John Carr - He Who Whispers

Stephen straightened up.

“No,” he admitted in his slow voice. “I suppose not. But then after all she's only your sister. And she's my . . . my . . .”

“Yes. I know.”

“That's the whole point, Miles. You don't know. You never have been very fond of Marion, have you? But, speaking of being concerned about people, what about you and this girlfriend of yours? The librarian?”

“Well, what about us?”

“She poisoned somebody, didn't she?

“What do you mean, she poisoned somebody?”

“When we were having tea at Waterloo yesterday,” said Stephen, “it seems to me Marion said this Fay What's-he-name was guilty of poisoning somebody.” Her Stephen began to shout. “You wouldn't give two hoots about you own sister, would you? No! But you would care everything in the world, you would upset everything and everybody, for an infernal little slut you picked up out of the gutter to--”

“Steve! Take it easy! What's wrong?”

A shocked, startled look passed slowly over Stephen Curtis's face, showing consternation in the eyes.

His mouth fell open under the fair moustache. He put a hand to his necktie, fingering it. He shook his head as though to clear something away. When he spoke again it was in a voice of contrition.

“Sorry, old man,” Stephen muttered, and punched in an embarrassed way at Miles' arm. “Can't think what came over me. Wouldn't have said that for worlds! But you know how it is when something funny happens and you can't understand any of it. I'm going to go and lie down.”

“Wait a minute! Come back! Not in that room!”

“What do you mean, not in that room?”

“Not in your own bedroom, Steve! Professor Rigaud's trying to get some sleep in there, and . . .”

“Oh, so-and-so to Professor Rigaud!” sad Stephen and bolted down the back stairs like a man pursued.

The troubling of the waters again!

Now, Miles thought, it had reached out and touched Steve as well. It seemed to colour every action and inspire every thought here at Greywood. He still refused, fiercely refused, to believe anything whatever against Fay Seton. But what had Dr. Fell meant by that remark about an evil spirit? Surely to heaven it wasn't intended to be taken quite literally? Miles swung around, to find Dr. Fell's gaze fixed on him.

“You are wondering,” inquired Dr. Fell, “what I want with Miss Seton? I can tell you very simply. I want the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“The truth,” returned Dr. Fell, “about Howard Brooke's murder and the fright-bogy of last night. And she can't, for her soul's sake she daren't, evade questions now. I think we shall have it settled in a very few minutes.”

They heard quick footsteps on the distant front stairs. A figure appeared at the other end of the long, narrow hall. When Miles saw that it was Dr. Laurence Garvice, when he saw Dr. Garvice's hastened stride, he had one of those inspired premonitions which can fly to the heart of truth.

It seemed a very long time before the physician reached them.

“I thought I'd better come up and tell you,” he announced. “Miss Seton is gone.”

Dr. Fell's crutch-handled stick dropped with a clatter on the bare boards.

“Gone?” His voice was so husky that he had to clear his throat.

“She—er--left this for Mr. Hammond,” said Garvice. “At least,” he amended hastily, “I assume she's gone. I found this,” he held up a sealed envelope, “propped up against the pillow in her bedroom.”

Miles took the envelope, which was addressed to him in a fine, clear, sharp-pointed handwriting. He turned it over in his fingers, momentarily without the courage to open it. But when he did grit his teeth and tear ope the envelope, he was a little reassured by the contents of the folded note inside.

DEAR MR. HAMMOND,

I am sorry to say I shall have to be absent in London today on a matter that compels attention. I think now I was wise to keep my little room in town. And a brief-case is so useful, isn't it? But don't worry. I shall return after nightfall.

Yours sincerely,

Fay Seton.

The sky , which had been fine, was clouding over with little smoky wisps of black: a moving sky, an uneasy sky. Miles held the letter close to the window, and read it aloud. That was when the ominous word “brief-case” stuck out at him.

“Oh, my God!” breathed Dr. Fell. He said this very simply, as a man might witness ruin or tragedy. “And yet I ought to have guessed it. I ought to have guessed it. I ought to have guessed it!”

“But what's wrong?” demanded Miles. “Fay says she'll be back after nightfall.”

“Yes. Oh, ah. Yes.” Dr. Fell rolled his eyes. “I wonder what time she left here? I WONDER what time she left here?”

“I don't know,” said Garvice hastily. “Don't look at me!”

“But somebody must have seen her go!” bellowed Dr. Fell. “A conspicuous girl like that? Tall, red-haired, probably wearing . . .”

The door to Marion's bedroom opened, Miss Peters, putting her head out in protest against the noise, saw Dr. Garvice and stopped short.

“Oh. Didn't know you were here, Doctor,” the nurse said pointedly, in a small reproving voice. Afterwards, moved by human curiosity, she wavered. “Pardon me. If you're looking for a woman of that description . . .”

Dr. Fell wheeled round in vastness.

“Yes?”

“I think maybe I saw her,” the nurse informed him.

“When?” roared Dr. Fell. The nurse shied back. “Where?”

“Nearly—nearly three-quarters of an hour ago, when I was coming here on my bicycle. She was getting on the bus out in the main road.”

“A bus,” demanded Dr. Fell, “that would take her to Southampton Central railway station? Oh, ah! And what train to London could she catch by taking the bus?”

“Well, there's the one-thirty,” replied Garvice. “She could make that one comfortably.”

“The one-thirty?” echoed Miles Hammond. “But that's the train I'm taking! I intended to get the bus that would . . .”

“You mean that wouldn't,” corrected Garvice with a rather strained smile. “You'll never make that train by bus, even by private car unless you drove like Sr Malcolm Campbell. It's ten minutes past one now.”

“Listen to me,” said Dr. Fell in a voice he very seldom used. His hand fell on Miles' shoulder. “You are going to catch that one-thirty train.”

“But that's impossible! There's a man who does a car-hire service to and from the station—Steve always uses him—but it would take too long to get him here. It's out of the question!”

“You forget,” said Dr. Fell, “that Rigaud's illegally borrowed car is still outside in the drive.” There was a wild, strained look in his eyes. “Listen to me!” he repeated. “It is absolutely vital for you to overtake Fay Seton. Absolutely vital. Are you willing to have a shot at catching the train?”

“Hell, yes. I'll drive her at ninety an hour. But suppose I do miss the train?”

“I don't know!” roared Dr. Fell as though in physical pain, and hammered his fist against his temple. “This 'little room in town' she speaks about. She's going there—yes, of course she is! Have you got her London address?”

“No. She came straight to me from the employment agency.”

“in that case,” said Dr. Fell, “you have simply got to catch the train. I'll explain as much as possible while we run. But something damnable is going to happen, I warn you here and now, if that woman tries to carry out her plans. It is quite literally a matter of life and death. You have got to catch that train!”

Chapter XIV

The guard's whistle piped shrilly.