the curious assortment of objects spread out on the dressing table. There was a pot of pancake makeup, several dark eyebrow pencils, a mousy brown wig, a tiny plastic tray containing two thin brown discs. Contact lenses, I realized, and I knew then just how clever they had been.

There was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door swung slowly open. Vanessa Shaw stepped inside. There was a satisfied smile on her sultry mouth, and she was pointing a stubby black gun at my heart.

CHAPTER TWELVE

She was incredibly beautiful, the personification of chic in a light green sheath printed with emerald green leaves, stockings sheer, shoes dark tan. She wore a dull gold bracelet, and emerald pendants dangled from her ears. Her short-clipped hair was like a tight ebony cap, and her deep blue eyes were surrounded by long, thick sooty-black lashes, the lids etched with a subtle blue-green shadow, brows curving in graceful arcs. The mouth was a little too large, a shade too red, but this defect only made an interesting contrast. I hated her. I would have hated her even if she hadn't been pointing a gun at me.

“You're quite an accomplished actress,” I said calmly. All fear was gone. I had been afraid of a mysterious dark form lurking in the hallway. I couldn't take this woman or her stage-prop gun seriously.

“Yes,” she replied, “though perhaps I overdid it just a trifle.”

“Mildred
was
rather outlandish,” I agreed, “but then acting is a magnification of life. A good actress knows how to exaggerate basic characteristics to set them off properly. Your makeup was fantastic. I suppose you used rubber pads to give the jowly effect?”

She nodded. “Tiresome, getting into character. I could hardly wait to get that gook off my face every night.”

“And every night the two of you searched for the papers, roaming about the house while everyone else was asleep.”

“Right. Of course I searched during the day, too, when I wasn't playing the part. Mildred was so obnoxious that no one wanted her around, so I had plenty of time to go through the vacant rooms. I was searching in the east wing the morning you arrived. You almost saw me. Wouldn't do to have you find me prowling about—I slipped into the shadows and went into one of the rooms.”

“You were up in the attics yesterday, too, weren't you?”

The red mouth curled into a wry smile. “Clever of you to climb out of that window. I thought the room was a storage closet, didn't realize there was a window. I planned to tell them I saw you wandering down by the lake. They would have assumed you'd fallen in, and by the time they drug the lake you would have suffocated.”

“You're really quite nasty,” I said.

“Just determined, dear.”

She lifted the gun a bit, getting a firmer grip on the butt. It wasn't a stage prop at all, and Vanessa Shaw quite obviously knew how to use it. I had never touched a gun in my life, but she handled the stubby black revolver as though it were a natural appendage. I realized I had to keep her talking. I had to play upon her vanity, distract her. Paul would be here soon. Something would happen. This was far too melodramtic to be real, like something out of a poor movie. I held the rusty box cradled in my arms and stared at her, marveling at my own calm.

“I can't understand how a woman with your talent could get involved in anything so—so unscrupulous,” I said.

“Lucked into it actually,” she replied. “Had a bit of misfortune in London. The police were looking for me—not that they could have pinned anything on me, mind you, but I found it convenient to skip town. I took a train and got off at Gordonville. No one in their right mind would
dream
of looking for a woman like me in a place like this. I went to the inn, and Charlie was a delightful host. He was absolutely in awe of me, and I found him rather amusing—you wouldn't believe it, dear, but he could be frightfully sexy under the right circumstances.”

“But you got tired of him,” I said, “and you met someone else.”

“Right. Charlie was getting too possessive. He wanted to marry me. Can you believe it? Anyway, I met someone else, as you say, and he told me all about the Gordon papers and we planned this whole thing. I thought it was an absurd idea at first, but when I realized how valuable the papers would be—well, it was too good a thing to pass up. Of course, there was a possibility that it would all be in vain, that the papers might not exist at all, but we decided to gamble.”

“So Vanessa Shaw disappeared, and Mildred materialized.”

“Right again. You seem to know an awful lot about it—how did you happen to know my name?”

“Your shoes. You left them at the cobbler's. I saw them there. There was a tag with your name on it.”

“Careless of me to have given him my real name, but it had been several weeks since the affair in London and I was beginning to grow lax.”

“Charlie knew everything,” I said. “He——”

“He didn't know everything, but he was growing very suspicious. I had to pacify him—he was the only one who knew I hadn't left town. I went to see him every now and then. He actually believed I'd come back to him, and I felt sure I could keep him from talking. Unfortunately, he started putting two and two together——”

“So you killed him.”

“Gracious no,
I
didn't, dear. Much too strenuous a job for a person with my build. I did, however, furnish a key to the inn—Charlie had given me one—and my friend slipped in and broke his neck and arranged the ‘accident,' very convincingly, I might add.”

She described the murder as someone else might have described a Sunday social. Her beautiful face was composed, her deep blue eyes serene as she spoke of the crime. She was no more bothered by Charlie's death than she would have been bothered by the death of a fly. Vanessa Shaw was completely amoral. Right and wrong simply didn't exist so far as she was concerned. I found it almost unbelievable that such a lovely facade could conceal such total corruptness. Lucrezia Borgia must have been like this, I thought, all beauty on the outside, all evil within.

“Your coming to Gordonwood rather messed things up,” she said. “Everything was going beautifully until you came blundering in. Your aunt is such a trusting soul—she didn't suspect anything.”

“Althea did,” I retorted. “She knows what's going on. She has a pair of binoculars. She's seen you both——”

“Who would believe anything an old drunk like her said? Of course, we may have to arrange an accident for her, too, but first things first.”

Those last words had a sinister ring. I stared at Vanessa Shaw, knowing full well that she would think nothing of shooting me. She couldn't do it now, of course. She couldn't risk it. I would have an “accident,” just like Charlie. Bullet holes would cause far too much trouble for them. That was definitely to my advantage. It amazed me that I could be so calm about something so grisly. If only I could keep her talking. Paul would surely be here soon with Constable Clark.…

“You've really been much too meddlesome for your own good,” Vanessa Shaw continued. “Shame. You'll have to be eliminated.”

“Do you actually think you'll get away with it?”

“Naturally.”

“You won't. I phoned the police in London yesterday——”

“I know. I overheard part of the conversation—rather, Mildred did. But you didn't tell your friend anything really conclusive, dear. You just babbled about something going on and asked him to check on some people. I didn't catch the names you gave him, but I'm sure they'll lead him nowhere. He won't have anything whatsoever to go on—your accident will look very convincing. We'll see to that.”

“I told Paul Matthews everything this afternoon. He's on his way——”

“You really are a little fool, aren't you?” she said, curling up the corners of her mouth. “What's in that box? Why are you clutching it so intensely?”

“You mean—you don't
know
what's in the box?”

“I haven't the foggiest notion and really not much interest. It's irrelevant.”

I managed to laugh. Vanessa Shaw looked startled, then angry, gripping the gun tighter and coming a few steps nearer.

“What
is
in the box?”

“The Gordon manuscripts,” I said nonchalantly. “I found them tonight, hidden in the mausoleum.”

“You're lying,” she said coldly.

“Not at all. You were really quite instrumental in their discovery, Miss Shaw. If you hadn't locked me in the attic room I wouldn't have found the blueprint that led me to them.”

“You found them? You—actually found them? After we've been searching all this—I don't believe it. You're bluffing. Give me that box. If you're lying——”

She was flustered, but only slightly. She glared at me with blue eyes as hard as agates, her dark red mouth an angry line. I held the box out, examining it closely as though reluctant to part with it, taunting her. She grew very impatient, waving the gun angrily.

“Give it to me!” she cried.

“Certainly,” I said sweetly.

I hurled the box with all my might. It caught her in the stomach. She gasped and fell back, dropping the gun. It took her only a second to recover, and she leaped for the gun. I gave it a mighty kick, sending it flying under the bed. Vanessa gave a little cry and hesitated, her eyes wide as the ugly black weapon skidded across the carpet and disappeared, then she flew at me in fury, grabbing my hair. I shoved her away violently, and she fell crashing against the wall.

“You bitch!” she cried. “I'll——”

“Very unladylike language,” I retorted.

I doubled up my fist and drew my arm back, and as she ran towards me I swung, my fist exploding into her jaw. Vanessa Shaw screamed, and then she crumpled to the floor, out cold. I was as startled as she must have been. I rubbed my stinging knuckles, staring down at her in amazement. Emma Peel couldn't have done a better job of it, I thought.

“Bravo,” Paul said.

I whirled around, startled. He was standing in the doorway, a lock of golden-bronze hair plastered across his wet forehead. There was a look of amusement in his dark brown eyes. He wore a long black raincoat dripping with water, and a black hat rested on his head.

“Vanessa didn't make a very good showing,” he said quietly, “but then she's a delicate thing, and you're remarkably healthy——”

“Paul!” I whispered.

“Yes,” he said, smiling vaguely. “You had everything figured out perfectly, my dear, but you had the wrong man. Stanton has no idea what's been going on right under his nose. He's responsible for all this, you know. He told me about the manuscripts one night over whisky, working hard to convince me they existed. He showed me the diary entry, brought out the page he'd found in an old trunk. I brooded about it for a long time before deciding just what I'd do.”

He paused, heaving his enormous shoulders. Rivulets of water slid off the raincoat, making dark spots on the carpet. “Then I went to London one week to pick up some office equipment,” he continued. “I met Stephen Kirk purely by chance, in a bar. He was rather plastered, bragging about the money he planned to spend on some Shelley papers. He wanted to start some kind of collection for a library he'd built—things fell into place, and I saw how easy it would be to make a fortune.”