Dr. Morelle at Midnight. Ernest Dudley

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СКАЧАТЬ exchanged glances. Sara smiled at him, then she went out closing the door quietly behind her. Laking sat staring at the door until the sound of her high-heeled shoes on the parquet floor of the hall ceased. She would telephone from her room. He pushed his briefcase aside, took a sheet of note-paper from the top drawer of the desk. He began to write a letter.

      Slowly, carefully the thoughts dribbled from his mind. The words looked strange to him now, on the white paper. It was a long time before he finished. When he had signed his name he read the letter through. Then slowly again. Satisfied, he wrote out the envelope, folded the letter, inserted it and sealed the flap. He stared at the address he had written.

      A bleak smile touched his lips. It was all too easy. He was going to be the innocent party. The unsuspecting villain of the piece would never be able to extricate himself from this.

      The letter must be posted at once, then he must get back and prepare for the trickiest part, which was yet to come. He would have to be careful. Duke Fenton was an astute character, not easily fooled. He must be led gently, convinced beyond any shadow of doubt. Duke knew he had gone to London specially to see Kirkland. That visit was part of the plan. It would help make Duke Fenton swallow the act.

      Laking slipped the letter in his pocket and went out into the hall. He called up to Sara and she came to the top of the stairs.

      ‘What time is Duke coming?’

      ‘He said six o’clock,’ Sara said.

      Laking nodded. ‘I’m going out but I’ll be back before that.’ He let himself out of the front door.

      He hurried down the wide steps. As he walked down the hill he looked back at the villa, looked up at the windows. But Sara’s small oval face was not there, watching.

      Lower down the hill the road turned and he had a view of the sea between white buildings. He found the pillar box and he pushed the letter into the box, heard it plop on to the heap inside. Then he lit a cigarette and gazed idly along the street. A few people passed in the sunshine but Laking eyed them without curiosity.

      As he moved away he glanced back, there was a squeaking of bicycle brakes and a uniformed postman had pulled up in front of the pillar box.

      Laking paused and watched the postman open the box and shovel the letters into his bag. His eyes followed the uniformed figure down the road until he was lost from view.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      The Villa Midnight stood on high wooded ground at the eastern end of Monte Carlo. It was set in extensive gardens which lay behind high white walls, and the entrance was through tall ornamental gates. The house was secluded, islanded in a sea of blossom. In the brilliant sun the white walls of the garden shimmered, reflecting the rich purple of the heliotropes which were banked along it.

      Throughout the year flowers blazed in the garden, white mimosa, anemones, marigolds, cyclamen, carnations, geraniums, flowers of every possible colour. Only the vivid, succulent-looking oranges and tangerines which grew in the centre of the garden were a delusion, for they were acid and bitter to the taste. The spectacular Indian-rubber trees and palms which were set round the garden gave a subtropical beauty to the surroundings.

      The villa, like most in the vicinity, was white. It was not a large residence but it had all the comforts and luxuries of a villa set in a Mediterranean setting. The Comtesse saw to that. An open portico in the front of the house led to the main door. The amazingly big entrance hall had a table in the centre and its rose-coloured walls stretched the full height of the house. Straight ahead was a beautiful hand-carved staircase which led up to a gallery from which the bedrooms could be reached. Each of the bedrooms had a private bathroom. The sunken baths were coloured to match the tones used in the bedrooms.

      Most of the rooms on the ground floor had plain white panelled walls. The morning-room was to the left of the main door and was furnished with a fine collection of Veronese antiques. Next to that was an entrance leading to the kitchen and servants’ quarters. Opposite the morning-room was a studio in which the Comtesse occasionally spent some time. She was a talented artist, and this was the room of which she was most proud. Venetian crystal lights threw a soft glow upwards to the painted ceiling. The furniture was Louis XV and over the mantelpiece was an old Venetian mirror which looked like a gem, and shone with all the brilliance of one.

      Exquisite hand-painted frescoes everywhere were the envy of everyone who visited the villa. The library in particular had a magnificent display of murals. This room was entered by a door under the balcony. It was the library which Dr. Morelle used. Two walls of the library were covered in books and the fine old desk was Italian, as were the chairs.

      The library opened on to a colonnaded veranda which ran the full length of the back of the house. The veranda overlooked an Italian garden and from it there was a magnificent view of the mountainous Riviera coastline leading to Italy. The wooded slopes of the Alpes Maritimes stretched away from the front of the house.

      Somewhere behind the villa a motor-mower puttered its way across the lawn. A faint unobtrusive sound that failed to interrupt the peace of the gardens or the concentration of the occupant of the terrace.

      Presently the gaunt figure in the wicker chair paused and put down his pen, pushing the foolscap sheets of manuscript away from him across the coffee table. He glanced along the terrace as he heard footsteps.

      A dumpy woman in a black dress offset by a white lace apron appeared and came diffidently forward. ‘If there will be nothing more, m’sieu. I will take my leave.’ She spoke in excellent English but with a strong French accent. ‘I have laid out everything for your dinner as usual.’

      Dr. Morelle took a Le Sphinx from the box on the table. His sombre face relaxed in a smile. ‘I am sure you have arranged everything for my comfort with your usual efficiency.’

      ‘Merci, m’sieu.’ The woman moved away quickly and disappeared into the house. Dr. Morelle noticed that the sound of the mower had ceased and a few minutes later the gardener appeared. He glanced up at the terrace and went off down the drive. Soon afterwards the dumpy woman followed him, a light coat over her severe dress, and a basket in her hand.

      Dr. Morelle would have preferred unbroken solitude, but the Comtesse had insisted he have the attention of her servants for at least a few hours each day. So it had been arranged that the housekeeper and her husband arrived early each morning and left again in the afternoon. Dr. Morelle had to admit he hardly knew of their presence, so unobtrusive were they. The work upon which he was engaged took his undivided attention and he had felt that the presence of someone in the house, however silent, would disturb him.

      The Comtesse was a beautiful woman, a persuasive woman. It had been difficult to refuse her generous offer of the villa while she was in America. It was a debt of gratitude, she insisted, for Dr. Morelle’s brilliant success in rescuing her from a somewhat menacing situation in which she had found herself in some little while ago. The Comtesse’s gratitude had been quite overwhelming. Dr. Morelle smiled a trifle sardonically to himself at the thought.

      He had contrived to keep her at arm’s length but when they had met at a party in London a few weeks ago and he had mentioned his intention of working for a month somewhere in the sun, she had immediately offered him the Villa Midnight overlooking Monte Carlo. She was off to America and meanwhile her villa would be standing empty, and she did not like that. What better opportunity for her to return the favour? If Dr. Morelle would work there she would feel not only had she been of some service, but she might also take a little credit for the great work he would accomplish beneath the elegant roof of the Villa Midnight.

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