The House of the Bears. ...
The gates were open. As the car pulled up, the front door opened and squat, dark Markham stood on the threshold.
‘You’ve taken your time coming,’ he barked.
‘We lost no time for the sake of it,’ said Palfrey, sharply. The man succeeded in putting his back up at sight. ‘Is Morne badly hurt?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Have you had another doctor?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Are the police still here?’
‘Two useless idiots,’ declared Markham. ‘Don’t waste time in asking pointless questions, Palfrey.’ He led the way towards the stairs. His wife came hurrying from the landing. ‘Look after Mrs. Palfrey, Dinah,’ said Markham, and he and Palfrey went on alone. They turned a corner, and Markham opened the first door. ‘I think he’s been poisoned,’ he said. ‘I gave him an emetic’
Palfrey snapped: ‘And you didn’t send for the nearest doctor?’
‘You were as near as any of them,’ said Markham. ‘He’s better now. He’s broken his ankle, too, I think.’
Rufus Morne was lying on, not in, the bed. The left leg of his trousers was turned up; his foot was bare, swollen and discoloured. There was a bowl of water and a towel on the floor, and the room smelt faintly of antiseptics. Morne’s red head was raised on pillows and, although pale, he did not really look seriously ill.
Palfrey sat down by the side of the bed and took his wrist.
‘What’s been happening to you?”
‘It is inexplicable,’ Morne said. He ignored Markham, who stood by the foot of the bed. ‘I was perfectly fit and well first thing this morning. I went for my morning ride. I returned for breakfast. Only after I had been working in my study afterwards did I begin to feel ill.’
‘Symptoms?’ asked Palfrey.
‘My heart beat so quickly,’ said Rufus. ‘I felt on the verge of collapse, Palfrey. I got up and tried to go downstairs, but could not walk properly, and fell. That was when I hurt my ankle.’
‘I see,’ said Palfrey. He opened the shirt and busied himself with the stethoscope, ‘You seem all right there,’ he said, after a pause.
‘I am much better,’ said Morne.
‘Good!’ Palfrey looked at his eyes, his tongue, and the palms of his hands. There was no sign of any particular poison, no sign of illness; only the ankle seemed likely to give any trouble.
‘You’ll certainly have to stay in bed,’ Palfrey said, ‘or at least keep that foot off the ground. And an X-ray would be wise.’
They put Morne in the shooting brake. As they were about to leave, Hardy and another policeman arrived post-haste. A few words of explanation satisfied him. Palfrey was glad that the chief inspector would be there with Drusilla. Markham stayed behind with his wife; there was no sign of Mrs. McDonald that morning.
They reached the town without incident. The sanatorium had been warned to expect Morne, and Ross was on the doorstep to greet them. In his bright smile there was a touch of nervousness, Palfrey thought, and when Morne had been taken to the X-ray room, Ross said abruptly: ‘I hope you didn’t share the police suspicions, Dr. Palfrey?’
‘Suspicions of what?’ asked Palfrey.
‘The poison in your tea.’
Palfrey smiled. ‘My dear chap, if you’d wanted to poison me, you wouldn’t have made it so obvious.’
‘Oh,’ said Ross, as if that answer surprised him. Then he smiled broadly. ‘I’m very glad you feel like that, Dr. Palfrey! I was greatly worried, I assure you. I felt that it was a reflection on this establishment.’ He did not seem very sure of himself in spite of his words, and he added quickly: ‘Would you like to see Miss Morne?’
Loretta was still lying stiff and encased, but her eyes were open and she had lost something of the drawn, haggard look she had worn before. She recognized Ross but not Palfrey. When Ross uttered Palfrey’s name, she turned her eyes towards him quickly.
Palfrey glanced towards the corner, where now a policewoman was sitting.
Loretta’s hand moved slowly towards him. He touched it and she smiled up at him. ‘Did you get those things?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.
‘Did you understand them?’ Her voice was very low. The policewoman’s chair creaked, as if she were straining forward to catch the words.
‘I’m still studying them,’ Palfrey said.
‘Have you found – the mine?’
Swift excitement surged through Palfrey. Of course! The drawing on the tracing paper represented the plan of a mine!
‘No,’ he said, ‘not yet.’
‘You must,’ she said.
‘I am trying,’ he assured her. ‘Does anyone else know, Miss Morne?’
A change came over her, and she said slowly but very firmly: ‘I cannot tell you.’ She closed her eyes, and he could see that she was determined not to say anything more. She stirred when he removed his hand, but did not open her eyes.
He went over to the corner.
‘Did you get that?’
‘Not all of it, sir,’ said the woman sitting there. ‘Wasn’t there something about a mine?’
‘Yes.’ He gave her the gist of the statement, and added: ‘I shall be seeing Chief Inspector Hardy very soon, so I’ll tell him. But make sure that your message goes to Corbin at once. You’d better give it to Colonel Cartwright himself.’
There was a tap at the door, and Ross appeared. Sir Rufus was out of the X-ray room now, and was being wheeled along to see his daughter. He looked at Palfrey cheerfully enough, and did not seem perturbed by his plight.
‘How is she?’ he asked.
‘Sleeping,’ said Palfrey.
This was the first time he had seen Morne with his daughter. He decided to stay. Ross went off, and the policewoman also went out. Palfrey sent away the push-chair attendant, took the chair himself and pushed Morne towards the bed. Then Palfrey went to the window, pretending to look out, but watching Morne all the time. For a few seconds the man’s face showed only concern. Then he smiled, eased himself forward and touched Loretta’s hand. He held it for a moment, and she stirred. Morne took his hand away and looked at Palfrey.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
The man was passionately fond of his daughter, there could be no doubt of that.
Half an hour later Palfrey was looking at the hastily prepared X-ray plates. There was no fracture and no serious dislocation; Morne had only sprained his ankle.
But what had caused the fainting fit and the giddiness? Halsted could have told them so much. As it was, he might have a record of his professional visits to Morne. The record would say if there were any symptoms of a weak heart. There was none.
Back at Morne House, Markham and Morne said they did not know where Gerry and McDonald had gone. McDonald had received a telephone call soon after speaking to Palfrey, and said that he must go in to Corbin immediately. Gerry had wanted to do some shopping. It was odd that they had chosen to go immediately after Morne’s accident, and Hardy seized on that point, but could make nothing of it.
McDonald’s mother, Drusilla told Palfrey, was in her room. She was remarkably shy of company. Something seemed to have given Dinah Markham a new lease of life, and she talked lightly and brightly. Drusilla mentioned this to Palfrey when they were along for a few minutes before tea. Hardy was going to leave immediately afterwards. He had told them that there was no sign that the accident on the road had been arranged; it might, perhaps, have been caused by a blow-out. But clearly he was not satisfied.
‘Can we stay here?’ Drusilla asked Palfrey.
‘I can’t even make up my mind whether I want to,’ said Palfrey, and then laughed at Drusilla’s expression. ‘I think we had better visit the
Rose and Crown,
don’t you?’
‘Well, if we’re going, let’s go before it gets quite dark,’ said Drusilla. ‘I don’t fancy driving across the moor by night.’
Palfrey went upstairs to see Morne, who welcomed him with his unfailing courtesy. For a few minutes, Palfrey chatted brightly. There was no need for him to stay, the ankle would soon recover if he rested it, and –
Morne said quickly: ‘I shall be most disappointed if you do leave, Dr. Palfrey. I feel that if there is a repetition of the attack which I had this morning, I
might
not recover so quickly unless you are at hand. I hope you
will
stay, at least for the night.’
Suddenly, across the quiet, without warning, came the roar of an explosion which shook the room.
The roar did not die away. . . .
It grew louder, deafening them. It continued for what seemed an age, and when at last it rumbled into silence, there came another sound, a gentle hiss, which grew until it whined about them. The curtains blew violently. Doors slammed. A great puff of wind sent flames leaping into the room with a billow of smoke, then sucked furiously up the chimney again.
The hissing died away, and there was silence.
Morne gasped: ‘What was that?’
‘I’ll find out,’ said Palfrey.
He hurried out of the room, feeling as if he had just finished an exhausting race. His body was trembling, he felt cold, and his forehead was damp. Movement helped him, and, as he turned into the passage towards a crying sound, he was more himself.
Two or three servants were standing at the top of the stairs. They turned their pale faces towards Palfrey, who hurried past them. The wailing, a dreadful, tormented sound, was coming from the small room between the hall and the music gallery. There was something uncanny about it, an eeriness in keeping with the great house.
Mrs. Bardle came hurrying out of the inner room.
‘Who is it?’ asked Palfrey, sharply.
‘Lady Dinah, sir,’ Mrs. Bardle hurried past him and he went into the inner room. There, Drusilla was standing helplessly by the fireplace while Rachel McDonald tried to quieten Dinah. Had the woman’s mind been turned?
Rachel McDonald seemed not to notice Palfrey. Her aquiline face was set. She was a magnificent woman, a feminine Rufus Morne. Suddenly she took her sister’s shoulders and shook her, and kept on until her sister’s head nodded helplessly to and fro. Palfrey felt that this was not wholly because she wanted to quieten her sister; there was something stronger, some deep passion which showed itself in her pallor and the vigour of her movements.
Palfrey stepped forward. The woman was quieter now; the screams had turned to moans.
‘I think that’s enough,’ said Palfrey.
Rachel looked at him sharply. His eyes met hers. She stopped, then took her hands away. Dinah collapsed into a chair, her head upon her chest.
‘She’ll be all right now. You’ll get her to bed, won’t you?’
‘Mrs. Bardle has gone to prepare her bed.’
‘That’s splendid,’ said Palfrey. ‘It’s easy to understand, I suppose,’ he murmured. That was a bang, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Rachel.
‘Somewhere on the moor, I suppose.’
Mrs. Bardle came in. She helped Drusilla to raise Dinah, who had not the strength to walk. Palfrey touched Drusilla’s arm, then lifted the helpless woman and carried her towards the stairs. For a moment, Rachel’s eyes were on him, showing faint surprise at his strength.
Mrs. Bardle, hurrying ahead of him, stood by the open door of Dinah’s room. The bed was turned down and a maid was putting in hot-water bottles. Palfrey nodded approvingly, and laid the woman on a small settee drawn up near the fire.
‘Sap, what was it?’ Drusilla asked, as he went downstairs again.
‘The big noise? I don’t know.’
As he told Morne what had happened, his mind was busy with the explosion. Had it been out on the moor or further away? Was there an experimental station, once operated by Garth, near Morne House? Had the explosion been in the mine which Loretta had mentioned?
Was it an atomic or nuclear explosion?
The very thought chilled him. If it had been, then it must have been a long way from Morne House, and there was no telling how widespread the damage might be.
Morne was saying: ‘I am not surprised, Dr. Palfrey; my sister has been very much on edge since the accident.’
‘Naturally,’ smiled Palfrey. But had she? Earlier that day, at least, she had been much more calm and composed; he and Drusilla had commented on it.
‘I suppose you have no idea what caused the explosion,’ said Morne.
Was that as guileless as it sounded? Was Morne trying to find out whether Palfrey knew what Garth had been doing?
‘None at all,’ Palfrey said, ‘but I’d like to find out more about it. I’ll have a word with Hardy.’
Outside, it was dark and bitterly cold. The flares had not yet been lighted, although McDonald and Gerry were still out. As Palfrey reached the foot of the steps, with Drusilla shivering by his side, the first flare was lit. A man standing on a ladder plunged a small torch into one of the bowls of oil. The flames shot up, filling the night with garish light.
Palfrey called: ‘Hardy! Are you about?’ There was no answer, and he raised his voice:
‘Hardy!’
This time there was an answer from somewhere far off. A torch shone upon the figure of a man who was hurrying towards the house.
‘Get your coat,’ Palfrey said to Drusilla. ‘There’s no point in catching cold.’ He hurried towards the man, and recognized Sergeant Whittle. Perhaps the red, dancing flames gave his face that haggard look.
‘What is it?’ Palfrey demanded, as the man drew up.
‘The – the Inspector, sir. And the others –.’ Whittle could hardly speak, and his teeth were chattering. They – they’re
blind, sir!’
‘Blind!’ echoed Palfrey.
‘After that – after that dreadful flash,’ Whittle said, and he began to mutter to himself, as if it had turned his mind also. ‘I must get help. I must get help.’
Palfrey gripped his shoulder. ‘Where are they?’
‘Just – just about the gate, sir.’ Whittle hurried off, staggering. Drusilla came hurrying down. She had brought Palfrey’s coat and made him put it on. They hurried towards the gateway, and, as they did so, a fresh light appeared – the headlights of a car turning from the main road.
They shone on Hardy and two other men who were standing up, and a fourth who was lying on the ground. It was bizarre. Hardy was looking
away
from the headlights and away from the Palfreys; he was peering into the darkness, trying to
see.