The Terror. Martin Edwards

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      ‘My father said it was about one o’clock.’

      ‘You were in bed? Where was your father—anywhere near this room?’

      ‘No.’ Her tone was emphatic.

      ‘Why are you so sure?’ he asked keenly.

      ‘Because when I heard the door close—’

      ‘Which door?’ quickly.

      He confused her for a moment.

      ‘This door.’ She pointed to the entrance of the lounge. ‘Then I looked over the landing and saw my father in the passage.’

      ‘Yes. He was coming from or going to this room. How was he dressed?’

      ‘I didn’t see him,’ she answered desperately. ‘There was no light in the passage. I’m not even certain that it was his door.’

      Hallick smiled.

      ‘Don’t get rattled, Miss Redmayne. This man, Connor, was a well-known burglar; it is quite possible that your father might have tackled him and accidentally killed him. I mean, such a thing might occur.’

      Mary shook her head.

      ‘You don’t think that happened? You don’t think that he got frightened when he found the man was dead, and said he knew nothing about it?’

      ‘No,’ she said.

      ‘You heard nothing last night of a terrifying or startling nature?’

      She did not answer.

      ‘Have you ever seen anything at Monkshall?’

      ‘It was all imagination,’ she said in a low voice; ‘but once I thought I saw a figure on the lawn—a figure in the robes of a monk.’

      ‘A ghost, in fact?’ he smiled, and she nodded.

      ‘You see, I’m rather nervous,’ she went on. ‘I imagine things. Sometimes when I’ve been in my room I’ve heard the sound of feet moving here—and the sound of an organ.’

      ‘Does the noise seem distinct?’

      ‘Yes. You see, the floor isn’t very thick.’

      ‘I see,’ he said dryly. ‘And yet you heard no struggle last night? Come, come, Miss Redmayne, try to remember.’

      She was in a panic.

      ‘I don’t remember anything—I heard nothing.’

      ‘Nothing at all?’ He was gently insistent. ‘I mean, the man must have fallen with a terrific thud. It would have wakened you if you had been asleep—and you weren’t asleep. Come now, Miss Redmayne. I think you’re making a mystery of nothing. You were terribly frightened by this monk you saw, or thought you saw, and your nerves were all jagged. You heard a sound and opened your door, and your father’s voice said “It’s all right”, or something like that. Isn’t that what occurred?’

      He was so kindly that she was deceived. ‘Yes.’

      ‘He was in his dressing-gown, I suppose—ready for bed?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said again.

      He nodded.

      ‘Just now you told me you didn’t see him—that there was no light in the passage!’

      She sprang up and confronted him.

      ‘You’re trying to catch me out. I won’t answer you. I heard nothing, I saw nothing. My father was never in this room—it wasn’t his voice—’

      ‘My voice, old son!’

      Hallick turned quickly. A smiling man was standing in the doorway.

      ‘How d’ye do? My name’s Fane—Ferdie Fane. How’s the late departed?’

      ‘Fane, eh?’ Hallick was interested in this lank man.

      ‘My voice, old son,’ said Fane again. ‘Indeed!’ Then the detective did an unaccountable thing. He broke off the cross-examination, and, beckoning his assistant, the two men went out of the room together.

      Mary stared at the new boarder wonderingly.

      ‘It was not your voice,’ she said. ‘Why did you say it was? Can’t you see that they are suspecting everybody? Are you mad? They will think you and I are in collusion.’

      He beamed at her.

      ‘C’lusion’s a good word. I can say that quite distinctly, but it’s a good word.’

      She went to the door and looked out. Hallick and his assistant were in earnest consultation on the lawn, and her heart sank.

      Fane was helping himself to a whisky when she returned to him.

      ‘They’ll come back soon, and then what questions will they ask me? Oh, I wish you were somebody I could talk to, somebody I could ask to help! It’s so horrible to see a man like you—a drunken weakling.’

      ‘Don’t call me names,’ he said severely. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Tell me anything you like.’

      If only she could!

      It was Cotton who interrupted her confidence. He came in that sly, furtive way of his.

      ‘The new boarder’s arrived, miss—the parson gentleman,’ he said, and stood aside to allow the newcomer to enter the lounge.

      It was a slim and aged clergyman, white-haired, bespectacled. His tone was gentle, a little unctuous perhaps; his manner that of a man who lavished friendliness.

      ‘Have I the pleasure of speaking to dear Miss Redmayne? I am the Reverend Ernest Partridge. I’ve had to walk up. I thought I was to be met at the station.’

      He gave her a limp hand to shake.

      The last thing in the world she craved at that moment was the distraction of a new boarder. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Partridge—we are all rather upset this morning. Cotton, take the bag to number three.’

      Mr Partridge was mildly shocked.

      ‘Upset? I hope that no untoward incident has marred the perfect beauty of this wonderful spot?’

      ‘My father will tell you all about it. This is Mr Fane.’

      She had to force herself to this act of common politeness.

      At this moment Hallick came in hurriedly.

      ‘Have you any actors in the grounds, Miss Redmayne?’ he asked quickly.

      ‘Actors?’ She stared at him.

      ‘Anybody СКАЧАТЬ