"Not much love lost between those two, is there?"
"No, none at all. But they both began by being heavily polite to each other, much too polite when you remember Rip's aggressiveness; and they've continued that too."
"Both of 'em gone on the young lady, aren't they?"
"Oh, yes. I'm betraying no secret when I say that Given the least opportunity, either will buttonhole you and explain at length."
"Which one does she favor?"
"I don't know. I'm Madge's closest friend; she's been kept so much in cotton-wool that maybe I'm her only friend. But, as I told you a while ago, Madge doesn't confide things like that; she keeps her own counsel far better than—" Camilla stopped.
"Anyway, on and on w
ent the ghost stories! Bob Cran
dall tried to lighten the atmosphere by giving an account of life on a small
-
town newspaper in the old days before they had teletypes; a reporter at the typewriter would put on headphones and take dictation from what was known as a 'pony-call.' And he quoted some typographical errors that were real beauties, though I've no intention of repeating them.
"It didn't matter. Whichever way we turned, whatever we started to talk about, back it came to something wickedly supernatural. Really, I ask you! Ghost stories in the space age! It was absolutely ridiculous, don't you think?"
"Well . . . now!" Captain Ashcroft said in his ruminating way. "I wouldn't just like to go as far as that, no. There's more things in the world than we know about, maybe. What do you tliink, Mr. Grantham? Agree with the lady?"
"It's not the least bit of use asking Alan," Camilla said sweetly, "because he'll only disagree on principle. All he ever does is ignore me or sneer at me." Alan jumped to his feet
"For God's sake, Camilla, when have I ever done that?"
"When haven't you done it? What are you doing right now?"
Alan studied her, mouth and eyes and figure.
"If I told you what I'm thinking at this minute"—he sat down again—"you might feel still less cooperative than you already are. I won't do it, Camilla! Just go on with the story."
Camilla fixed her attention on Captain Ashcroft.
"Yes, it was ridiculous," she insisted. "But the atmosphere had been established too well. Start thinking of horrors, especially at a place like Maynard Hall when the time's close on midnight, and you'll have the horrors in spite of yourself.
"It was affecting Madge badly. Yancey saw that and stopped talking; nothing could stop Rip. Towards twelve-thirty, when we were getting ready to go up to bed, Rip said, 'Madge, do you know about the thing that follows and leaves no trace? At the Library Association they say the story's found in only one book, called
Sea-Island Ghosts.'
Madge said, 'Rip, there's no such ghost' T know there isn't,' said Rip, 'but what if it tapped at one of our doors in the middle of the night?'
"Yancey shouted, 'You shut your mouth,' and for a second I thought there would be trouble. But there wasn't Madge ran out of the room and up to bed; she told me later she took two sleeping-pills. Yancey said, 'God help me, I started this.' Then
he
turned around and
almost
ran out of the room; anyway, he went.
"The rest of us followed more slowly. I was in as bad a state as Madge; I can't defend myself. In the upstairs hall on my way to my room I looked out of a window facing north over the beach. The mist had cleared; the moon was shining. But all I could think of was poor Commodore Maynard with his head battered in.
"We'd had rather a lot of wine at dinner, and whisky in the library afterwards. I hoped it would put me to sleep, but of course it didn't. I was wide awake—and worse.
"My room is on the south-western angle at the back of the house, above a weapons-and-trophy-room behind the library on the ground floor. When Mr. Maynard's elder brother partly rebuilt and modernized the Hall in the late nineteen-forties, he added a private bathroom to every bedroom, and put an air-conditioner in one window of every bedroom. That air-conditioner is necessary, or at night the mosquitoes would drive you crazy.
"Yes, I was in a state. I had some sleeping-tablets of my own; not the heavy kind Madge uses but some lighter stuff, called Dormez-Vous, you can buy without a prescription at any drugstore.
"I had locked the door. I took two pills; I got undressed; I paced the floor, smoking cigarettes. It would take about half an hour for the pills to work, if they worked at all. Meanwhile, every creak and crack of the woodwork brought fancies I oughtn't to have had. I picked up the bedside book; it was called
Sea-Island Ghosts.
"I threw that book across the room, and scared myself with the noise it made when it hit the wall. At about one o'clock I thought I might be feeling drowsy. My watch has a luminous dial." Camilla held up her left wrist to show the gold band. "I put it on the bedside table. I turned out the overhead light, crawled into bed, turned out the bedside lamp, and hoped for the best.
"Well, the pills worked—after a fashion. I lost consciousness, at least. There were dreams of some kind. Then my eyes were open again.
"This, it developed later, was at half-past three in the morning. I didn't turn on the light or look at my watch. My eyes were open, yes. But I was confused and only half conscious, with the fears pretty well dulled.
"The moon had set. What drew me to the window it's impossible to say. That room has two windows above the back garden, with the air-conditioner blocking the lower part of the left-hand one. In bare feet and pajamas I blundered over to the right-hand window. I looked out and then down.
"The weapons-room below has a big French window, two leaves to the window, opening on the garden. What I could just barely see in such a light made me push up the bedroom window; it slid smoothly and without noise. The leaves of the big French window, below me and to my left, had been pushed or drawn partway outward. There was somebody standing in the aperture between them."
Captain Ashcroft shifted in his chair and struck two fingers on the edge of the table.
"I've asked you before, ma'am . . . !"
"I know you have; they all have. But what can I say?"
"Description, ma'am?"
"It was a man, or at least I suppose it was: who else can it have been? He stood sideways, facing to the left away from me. I have an idea, rightly or wrongly, there was some kind of stocking-mask over his head and face. He didn't move; I couldn't tell whether he was going out or coming in. That's all the description I can give."
"Did you think it was a ghost or a burglar?"
"I didn't stop to think; I wasn't that coherent. All the fears rushed back, and I panicked. I grabbed up robe and slippers, turning on every light I could reach. Then I ran down the hall and hammered at Madge's door.
"Possibly I should have gone to one of the men first. It wasn't a reasoned thing; it was instinctive. Madge's heavier sleeping-pills hadn't served any better than mine; if you're used to them, she says, they won't keep you under for more than a few hours. Out she came in
her
pajamas. We must have talked loudly, almost shouted; in a short time we'd waked up the other three.
"We didn't rouse the servants, who sleep on the top floor at the back. The men were all for burglars: Yancey and Rip stalked downstairs with their fists clenched, and Madge clinging to Yancey's arm. I followed with Mr. Crandall, who'd turned grumpy at that hour of the morning. You know what we found.
"There was no burglar in the house, and nothing had been stolen from it. The French window in the weapons-room was now closed, but not locked; no window there is ever locked. To me it was beginning to seem weird."
"Weird, ma'am?"
"That was the word. Whoever had been at the French window, it couldn't have been somebody from inside the house going out; we were all there. And it couldn't have been somebody from outside the house coming in; where was he? But to the others, after we'd searched until daylight without any result, it
wasn't weird in the least. Yan
cey just patted me on the back and said, 'Honey, you were dreaming.'"
Camilla clenched her hands.
'That's what they all thought and still think, though they won't always come out flat with it. Good old Camilla! Too much impressed by the ghost stories, she took sleeping-pills on top of alcohol and had only been hysterical!
"It's true that Rip Hillboro, hunting through the garden when it got light enough to see, found the scarecrow was gone. But that didn't help much.
"And it didn't help at all when Mr. Maynard arrived back Saturday morning, on an early flight from Richmond that got him home in time for lunch. He'd gone away moody and depressed (I think I wrote this to Alan), but he came back as cheerful as all getout. It's even changed his habits a little. He still sits on the terrace in the afternoon and in his study during the evening, but he doesn't always seem to be calculating something. We'd been supposed to leave at the weekend, all of us; he begged us to stay on; and he's got a way with him. He hadn't any trouble persuading the others, and I stayed because . . . well, I stayed. May I have another cigarette, please?"
Alan lit one for her. Acknowledging the favor with a slight nod, Camilla expelled smoke hard.
"Mr. Maynard
thought I was dreaming. The only one even partway inclined to be serious was the hard-headed Rip. When Mr. Maynard pooh-poohed the idea of phoning the police about anything, Rip said: 'Probably the poor girl
was
hysterical, sir. The scarecrow
was
taken by a sneak-thief, as you think, and has nothing to do with this. Still! Suppose she wasn't dreaming; just suppose it! In case something or somebody should pay us a visit we don't want, why not be on the safe side and let the cops know?' Am I making myself clear this time, Captain Ash-croft?"
"Can't complain about the clearness, ma'am; not a bit! It's just that . . ."
"You don't believe me?" "I didn't say that either."
"You yourself, Captain, won't hear a word about the scarecrow. But Rip Hillboro's no fool. With your permission, please, I should like to use an argument Rip used to Mr. Maynard. Supposing me to be an undeceived witness, which / know I am, can you really think the scarecrow and the prowler aren't in any way related? Isn't it far too much of a coincidence that the night the scarecrow was stolen was the night I saw somebody going in or out of the house?"
"Now, now, ma'am!"
"Yes?"
"The argument works both ways, don't it?" asked Captain Ashcroft, grinding out his cigar in an ashtray. "Anyway, why so much hoo-ha? If your prowler wanted something in the house, why swipe the scarecrow? If he just wanted to swipe the scarecrow, why bother to go anywhere near the house?"
"Well!" Camilla said.
Except for themselves, the dusky restaurant was deserted. With a lithe motion Camilla rose to her feet. She took half a dozen steps towards another table, then swung round and stood looking at them with eyes strained and lips half parted.
"We may be out of the woods; I hope so. Nothing unpleasant has happened since last Friday. Unless it happens tonight or tomorrow night, on Sunday we shall be off home with no more to worry about. But I do wish I could have made my story more convincing! I'm not silly and I'm not hysterical—not, at least, about things like that. Doesn't
anybody
believe me?"
"I believe you, Camilla," said Alan.
"Oh, dear God! If
you
start again, Alan Grantham-—!"
Alan got up and went over to look down at her.
"Women, Camilla," he said, "don't seem to be half as perceptive as they have a reputation for being. Should it occur to you that I am sneering or being facetious or speaking anything except the literal, painful truth, you can't see what's there to see and has been there for some time. I believe you because you're you; it couldn't be any other way. Whatever you say, I am solidly on your side."
Briefly she looked him full in the eyes.
"And if I
could believe
that—I"
"Camilla . . ."
"I also," boomed another voice, "may be enlisted solidly on Miss Brace's side."
All of them jumped; Alan retreated.
Dr. Gideon Fell, who had almost walked straight into the doorpost on entering the coffee-shop, altered his direction in time. Hat in one hand and stick in the other, he loomed majestically with eyeglasses again lopsided and big mop of hair over one ear.
"The word 'solid,'" pursued Dr. Fell, surveying the slopes of himself, "is perhaps superfluous. And I stray from the point. Teenage girls in America, we are told, will freeze to the telephone for hours at a time. They can go on at no greater length, I fear, than Henry Maynard of Maynard Hall, even when he ends by communicating very little. Might I trouble you, Alan, to drive this old carcass to James Island? He would like to see us as soon as may be convenient. And if he failed to credit Miss Brace's story of a week ago, he may now be persuaded to change his mind."