Terror by Gaslight (19 page)

Harriet shuddered, but kept control. Clare had explained that this was their neighbour’s dog. And dogs do howl from time to time, even if she had never heard the Dunblane dog do so before. Holding the book in trembling hands, she chose a page at random and compelled her eyes to focus on the words.

The wind had begun to moan again, the unseen hand having brought it back into action: not such a steady force now, a gusty wind that rattled the windows and caused some small object to roll about on the paved area outside.

Without warning, there was a crash from across the room.
Fearfully, Harriet raised her head and looked for the source of the noise, which had sounded like a door being slammed. But Clare did not slam doors, and, anyway, Clare’s room was in the opposite direction. There was nothing untoward to be seen. Harriet told herself that the catch must have failed to engage when she closed the conservatory door. No doubt the wind had blown it open and then swung it shut. Yes, that must be it. And yet, deep inside, she was sure she had closed the door properly: it was something she always did.

With her thoughts scrambled and her heart racing, Harriet forced herself to remember those happy times reading aloud with Robert Kemp. Reading aloud was what she must do now. The discipline would compel her to lock on to the words. And it would remind her of Robert.

She rose and, as if giving a public performance, declaimed the lines from the book held in front of her.

It was not the right poem for the occasion. She hurled the book to the ground, subsided on to the sofa, and buried her head in her hands.

For the third time the dog started howling, now continuously, neither tiring nor being restrained. And, curiously, the sound seemed to be closer. Was it her imagination or was the dog approaching the house? And what was it that was moving out there, sliding around on the paving stones?

Suddenly, Harriet felt she must find out what was going on outside. She was drawn irresistibly to the window, though
she dreaded to think what she might see beyond.

She abandoned the security of the sofa and advanced nervously towards the window. Looking at the view through this pane of glass had so often brought her solace and joy. Tonight the prospect was frightening.

Would she see some monstrous hound, slinking towards her with bared fangs? Or the Heath Maniac stalking another victim?

As she reached the window and touched the curtains, a wave of fear swept over her. She lowered her hand and moved back, to stand frozen with terror and indecision.

But Clare’s words about spirit had lodged in her mind and triggered a small stirring of self-respect. She attempted to swallow, but her throat was too dry. Then she stepped forward, seized a curtain with each hand, and pulled them firmly apart. And, as she did so, she began screaming.

From no more than a foot away, an awful face was staring in at her: a great grey face, lined and pock-marked, with piercing eyes and an expression that was scarcely human. It was the face of the tramp, the tramp she had seen before, but previously only at a distance. Now the ghastly creature was here to confront her close up, with a look of icy malevolence.

Harriet retained enough sense to pull the curtains together and then, for a few seconds, she stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to flee, as in a nightmare. But eventually movement returned and she ran across the room and out through the hall door, shrieking and crying and calling for Clare.

For a few seconds the room was empty and silent, save for the receding cries of Harriet as she fled upstairs. Then the handle of the garden door turned, the door was opened quietly, and the tramp came in, looking warily around him.

Satisfied that he was alone, he went to Meredith Austin’s desk and began rummaging in the drawers, obviously looking
for something. His search was interrupted by approaching voices, Harriet’s shrill and desperate, Clare’s cool and censorious.

The tramp hastily closed the drawers and scanned the room for a bolthole. The conservatory was the obvious place and that was where he went, shutting the door behind him.

‘Harriet,’ Clare was saying, as the young women entered the room, ‘this is madness! You must stop such nonsense, you’re imagining things!’

‘I’m not, Clare! I’m not! Please believe me! He’s there! Outside that window!’

Clare strode briskly to the window in question and pulled the curtains aside. There was nothing to be seen but spots of rain on the glass and pitch darkness beyond.

‘You see!’ she proclaimed. ‘There’s no one there! Nothing to see!’ With a look of contempt she pulled the curtains together again.

‘There was, I swear it! The tramp! He was there, staring in!’

‘Well, he’s not there now! For heaven’s sake, girl, sit down and calm yourself.’ Clare guided her sister on to an upright chair. ‘I’ve brought your sedative tablets.’

‘But I’ve already had today’s dose,’ protested Harriet. ‘I’m not supposed to take more.’

‘You may in an emergency.’ Clare went to the sideboard, where stood a fluted jug of water. She poured some into a glass. ‘And this is certainly an emergency. You’ve worked yourself into a state of hysteria.’

She handed the glass to Harriet and took a pill-box from her pocket. Harriet looked at the cold stale water with distaste.

‘Eugh!’ she shivered. ‘This water is horrid! I think I need something stronger.’

Clare pondered. ‘Perhaps you do,’ she conceded. ‘There’s a
flask of Mrs Butters’ blackcurrant wine in the conservatory.’

Harriet rose and walked across to the conservatory door. ‘A good idea,’ she said. ‘The cordial. That might make me feel better. It’s in the cool cupboard, isn’t it?’

‘It is. But you mustn’t mix the sedative with wine. Take the pills with water now. And then after five minutes you can have a little wine as a reward.’

Harriet hesitated outside the conservatory, again beset by indecision. Then she turned back. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that would be best.’

Clare handed her two pills from the box. Harriet put them quickly into her mouth and swallowed them both with one gulp of water. Then she shivered again, returned to her chair, and sank down, inert with nervous exhaustion.

‘Well done, sister.’ Clare was becoming conciliatory. ‘Now you must rest and relax before you make yourself ill. Read your book, or do your embroidery. Do not go to the window. I tell you again, here indoors you are perfectly safe.’ She moved off towards the hall door.

Alarm banished Harriet’s exhaustion. ‘Clare!’ she pleaded. ‘You’re not going to leave me again?’

‘I have to. As I said, I must complete this piece in time to offer it for the Christmas editions. And before I settle down I have to prepare Father’s cold supper.’ Clare paused in the open doorway. ‘If you are in dire distress, I can be here in a matter of moments. But please don’t trouble me again with trivia and mad ideas!’ And, with that, Clare was gone and the door was closed behind her.

The dog had ceased its long howling session. Now the only sound was the swirling of the wind, occasionally rising to a sharp crescendo.

Harriet sat rigid, with hands tightly clasped, again determined to regain control of herself. She watched the clock on the mantelpiece and muttered some feverish disjointed
prayers. As soon as she saw that five minutes had passed, she got up and hurried to the conservatory. She opened the door and went in. And then she began to scream again.

This time, her screaming was cut off by a large rough hand, placed across her mouth. And an arm went round her waist, holding her still. A harsh voice spoke close to her ear.

‘Be quiet! Stop struggling! Answer my questions by nodding your head. Understood?’

The terrified girl responded by moving her head up and down twice.

‘Right. Is Mr Austin at home?’

Harriet shook her head in the traditional sign of denial.

‘Is there a policeman in the house?’

Again she gave a negative nod.

Reassured, Major Steele moved his hand, released his grip on the girl’s waist, and reverted to his normal voice.

‘Ah. Then there’s no further need for subterfuge.’

He removed the rubber mask from his face.

‘I’m sorry to have alarmed you, my dear. I have had to take certain precautions.’

A mixture of relief and astonishment engulfed Harriet. ‘Major Steele! Dear God! It’s you!’

‘Forgive the masquerade, Miss Austin. I assure you, it was entirely necessary.’

‘So it’s you I’ve seen watching our house.’

‘It was essential for me to observe the activities in this area without being recognized, and without attracting the eagle eye of Dr Frankel. There were places I had to search.’

Harriet’s mind was churning as she strove to make sense of things. ‘So why have you come in now and revealed yourself?’

‘Because my search is done. And, more importantly, because you are in deadly danger. It was time for me to make a move.’

‘How did you get in?’

‘Through that door. Your sister gave me a copy of the key. I unlocked it earlier, in case I had to come in quickly.’

Harriet gasped. ‘You mean … the door has been unlocked all evening? Thank God I didn’t know that.’

‘You were safe enough all this time. I was standing guard outside. But now this dreadful business is moving to its climax. You must stay close to me.’

‘I shall be very glad to do that, Major.’

‘And you must do as I say. And please keep your voice down.’

Amid the sighing of the wind there came a sound which could have been that of a door closing.

Harriet clutched the major’s arm. ‘What was that?’ She spoke quietly as instructed.

‘That was almost certainly the sound of the front door being shut.’

‘The front door? Then Father must be home.’

‘Not quite yet, I think. Stay still.’

Steele walked noiselessly to the hall door and opened it a few inches, enough to see down the hall. Then he pushed it shut and returned to Harriet’s side.

‘As I thought,’ he murmured. ‘The hall is empty. The noise was not made by someone coming in. It was someone going out.’

‘Going out? Who could have gone out? Clare is busy upstairs. And you know that Mrs Butters is dead?’

‘Sadly, yes. And I am deeply sorry that I failed to act in time to prevent that.’

‘So, when Father is out, Clare and I are the only ones in the house …’

‘Perhaps.’

‘What do you mean, perhaps? It is a certainty.’

‘Few things are certain in this world, Miss Austin.’

Harriet was not inclined to debate the question. There were more urgent matters. ‘Major, if Clare’s gone out, she may come to harm! It’s Sunday night. And the Maniac is loose! I must go to her!’

Steele took hold of her arm again. ‘Stay where you are!’ he commanded. ‘Whatever happens, you must remain in this room.’

Harriet’s voice rose. ‘Will you please tell me what is happening! I need to know!’

‘I asked you to speak quietly, Miss Austin.’

‘I’m sorry. But surely I’m entitled to an explanation.’

‘Very well,’ said Steele. ‘I believe an ambush is being prepared. We have to await the outcome and be ready to help.’

‘An ambush? What sort of ambush?’

‘A potentially lethal one. But a plan is in hand to ambush the ambusher and avert the fatality. Furthermore, if I am right, we shall shortly know the identity of the Heath Maniac.’

White-faced, Harriet trembled. ‘You mean … I am actually to see the Maniac?’

‘I am confident that we both will. But have no fear, you will not be hurt if you stay at my side.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Ten-fifteen,’ he observed. ‘I think it would be wise to turn the lights down a little.’

Steele left the girl briefly and adjusted the gas lamps to a moderate glow. Then he returned, put a hand on Harriet’s shoulder, and guided her to the sofa.

‘We might as well sit down, my dear. We can do nothing at present but await events. They will not be long in coming.’

So the two of them sat side by side, watching the garden door. Steele had taken a small automatic pistol from an inside pocket. Harriet regarded it with mixed feelings. Of course, it made her feel more secure. But she had never heard a gun fired before: she wondered if the noise would be unbearable,
and she prayed that it would not happen. Questions teemed in her mind.

‘Do you know who the Maniac is?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Steele. ‘I’m sure I do.’

‘Then could you not have told the police and had him arrested?’

‘Unfortunately not. The police require proof and there is none. I have only a theory: it is necessary for the Maniac to be caught in the act.’

‘You can’t mean … someone else has to be killed?!’

‘No. As I said, I have taken steps to prevent that.’

The dog began to howl again, now distant, as at first.

‘Oh, that dog!’ Harriet complained. ‘It has been making that horrid noise all evening. Yet I never heard it do that before.’

Steele’s response echoed Clare’s. ‘Animals sense the presence of evil.’

After this exchange, the pair fell silent. Again, the wind seemed to be abating, its sound decreasing as the tension in the house mounted. The fire in the grate seemed finally to be dead.

And then a hideous, anguished cry rent the night air. It came from outside on the Heath, but not far away: one brief shriek, high-pitched with pain, but surely a male voice.

Harriet shrank closer to Steele. ‘Dear God, what was that?’ she cried. ‘It sounded like a man! A man in agony!’

Steele was equally shaken, and his reply was grim. ‘Yes. Yes, I fear so. I pray it doesn’t mean that …’ He checked himself, as a hubbub erupted outside.

Suddenly, the bleak night was full of violent noise: angry voices, running feet and police whistles. Harriet’s horrified reaction was compounded by a fearful blend of recollection and premonition.