Agatha Christie: The hound of death

"Who are you speaking to?" asked Trent.

"One of you three. I shouldn't go home if I were him. Danger! Blood! Not very much blood - quite enough. No, don't go home." The voice grew fainter. "Don't go home!"It died away completely. Dermot felt his blood tingling. He was convinced that the warning was meant for him. Somehow or other, there was danger abroad tonight.

There was a sigh from the medium, and then a groan. She was coming round. The lights were turned on, and presently she sat upright, her eyes blinking a little."Go off well, my dear? I hope so."

"Very good indeed, thank you, Mrs Thompson."

"Shiromako, I suppose?"

"Yes, and others."Mrs Thompson yawned."I'm dead beat. Absolutely down and out. Does fairly take it out of you. Well, I'm glad it was a success. I was a bit afraid something disagreeable might happen. There's a queer feel about this room tonight."She glanced over each ample shoulder in turn, and then shrugged them uncomfortably."I don't like it," she said. "Any sudden deaths among any of you people lately?"

"What do you mean - among us?"

"Near relatives - dear friends? No? Well, if I wanted to be melodramatic, I'd say that there was death in the air tonight. There, it's only my nonsense. Good-bye, Mrs Trent. I'm glad you've been satisfied."Mrs Thompson in her magenta velvet gown went out."I hope you've been interested, Sir Alington," murmured Claire."A most interesting evening, my dear lady. Many thanks for the opportunity. Let me wish you good night. You are all going on to a dance, are you not?"

"Won't you come with us?"

"No, no. I make it a rule to be in bed by half-past eleven. Good night. Good night, Mrs Eversleigh. Ah, Dermot, I rather want to have a word with you. Can you come with me now? You can rejoin the others at the Grafton Galleries."

"Certainly, Uncle. I'll meet you there then, Trent."Very few words were exchanged between uncle and nephew during the short drive to Harley Street. Sir Alington made a semi-apology for dragging Dermot away, and assured him that he would only detain him a few minutes."Shall I keep the car for you, my boy?" he asked, as they alighted."Oh, don't bother, Uncle. I'll pick up a taxi."

"Very good. I don't like to keep Charlson up later than I can help. Good night, Charlson. Now where the devil did I put my key?"The car glided away as Sir Alington stood on the steps searching his pockets."Must have left it in my other coat," he said at length. "Ring the bell, will you? Johnson is still up, I dare say."The imperturbable Johnson did indeed open the door within sixty seconds."Mislaid my key, Johnson," explained Sir Alington. "Bring a couple of whiskies and sodas into the library."

"Very good, Sir Alington."The physician strode on into the library and turned on the lights. He motioned to Dermot to close the door."I won't keep you long, Dermot, but there's just something I want to say to you. Is it my fancy, or have you a certain - tendresse, shall we say, for Mrs Jack Trent?"The blood rushed to Dermot's face."Jack Trent is my best friend."

"Pardon me, but that is hardly answering my question. I dare say that you consider my views on divorce and such matters highly puritanical, but I must remind you that you are my only near relative and my heir."

"There is no question of a divorce," said Dermot angrily."There certainly is not, for a reason which I understand perhaps better than you do. That particular reason I cannot give you now, but I do wish to warn you. She is not for you."The young man faced his uncle's gaze steadily."I do understand - and permit me to say, perhaps better than you think. I know the reason for your presence at dinner tonight."

"Eh?" The physician was clearly startled. "How did you know that?"

"Call it a guess, sir. I am right, am I not, when I say that you were there in your - professional capacity."Sir Alington strode up and down."You are quite right, Dermot. I could not, of course, have told you so myself, though I am afraid it will soon be common property."Dermot's heart contracted."You mean that you have - made up your mind?"

"Yes, there is insanity in the family - on the mother's side. A sad case - a very sad case."

"I can't believe it, sir."

"I dare say not. To the layman there are few if any signs apparent."

"And to the expert?"

"The evidence is conclusive. In such a case the patient must be placed under restraint as soon as possible."

"My God!" breathed Dermot. "But you can't shut anyone up for nothing at all."

"My dear Dermot! Cases are only placed under restraint when their being at large would result in danger to the community."

"Danger?"

"Very grave danger. In all probability a peculiar form of homicidal mania. It was so in the mother's case."Dermot turned away with a groan, burying his face in his hands. Claire - white and golden Claire!"In the circumstances," continued the physician comfortably, "I felt it incumbent on me to warn you."

"Claire," murmured Dermot. "My poor Claire."

"Yes, indeed, we must all pity her."Suddenly Dermot raised his head."I say I don't believe it. Doctors make mistakes. Everyone knows that. And they're always keen on their own specialty."

"My dear Dermot," cried Sir Alington angrily."I tell you I don't believe it - and anyway, even if it is so, I don't care. I love Claire. If she will come with me, I shall take her away - far away - out of the reach of meddling physicians. I shall guard her, care for her, shelter her with my love."

"You will do nothing of the sort. Are you mad?"Dermot laughed scornfully."You would say so."

"Understand me, Dermot." Sir Alington's face was red with suppressed passion. "If you do this thing - this shameful thing - I shall withdraw the allowance I am now making you, and I shall make a new will leaving all I possess to various hospitals."

"Do as you please with your damned money," said Dermot in a low voice. "I shall have the woman I love."

"A woman who -"

"Say a word against her and, by God, I'll kill you!" cried Dermot.

A slight chink of glasses made them both swing round. Unheard by them in the heat of their argument, Johnson had entered with a tray of glasses. His face was the imperturbable one of the good servant, but Dermot wondered just exactly how much he had overheard."That'll do, Johnson," said Sir Alington curtly. "You can go to bed."

"Thank you, sir. Good night, sir."Johnson withdrew.

The two men looked at each other. The momentary interruption had calmed the storm."Uncle," said Dermot. "I shouldn't have spoken to you as I did. I can quite see that from your point of view you are perfectly right. But I have loved Claire Trent for a long time. The fact that Jack Trent is my best friend has hitherto stood in the way of my ever speaking of love to Claire herself. But in these circumstances that fact no longer counts. The idea that any monetary condition's can deter me is absurd. I think we've both said all there is to be said. Good night."

"Dermot -"

"It is really no good arguing further. Good night, Uncle Alington."He went out quickly, shutting the door behind him. The hall was in darkness. He passed through it, opened the front door and emerged into the street, banging the door behind him.

A taxi had just deposited a fare at a house farther along the street and Dermot hailed it, and drove to the Grafton Galleries.

In the door of the ballroom he stood for a minute, bewildered, his head spinning. The raucous jazz music, the smiling women - it was as though he had stepped into another world.

Had he dreamed it all? Impossible that that grim conversation with his uncle should have really taken place. There was Claire floating past, like a lily in her white and silver gown that fitted sheathlike to her slenderness. She smiled at him, her face calm and serene. Surely it was all a dream.