The Affair of the Bloodstained Egg Cosy (8 page)

* * *

Having left Thornton in the music room, Richard strolled out onto the terrace. Here he found his sister-in-law and Mrs. Peabody, who had just been rejoined by Anilese, after she had made her 'phone call to Lady Darnley. This morning Anilese was strikingly dressed in a dirndl skirt and a white blouse with short puffed sleeves under a black bolero.

'Richard,' said Lady Burford, 'you'll be pleased to know that the Baroness is staying over the weekend.'

He smiled. 'That's grand.'

Anilese stood up. 'Richard, when are you going to show me something of these lovely grounds?'

'Now if you like.'

'Oh, good. Let's walk round the lake. I adore lakes.'

'Enchanté, madame,' said Richard.

* * *

Thornton did not see Richard again during the morning, nor at lunch. No time had been fixed for reconvening, but Thornton returned to the music room at two o'clock. Adler and Felman arrived five minutes later. But it was not until after two-thirty, when Thornton was about to send a servant to look for him, that Richard entered. Thornton stared at him. Richard looked white and drawn. For several seconds he stood inside the door, then walked slowly across to his chair and sat down. Thornton expected him to offer some apology for his lateness, but instead, without any preliminaries, Richard looked at Adler and said: 'What is the position?'

'Unchanged. Are you prepared to give me the information I requested this morning?'

Richard was breathing heavily, almost as though he'd been running. He raised a hand to his face and ran it down his cheek, as though wiping off sweat. Then, not looking at Adler, he said: 'Possibly. I don't know yet. I haven't decided. I need time to think.'

It was all Thornton could do to keep back a gasp of astonishment. He stared at Richard, his face a study.

Adler said quietly: 'How long?'

'I don't know. Till tonight - possibly tomorrow morning.'

'Not later than that?'

'No. I promise.'

'Very well.'

Richard got to his feet with a jerky movement. He looked at Thornton. 'Sorry,' he said. Then he hurried from the room.

For ten seconds none of the men spoke. Then Adler broke the silence. 'Come on, Nicholas. Let's go and have a game of billiards.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Grand Tour

From about noon that day the weather had grown even more humid. Gradually the sky became overcast. After lunch, Jane borrowed a bicycle and rode down to the village to do a little personal shopping. By the time she'd finished, the sky was a dark greeny-grey and it was plain a big storm was brewing. She hurried back, put the bicycle away, and went inside. Everybody except Richard was indoors. Surprisingly, he had gone for a long solitary tramp round the estate. In the house there seemed to be that air of restlessness and edginess that Jane had noticed an impending storm often produced. People were roaming round, picking up books and putting them down again, starting conversations and breaking them off quickly, or just sitting and staring out of the windows at the still and leaden trees.

The most obviously affected was Anilese. She seemed disgruntled at Richard's absence and sat by herself, flicking through magazines and politely but firmly rebuffing every attempt to engage her in conversation.

At the other extreme, Martin Adler seemed on top of the world and eager to talk. Jane had a long conversation with him, finding him interesting and well-informed.

Tea was served early, and afterwards Lady Burford made an unexpected suggestion: a guided tour of the entire house for the whole party.

'All of you have seen some of it,' she said, 'but nobody has seen everything. It would be a pity to have stayed here and missed something important. It seems an excellent time now to make sure nobody does.'

It was difficult to refuse such an invitation, and although several of those present - including Lord Burford and Gerry - were somewhat reluctant, everybody went along.

To the surprise of all but Lady Burford herself, the tour was a great success. The charm and tranquillity of the old house cast its spell over everyone, seeming somehow to cheer and soothe, and it was a happier group of people who arrived finally in the gun room - which Lady Burford was careful to make the climax of the tour. Here, his wife having done most of the talking until now, Lord Burford came into his own. Many years of experience had given him a good knowledge of what appealed to the non-expert, and he talked interestingly, with a fund of anecdotes, holding the attention even of the women. Soon he was obviously in high good humour again; so much so that after half an hour he whispered something to Peabody, who left the room. When he returned a few minutes later, the Earl said: 'I'll end with my latest acquisition.' He crossed to the stand where he had put the engraved pistol.

'In 1918 the famous Danish firearm manufacturers, Bergman Industriewerke, produced a semi-automatic 9mm pistol, model 1910/21. It is commonly known as the Bergman Bayard. It is very unusual in that the rifling inside the barrel is a six-groove left-hand twist - not the more common right-hand twist. Only a thousand of these pistols were made, and they are already valuable collectors' items. Peabody, would you like to carry on?'

'Surely.' Peabody stepped forward. 'Just before the Bayard was put into production, the firm received an unusual order. It was from a man who said he was acting for a very eminent person, wishing to remain anonymous. This person had heard of the new model and wanted to order a special presentation pair. They had to be elaborately engraved, with ivory stocks, and included in the decoration was to be an emblem in relief. He handed over a drawing to be copied. It was of the Romanov two-headed eagle - the emblem of the Russian Tsars - together with the initials of Nicholas II, the last Tsar.

'Well, the pistols were made - the first Bergman Bayards ever produced - and the man took them away, paying cash. The rest is speculation. Nicholas had by then been deposed and was in exile in Siberia with his family. Had he himself ordered the pistols; or had they been intended as a present to be sent to him - his birthday was in May - and if so, from whom?'

'Nicholas, of course, was related to the royal house of Denmark,' Lord Burford put in. 'His mother, the Dowager Empress Marie, was Danish, and the aunt of King Christian. So who was the eminent customer?'

'The gun world has never known,' Peabody continued, 'and the pistols were never seen again. Did Nicholas receive them? I firmly believe he did - and had them during those last months in Siberia. Then, on 16th July, 1918, he and his entire family were - supposedly - assassinated at Ekaterinburg. But did that actually happen? It's been variously reported that one, two, or even all of them escaped. No one knows their fate for sure. Nor does anybody know what happened to the pistols. Were they stolen by the assassins after the Tsar's death? Or did Nicholas carry them with him - perhaps actually use them - during the family's escape? The only certainty is that they disappeared from public view until a few weeks ago - when I bought this one in Rome.'

'And I bought this one here in England.' Lord Burford took his from the stand. 'If the ordinary Bayard is valuable, you can imagine the value of these.'

The others gathered round interestedly. The pistols were passed from hand to hand, and the Earl and Peabody demonstrated how they were loaded and fired.

It was a fine climax to the tour, and the group started to break up. Jane was one of the first to go towards the door, and as she did so, she saw that Richard was standing just inside it. At that second he turned and walked quickly away - but not before she had seen a very strange expression on his face. She frowned. It looked as though he'd been listening to the story. But why hadn't he joined them all openly?

Thoughtfully, Jane went to dress for dinner.

* * *

'Richard, can I speak to you for a minute?'

Anilese's voice came from behind Richard in little more than a whisper, and he turned, surprised. He was walking alone at the tail of the short procession of men on their way to the drawing room after dinner. Anilese should have been already there; instead, she was just emerging from a shadowy corner of the hall.

He frowned. 'What about?'

'You know.'

'I was out all afternoon. I can't desert the party again now.'

'For a few minutes only. It's very important.'

He hesitated. 'All right. In the library. In ten minutes.'

'Very well. Don't say you've seen me. I'm supposed to have a headache and be lying down.'

He nodded, then hurried on towards the drawing room.

He was able to slip away quite unobtrusively ten minutes later owing to a sudden outbreak of confusion during the serving of the coffee: some people had two cups and others none, while some who wanted black had white and vice versa. The muddle seemed, predictably, to revolve round Algy Fotheringay, but within a short time nearly everyone was on his or her feet, passing and re-passing cups, and while this was happening Richard left the room.

* * *

Anilese paused inside the library door and turned. 'Understood?'

'Whatever you say.'

She opened the door and slipped out, closing it after her. Richard sank back in the deep leather armchair and closed his eyes. He felt dazed and utterly spent. There was so much he didn't understand. But the time to speculate would come later. First there was something else to do. He looked at his watch, got to his feet, and returned to the drawing room. He let a few minutes pass, then caught Adler's eye and beckoned him to one side. Adler raised his eyebrows. 'You wanted me?'

Richard took a deep breath. 'Yes. I promised you a definite decision by the morning. But there's no point in keeping you in suspense. I've made up my mind.'

* * *

Jane noticed Richard re-enter the drawing room after a fifteen minutes absence, and she watched his face as he talked to Adler. It seemed to her that in some way he looked different. At dinner he had been very quiet and withdrawn. Now he still looked tired - but like a man who had reached a crucial decision.

He moved away from Adler, caught her eye, and to her pleasure came across and sat down by her. He gave her a smile. 'Hullo, stranger. What have you been doing with yourself all day?'

'Brooding, mainly,' Jane said.

'That's bad.'

'And you?'

'Brooding. But I've been doing mine on the move, which is good for the waistline if not for the soul.'

'Oh, for me it's a luxury to be able to sit around and brood. Don't spoil it for me. But what have you got to brood about?'

'Politicians can usually find something.'

'Oh, it's politics, is it? I'm sorry.'

'I believe the conventional thing for me to say is don't worry your pretty little head about that.'

'I don't intend to, but I can still be sorry.' She was silent for a moment, then said: 'Talking of pretty heads, your friend the Baroness is very beautiful.'

He paused fractionally before saying: 'Yes, she is, isn't she?'

'She looks as though she's led an interesting life, I think.'

He glanced at her quizzically. 'Now just how do I take that?'

'Meaning am I being catty? Well, frankly, I could be. Actually, though, I wasn't making any sort of moral judgement. Obviously I know nothing about her character. I meant quite simply that whatever she's been, I'm sure her life has never been boring.'

'You're probably right. But why could you be catty - why don't you like her?'

'I didn't say I didn't like her. She's got a lot of charm and I should imagine could be very good company. I should like to know her better, because if you must know I admire her a lot. She's the sort of woman I'd like to be myself. Except for one thing.'

'Which is?'

'Well, frankly—'

'Frankly again?'

'Sorry; do I sound too much like a politician?'

'Touché.'

'To be blunt, then, if you prefer it.' She hesitated.

'Go on: what's the one thing?'

'I don't think you could trust her to pass you the salt.'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Storm Over Alderley

It was half-past one the following morning when the storm broke over Alderley. It was still raging half an hour later when, just as the stable clock struck two, Gerry opened the door of her L-shaped bedroom on the inner corner of the main and west corridors. She had a small electric torch in her hand. She slipped out, closed the door quietly behind her and turned right down the west corridor towards the rear of the house. She was wearing a dressing gown and bedroom slippers. On the right almost at the end of the corridor, just before the stairs, there was a narrow curtained recess, where the maids kept cleaning equipment. Gerry pulled back the curtain, squeezed herself in, and drew the curtain again, leaving just a half-inch gap. She was a little way past the door to the Baroness's bedroom, which was on the other side of the corridor. Gerry flashed her torch once at the door, to get its exact position fixed in her mind, then switched off.

The clouds that night were so thick that even though the curtains on the nearby window at the end of the corridor were not drawn, she could now see virtually nothing. Then a flash of lightning lit the corridor brilliantly for a fraction of a second before plunging it back into what seemed an even deeper darkness.

Gerry settled down to wait.

As it happened, she did not have to wait long. She had been in the recess no more than three minutes when she heard the click of the Baroness's door knob. In vain Gerry strained her eyes. She heard a very slight rustle of clothing, and groaned inwardly. Why did this of all nights have to be so maddeningly dark?

Then there came light. The dim light of a torch. Gerry could just see that it was held by Anilese, and that she was gliding hurriedly away down the corridor. She was dressed in a flowing white négligée and her feet were bare. Gerry slipped from her hiding-place and followed.

Like a white ghost the Baroness flitted silently along. She rounded the corner into the main corridor, Gerry about ten yards behind. Then, as Gerry herself was about to go round, she heard a faint, indefinable sound from somewhere ahead of her. She paused momentarily before peering round the corner. The light from the Baroness's torch had vanished. Gerry swore under her breath. She stood still, biting her lip in frustration. A minute elapsed. Then a particularly vivid flash of lightning shining through a high window lit up the main corridor just long enough for her to see that it was quite empty.

The Baroness might have gone anywhere in the house. Gerry had no means whatsoever of telling where. She'd probably lost her chance of finding out anything of importance. But she wasn't going to admit complete defeat yet - at least she could find out what time Anilese went back.

Gerry returned to her niche.

She had hardly time to settle herself, when she heard another noise in the corridor. This time it was clearly the sound of footsteps - and they were approaching. They grew closer.

They sounded like a man's. Then a torch flashed - on and off, quickly. It was held low, and all Gerry could see was the lower half of a pair of trousered legs. Just outside the Baroness's door the torch flashed again. Then there came the click of the door knob, and silence once more. Gerry withdrew into the recess, pulled the curtain, and flashed on her own torch for a quick look at her wrist watch. It was just coming up to seven minutes past two. She resumed her vigil.

About half a minute after this she saw Anilese's white figure returning. Gerry drew well back until once more she heard the door open and close. Now she faced an awkward decision. She ached to know what was being said inside the room. It was unlikely that, even with her ear to the keyhole, she would be able to hear anything significant. But there was a possibility of hearing something. It should be worth a try. Yet, even though originally a gate-crasher, the Baroness was now a guest at Alderley; and both by instinct and training Gerry rebelled violently against the idea of deliberately eavesdropping on anybody, let alone a visitor to her home. So far she'd only spied on what went on in the open corridor.

However, the problem was solved for her, because the next moment the storm, which so far had consisted of heavy rain, lightning, and distant rumblings, now unleashed its full blast. Gerry had rarely heard thunder like it. It would obviously prevent her hearing anything else, however close she got to the door.

Another four or five minutes passed. Then during a momentary break in the thunder, she heard again the click of the Baroness's door. Gerry strained her eyes hopelessly in the darkness. Then, as before, a shaded torch, held low, flashed briefly, showing the man's legs retreating along the corridor. Twice more it flickered, each time revealing the man farther away.

Briefly, Gerry considered following. But it was Anilese she was chiefly interested in, and she stayed where she was.

It was a decision she was bitterly to regret before twenty-four hours had passed.

The probability now was that everything which was going to happen had happened. If so, she'd been wasting her time. Should she pack up? Bed was awfully inviting. She flashed her torch and sneaked another peep at her watch. Not yet quarter-past. She'd stay until half-past, as she'd planned.

'Blast all Baronesses,' Gerry said under her breath.

* * *

The alarm clock under Giles Deveraux's pillow went off shrilly. He awoke at once and stopped it. Almost two-twenty. Deveraux swung himself off the bed. He was dressed in dark slacks, a sweater, and rubber-soled shoes. He picked up a torch from the bedside table and left the room.

He turned east along the main corridor, stopping momentarily outside the door of each occupied bedroom that he passed and listening intently for a few seconds during the lulls in the thunder. He walked the full length of the main and east corridors and at the far end of the latter took the stairs to the ground floor.

Deveraux was unaware of it, but ten yards behind, a dark figure followed him down.

For several minutes all was still in the east corridor. Then, very slowly, the door of the picture gallery was opened from the inside.

* * *

Jane stood just inside the door of her bedroom, straining her ears, and mentally cursed the thunder and rain that were preventing her hearing properly. What on earth was going on out there?

She had been awake all night so far. Actually, when she had first gone to her room, she hadn't really expected to be able to sleep. However, after reading for a while she had dutifully turned out the light. But she had soon switched on again and picked up her book.

It had been sultry when she had gone to bed, and she had left the door open an inch in the hope of getting a draught through the room. It was some time later that she had become aware, between thunderclaps, of a lot of movement about the house. She told herself that others, obviously, would be kept awake by the storm and be restless, and it was merely her imagination which made their movements seem somehow furtive.

But then she had heard a sound both strange and alarming: the door of the picture gallery, across the corridor from her room, opening and closing again.

Clearly nobody would be looking at pictures this time of night. On the other hand, the gallery did house a number of valuable paintings. And beyond the gallery were the Earl's guns. So she couldn't just ignore the sound.

Thus it was that Jane, who had put on a dressing gown and slippers, was now standing with her ear close against her bedroom door, wondering what to do.

Very soon afterwards the noise came again. And following it she was almost certain she heard the sound of footsteps receding.

Jane took a deep breath, grasped the knob, and peeped out. She could see nothing. She waited, quite still and quiet for several seconds, then stepped into the corridor.

* * *

Giles Deveraux was walking lightly up the main stairs when he heard the stable clock strike two-thirty. As the chimes ceased, he heard another sound. He froze and extinguished his torch, for the sound was that of footsteps. They were coming along the main corridor, approaching the head of the stairs from the right. Deveraux stood, holding his breath, as the footsteps got closer. He heard them cross the landing and continue along the corridor towards the west wing. He waited until they'd gone about ten yards, then ran quietly up the remaining stairs himself and, hoping against hope he wouldn't run into anything in the dark, turned in the same direction.

He hadn't taken more than half a dozen paces along the corridor when he heard another small noise - this time behind him. He started to swing round, saw a bright beam of light out of the corner of his eye - and felt a glancing blow on the head.

If Deveraux had not started to turn, the blow would undoubtedly have knocked him out. As it was, he avoided the full force of it. However, it was still powerful enough to bring him to his knees, dazed and half-stunned. Before he could begin to recover, he felt hands grab him from behind. He flinched, waiting for another blow, but all that happened was that his assailant tried to pull him sideways. Unable to resist adequately, Deveraux half-fell on his side. The hands took a fresh grip and gave him another heave. Slowly, Deveraux's senses were beginning to come back to him. From the floor he struck out. He had the satisfaction of feeling his fist make contact. But it was a feeble blow and only deterred his attacker for a second. Then he grabbed Deveraux again.

Deveraux was gathering his diminished strength for another punch, when from nearby came a sudden series of bumps and bangs. Although close, they were not particularly loud, and even in his fuddled state, he realised that their source was either Adler's room, or Gerry's. It sounded like some sort of fight. Furniture was being overturned and bodies were crashing about.

The noise stopped as abruptly as it had begun. And at the same instant Deveraux realised that he was alone. He lay still, trying to make his brain work. For a few seconds all was silence. Even the thunder had stopped. Then Deveraux heard hurried footsteps approaching. They blundered past him in the darkness, going east.

It was at that moment he heard the woman's scream.

* * *

Gerry heard two-thirty sound from the stable clock, and with a combination of relief and irritation eased herself out of the recess. What a very nasty shape, and how hard and angular carpet sweepers were! She would never feel the same about them again. And all she had discovered was that Anilese had left her room for about four minutes - not the most suspicious of actions - and had received one male visitor, who hadn't even had the indecency to stay long enough to compromise her. What an idiotic waste of time!

Gerry was on the verge of switching on her torch to light herself back to bed, when yet again she heard the muffled sound of footsteps coming along the corridor. She caught her breath and in a panic scrambled back into the recess.

This time the prowler had no torch, so she couldn't even see his legs. She heard him stop outside the Baroness's door. Very, very softly a finger-nail tapped on a panel. A knob turned and there was the almost undetectable sound of the door opening and closing.

Then, in the distance, Gerry heard something else.

She held her breath to hear better. What on earth was it? For a second she'd thought it was thunder. But no: for the moment that had stopped. This was inside the house. It sounded like furniture being knocked about. Though it wasn't in the west wing, and seemed muffled.

Once more Gerry stepped out of her recess. She stood hesitating. Then, her heart in her mouth, she started off along the corridor, switching on her torch.

She had just passed the alcove in which was set the door leading to the western extension, given over to servants' quarters, when the noise stopped short. Gerry stopped too. For a moment there was dead silence. An unnatural silence. Gerry felt hairs prickling at the back of her neck.

Then she gave a violent start as from the floor below came the sound of a woman's scream.

Gerry just couldn't move. The next second she was conscious of somebody approaching. She started to raise her torch, but then it was knocked from her hand and went out as someone crashed into her. She gave a gasp: 'Who's that?' There was no reply. And then Gerry's fright was overcome by sheer anger. She made a blind grab - and found herself clutching a man.

The man tried to pull himself free. She hung on like grim death and the next thing she knew she was lurching silently about the corridor, locked with him in a grotesque parody of a tango. Stupidly, for seconds it didn't occur to her to shout for help. When it did she took a deep breath. But this must have warned the man of her intention, for a hand was at once clapped over her mouth.

Suddenly, Gerry realised that she'd quite lost control of the situation. She was being manoeuvred in the direction the man wanted - and could do nothing about it. Then her back was against the wall. Keeping one hand over her mouth, the man held her still with his body and reached out with his other arm. There was a click of a door catch, the man carefully prised himself loose from her grasp and moved her gently to the side. Then there was nothing behind her. She started to topple backwards, but the man held on to her and prevented her falling. Instead, still keeping one hand over her mouth, he lowered her slowly to the floor and released her. There was a click and all was silence again.

* * *

Jane stood quite motionless outside her bedroom door, listening. She could hear no sound, other than the almost non-stop rolling of the thunder. She felt in her dressing gown pocket, took out a box of matches, and struck one. Its feeble glow showed little, but it did seem that there was nobody in her immediate vicinity.

Jane crossed to the door of the picture gallery and opened it wide. She put her head inside and switched the light on just long enough to see that the gallery was empty, all the pictures were present, and the door to the gun room closed. She thought to go across and try it, but then changed her mind. She closed the door, turned to her right, and started to make her way slowly along the corridor towards the main block. As she approached the corner, she heard the stable clock chime two-thirty.