Patricia Wentworth: Grey Mask

He had an instant of intense fear, and then realized with relief that the reason he couldn’t move was that his hands and feet were tied. At the same moment a horrible choking feeling was explained by the presence of a gag.

He was lying on his back with his knees drawn up. A thick wad of something filled his mouth. He stared up at the light, and his head began to clear. The dark wall on the right was the study wall; the dark wall on the left was the back of Freddy Pelham’s sofa. He was lying on the ground between the sofa and the wall with his hands tied in front of him and his ankles strapped together. There was a most abominable gag in his mouth.

These things, which belonged to the immediate moment, presented themselves with increasing definiteness. What on earth had happened? His unconsciousness hung like a black curtain between him and the events which had preceded it. He could hear Freddy Pelham moving in the room. He crossed the floor and threw back the lid of a box. Then he crossed the floor again. Now he moved a chair, and there was a rustling of papers.

Charles knew that it was Freddy who was moving to and fro in the room. He could remember coming up the iron stair from the garden and seeing Freddy pull the blind aside and open the door to let him in. What on earth had happened after that? Something about Margaret. Something about Grey Mask. Quite suddenly he had a swift, unnaturally brilliant picture of the study as it looked from the door-not the door into the garden but the other door that led out on to the staircase. He saw the room, and he saw Freddy Pelham with an automatic in his hand and cool, cold murder in his eyes. He saw Freddy’s finger move. That was the picture, everything in it very hard and bright and clear. It kept coming and going, and as it came and went, he began to remember.

He had got as far as the door; he had turned; he had seen Freddy; he had ducked, and Freddy had fired. The shot must have grazed the right side of his head and knocked him out. Freddy had trussed him up and shoved him away behind the sofa. He had done this because Margaret was coming. At this point his mind became quite clear. He heard Freddy Pelham get up and come towards him. The sofa was moved some inches. Freddy leaned over the back of it and looked down at him.

Freddy? Freddy Pelham? Charles stared at a stranger with Freddy Pelham’s features and Freddy Pelham’s clothes. This was not the Freddy whom he or anyone else had known- the foolish, amiable Freddy whom one laughed at and was fond of, and who bored one so terribly with his reminiscences. Hard merciless eyes looked coldly down at Charles; a cruel mouth relaxed into a smile; a clearer, harder voice than Freddy’s spoke:

“So you’re not dead? It’s a pity-for you.”

Charles glared. At the sight of Freddy’s smile such a hot rage boiled up in him that he felt as if he would burst.

Freddy nodded.

“You’re beginning to realize what a dam-fool you’ve made of yourself. Amusing-isn’t it? Just think of all the times you’ve laughed at me behind my back and been nice to me in a pleasant condescending way for Margaret’s sake. And just think what a howling fool you were making of yourself all the time. It’s really rather a pity that I can’t take the gag out and hear what you’ve got to say about it. Perhaps later on, in a more secluded spot-I’m afraid it won’t do here, but I really should like to hear what you’ve got to say. I’m afraid you’re not very comfortable; but that can’t be helped.”

He held the back of the sofa and began to laugh, rocking gently to and fro. “My dear Charles, you’ve no idea what a fool you look! I’m really delighted that you’re not seriously hurt. In case you’re worrying about it, do let me beg you not to be fussed about your wound. It’s really a mere nothing-a graze. You can’t think how pleased I am, because there are things that I’m really going to enjoy saying to you. I’ve always disliked you a good deal. You had the impudence to admire Esther, for one thing, and to combine it with a scarcely veiled contempt for myself. When I broke off your engagement to Margaret, I was really combining business with pleasure. I hope you realize how entirely you owe the pleasure of being publicly jilted on the eve of your wedding day to me.”

Charles had mastered the blind rage which betrayed itself. He kept his eyes on Freddy in a stare of contempt.

“Margaret told you that she saw part of a letter of mine. Naturally I couldn’t risk her marrying you and telling you what she had seen. As a matter of fact, I don’t know how much she did see-but none of it was fit for publication. I don’t think I’ve ever been so careless before or since-I shouldn’t have lasted so long if I had. I’ve had twenty years of it and you’re the very first person who has ever guessed that I was Grey Mask.”

The name fell like a spark into the vague gaseous imaginings that had been coming and going in Charles’ mind. There was a flare which illumined all the dark places. By its light Charles read his death warrant. The only person who had ever guessed the identity of Grey Mask would not be given the chance of passing the secret on. Something of this knowledge must have shown in his eyes, for Freddy laughed.

“You’ve got it, have you? Think it over for a bit.”

He disappeared, crossed to the window, and almost immediately returned.

“Margaret is coming up the garden. Now please realize this-if you make the slightest sound, if you attract her attention in any way, I shall shoot-not you, but her. Don’t imagine for a moment that this is bluff. If it comes in the way of business, I don’t care who I remove. But as a matter of fact, I dislike Margaret almost as much as I dislike you, and if you provide me with the excuse, I shall be charmed. Make as much noise as you please. You can kick the leg of the sofa, I expect, if you try.” He leant over and flicked Charles on the cheek.

The next instant there came a tapping on the window. The sofa was pushed back into its place, and Freddy Pelham’s footsteps receded.

Charles lay quite still. Freddy meant what he said. He had not the slightest doubt of that-not the very slightest. He lay perfectly still, and heard the French window open; Margaret’s voice; Freddy’s voice-the old half-hesitating voice;

“Now this is very nice of you, my dear-very nice indeed. I meant to come round, but time’s getting short, getting terribly short-first thing to-morrow morning, you know, and I don’t feel as if I should ever be packed in time-I’m not good at it, you know, not at all good at it-never was, never will be-what?”

“Can I help?”

The sound of Margaret’s voice, tired, soft, kind, hurt Charles so much that he could hardly bear it. He could only see those two dark walls and the light coming down between them; but he knew in his heart how Margaret looked when she said that-she was pale, she had dark shadows under her eyes; she looked beautifully and kindly at the little mocking devil who would be charmed to have an excuse for removing her.

Margaret spoke again:

“Freddy, you look bothered, and I’m afraid I’ve come to bother you more. But I must.”

“Anything I can do, my dear.”

“Freddy, I’m in dreadful trouble about Greta.”

“About Greta? There, my dear, don’t distress yourself. What’s she been doing?”

“Freddy-she’s disappeared!”

“Oh, come! Disappeared? You mean she’s gone out with some young fellow and not come back yet. Give her time-what?”

“No, no, it’s not that. She disappeared in broad daylight from Harridge’s. The commissionaire saw her get into a strange car and go off. Archie’s wild with anxiety.”

Freddy laughed, the old rather foolish laugh which was so familiar.