The House Of The Bears (8 page)

‘Thanks,’ said Palfrey. He took the cup with his left hand and sipped. ‘Lord, that’s hot!’ He nearly spilt the tea as he snatched the cup away. ‘I’ll wait until it’s cooled down.’

Two hundred yards behind them, the headlights of the second police car swayed along the road and were reflected in Palfrey’s driving mirror. Hardy had taken extreme precautions, and Palfrey pondered over the situation ruefully. At one time he had thought that Hardy was a slow-moving, slow-thinking fellow, eager for the slightest help from Palfrey. Instead, Hardy was deep, and knew much more about the affair than he had revealed. The accident and the murder could not be the first incidents. The man next to him sipped the hot tea noisily. They were out of the hills now, and on the moors. The car behind him was keeping pace, sometimes drawing closer so that the lights reflected from the mirror and dazzled Palfrey.

‘I’ll pour some tea out for you and hold it while it cools,’ offered his companion.

‘Thanks very much.’

Palfrey turned a corner, saw a flat stretch of road in front of him and opened out. A few minutes should see them at Morne House, and he had to be prepared with an excuse for his return visit.

Something wet fell on his leg, and he glanced round, sharply.

‘Look out,’ he said, ‘it’s spilling.’

His companion did not move; he was sitting back with the cap of the flask in his hand tilted over. Suddenly the man slumped forward and dropped the cup. Palfrey looked sideways at his companion. ‘Wake up,’ he said, but there was ho conviction in his voice.

This was not natural sleep; the man was drugged.

A picture of Ross’s flashing smile appeared in Palfrey’s mind’s eye.

There was no point in stopping to see if he could help his companion; that would be much easier inside the house. He trod more heavily on the accelerator, and as he did so he saw a yellow flicker of lights on his left.

The flares of Morne House were on, so someone of the household was out that night. He saw the squat inn, on the right this time, turned and drove very fast towards the lighted house. The dancing flares shone on the dark stone walls and the huge bears; the whole had a satanic look and sent a shiver down his spine.

He pulled the car up outside the front door and pressed his horn urgently. The other car was some way off now; he had gained half a mile. He helped his companion out, as the great door opened.

Palfrey had no stomach pump, and he was not certain what drug had been used, but he gave orders crisply, and a footman hurried off. The police were still sitting outside in their car; Palfrey called them in and explained briefly. Mrs. Bardle came up, the policemen took their colleague to a bedroom, where he was to be given an emetic, watched closely, and kept warm with blankets and hot-water bottles.

Palfrey lit a cigarette and stood smoking, reflecting that he had acted in a high-handed fashion, taking complete charge and issuing orders; but Mrs. Bardle had not hesitated to obey him, and it had all been necessary.

Mrs. Bardle came back: a thin, angular woman with sharp features and fine, bold eyes.

‘Do you wish to see Sir Rufus, sir?’

‘I would like to, yes,’ said Palfrey.

‘If you will wait just one moment, sir, I will see whether he is downstairs.’

Palfrey’s mind raced. Since the policeman’s collapse, he had forgotten that he needed a convincing reason for his return.

Morne suddenly appeared in the doorway, like a great bull. No, thought Palfrey, like a bear. He wore a dinner jacket and looked well-groomed and composed. He held out his hand.

‘I am very glad to see you again, Dr. Palfrey.’

‘Thanks,’ smiled Palfrey. ‘I’ve just come from Wenlock. I saw your daughter. Progress
is
good. Better than we had any right to expect.’

Morne said: ‘You are always a bearer of good tidings!’

‘My good fortune,’ dissembled Palfrey. ‘Not always a peaceful messenger, I’m afraid. I’ve had two upsets tonight. One on the road from Corbin to Wenlock, another from Wenlock to here. Details will bore you, but the facts are there.’ He no longer looked diffident, and his voice was incisive.

‘I don’t quite understand you,’ said Morne; ‘but come along and have a drink.’ He rested a hand on Palfrey’s shoulder, a gesture Palfrey thought was uncharacteristic, and led the way into the other room. No one else was there.

Palfrey explained. He spoke quietly and Morne looked at him with keen interest.

‘I had intended only to satisfy myself about your daughter’s condition before I returned to London,’ Palfrey told him. The attempt to stop me from seeing her made me decide to see you again.’

Morne said, as if puzzled: ‘Why should it, Dr. Palfrey?’

‘All these things happened after my first visit. I gave you information about your daughter’s accident which brought the police here. Someone did not like it, Morne. Someone did attempt to murder your daughter, and it’s reasonable to assume that the same person resented my interference and tried to stop it.’

‘You realize you are suggesting a member of my household caused the accident to my daughter, don’t you?’ asked Morne, in a very soft voice.

‘Yes. It’s right that you should know what I think.’

After a long pause, Morne said: ‘Dr. Palfrey, by your prompt handling of the situation when you arrived here on Monday evening, I think you saved my daughter’s life. I am, therefore, for ever in your debt. You have placed me under a further obligation by your frankness and by the trouble you have taken to come here tonight. I hope you will not place yourself in any further danger.’

‘Now what does he mean?’ asked Palfrey of himself. ‘I don’t quite understand you,’ he said aloud.

‘I mean that I hope you will not venture out again tonight,’ said Morne.

‘Oh,’ said Palfrey, and relaxed again. ‘I was rather hoping that I need not. It means that three extra policemen –’

‘Mrs. Bardle has told me they are here, and I have given instructions for them to be looked after,’ Morne assured him.

‘You’re very good,’ said Palfrey. ‘Now, if I may use the telephone, I’ll let my wife know that I’m not going back tonight.’

Palfrey got out of bed and contemplated the grey ash in the grate. He had been so tired that he had not wanted to stay up until the house was silent, and Hardy’s man had raised no objection to calling him, saying that he was on duty all night. He had said also that the Markhams were out but that Morne’s sister Rachel had been in her room all the evening.

Palfrey dressed quickly. At last he went into the passage, and found the policeman sitting on an upright chair near the landing.

‘How’s your friend who was drugged?’

‘Sleeping naturally, sir.’

‘Good!’ Palfrey moved off, down the stairs. If he found anything in that third post, Hardy would undoubtedly insist that it be given up. Yet the girl would not have taken such precautions had she wanted the police to know.

Palfrey took out his torch – Fyson’s torch! – and walked to the gallery door. The curtain was half drawn, and he could see the lower steps. His slippers made no sound as he went up, shining the torch. It was piercingly cold, and he was excited – not nervous, but excited. Repressing his eagerness earlier in the evening had sharpened it. He was tensely anxious lest the third post had been removed.

He reached the gallery and approached the balustrade, still shining his torch. One post – two – three –

The repair was beyond the third and beyond the fourth post!

He went to the third and shone the torch upon it. Nothing seemed unusual; the hand-carved wood was dark with oil and gleamed dully in the light. Bears surrounded it, tiny carvings exquisitely done. He touched them one after the other, but nothing happened. There must be a way of opening the post; it was almost certainly hollow; Loretta must have meant that. He leaned over the balustrade to examine the front. He touched the first bear-head, twisted and turned it; it was loose! With increasing excitement he concentrated on it, leaning right over, one hand holding the torch, the other exploring. He pulled at the head, and it moved outwards.

The torch shone into a narrow cavity. He put the torch into his pocket and gripped the balustrade, so as to lean further over, and explored again.

Someone gripped his ankles!

His hand slipped from the balustrade and he felt himself being heaved over.

He kicked out. The grip was too firm to be shifted, but he gained a moment’s respite. He grabbed the post. He could see and hear nothing, but the pressure was increasing. A sudden heave and a gasp and he was over. The jolt on his shoulder and his wrist made him cry out, but he managed to hold; it was a matter of life and death to hold on. He hung, swaying.

Suddenly a torch light shot out, carving a straight line through the darkness. He could not see who was holding it, but he felt a hand brush against his fingers; his assailant meant to make him fall.

He hung straight, but a sharp pain at his knuckles made him wince. He drew in his breath and let go, bending his knees, trying to judge the distance to the floor. He struck it with his toes, lurched forward and fell. His head struck something which slithered along the floor.

The light of the torch went out.

And then another light came on, much brighter, one of the chandeliers. He heard a rustle of movements, several heavy, booming footsteps, followed by the sharp sound of someone running up the staircase. Hardy’s man, he thought. A door slammed. The footsteps now sounded hollow; Hardy’s man was on the balcony.

He looked up and saw a stranger looking down, a man dressed in a light grey suit and smiling a droll smile.

‘ “Flat burglary as ever was committed”,’ quoth the man.

Palfrey gaped. ‘What?’

‘Othello,’ declared the man. ‘Shakespeare.’ He had a long, narrow face with a long chin and a humorous mouth, large dark eyes and curly hair.

Palfrey got up and felt for a cigarette. The man stood smiling down at him. Palfrey shifted his gaze and looked towards the third post. There was an open slit there, as he had left it.

‘Did the beggar get it?’

‘No. I did.’

‘I hope that’s a good sign,’ said Palfrey. ‘Are you coming down or shall I come up?’

‘I will come down. The great Dr. Palfrey must be put to no inconvenience. True, King Rufus might think differently if he knew that the great Dr. Palfrey was “by night a stealthy, creeping thing, a marauder with ill-intent”, but –’

Palfrey said; ‘ “An honourable burglary, if you will, for naught I did for gain, but all in honour.” ‘

‘Nicely turned!’ The man laughed lightly and, to Palfrey’s astonishment, started to climb over the balcony. ‘If you can, I can.’ The other climbed over, lowered himself, hung at full length and dropped. He did not fall, but staggered against the piano.

‘Am I entitled to ask you what you were doing here?’

‘Well, I don’t have to ask you. I know what you were doing,’ said the other. ‘I do wonder if this is the best place for a heart to-heart talk. Shall we go to your room?’

‘We may as well.’

It was Palfrey’s companion who opened the bedroom door and, when they were inside, promptly turned the key in the lock. So the key was back again.

‘I keep pausing to wonder who you are,’ said Palfrey.

‘Oh, yes. Remiss of me. A nephew of King Rufus. Only son of his second sister, whom you have met, I believe. Rachel, a sister of Rufus. Don’t let that worry you,’ went on the stranger. ‘I am not on good terms with any of the family. By name I am Bruce, for my father was a Scotsman and a McDonald at that. You are burning with curiosity to know how I came to be in the gallery tonight, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I spied a stranger,’ said McDonald.

‘Meaning me?’

‘Good Lord, no! You aren’t a stranger. You are Public Hero No. 1 at Morne House. I fancy he wore a mask or grease paint, or something. He knows the place pretty well, because he was coming out of the priest hole in the West passage. My room is near there. In fact, I could hear movement in the priest hole and was looking out of my door.’

‘How long ago was this?’ asked Palfrey.

‘About one o’clock. I had finished a session with Gerry, who is always a trial, and was solacing myself with a mild dose of Old Bill when I heard the rustling and rumbling. So out I popped. This fellow went straight to the minstrel gallery and waited there. I also waited. Then you came along. Breathtaking, wasn’t it?’

‘You were slow,’ said Palfrey.

‘Oh, no. I wanted to catch you with the goods,’ said McDonald. ‘How did you come to know of that hiding-place? As far as I knew, only two people had ever discovered it.’

‘You and your cousin,’ said Palfrey. ‘She told me.’ He explained at some length, including the broken teeth of Halsted’s youth. McDonald listened wide-eyed, then said: ‘That’s like Loretta! This little packet that I’ve got in my pocket ought to be interesting, don’t you think?’ He put his hand to his pocket and kept it there. ‘Before we open it, oughtn’t we to come to some kind of understanding?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Loretta’s behaviour makes it pretty clear that she was anxious that the police should learn nothing of this,’ said McDonald. ‘Of course, in some circumstances, we might have to tell the police, but not as a matter of routine. Is that understood?’

‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.

‘Good!’ said McDonald, and took the papers out.

There were three papers in all; two were folded and white, the third was rolled and looked like thin tracing paper, with a blue tint. McDonald handed one of the white pieces to Palfrey and unfolded the other himself. Palfrey glanced down at a set of figures; nothing else but figures in two columns, which seemed to mean nothing at all. They were not totalled, there was no word of explanation, nor was there anything in the way of a key.

‘What’s yours?’ asked McDonald, and handed his to Palfrey.

The second paper was a list of numbers, 1 to 26, and opposite each was a letter of the alphabet. The first line of letters ran straight from A to Z, the others were jumbled.

McDonald looked up, his eyes bright.