“Night nurse,” breathed Henry and closed the door.
“What are you going to do? Find the detective?”
“I’d like to find out for myself what she’s up to.”
“No, Henry. If anything’s wrong it would look so strange. Ssh!”
“What?”
“Look.”
A circle of light bobbed up the stairs and across the landing. “Damn!” whispered Henry. “He’s coming.”
He walked swiftly to the stairhead. “Hullo,” he said softly, “who’s that?”
“Just a minute, sir.”
The man came up quickly, flashing his torch on Henry. As he moved into the candlelight Roberta saw he wore a heavy overcoat and muffler and remembered that she herself was cold.
“What’s wrong here, sir?” asked the man. “Who’s been interfering with these lights? I said they were to be left on.”
Henry told him quickly that he had been awakened by a sound from the green drawing-room, and that he had seen Lady Wutherwood walk across the landing with a candle in her hand. “Miss Grey saw her too. Miss Grey came out soon after I did.”
“Where did she go, sir?”
“Upstairs.”
“You stay here, if you please, sir. Both of you. Don’t move.”
He threw his torch light on the upper stairs. They were half the width of the lower flight and steeper. The man ran lightly up and then disappeared. Roberta and Henry heard a door open and close, then another, and another. Then silence.
“Hell!” said Henry loudly, “I’m going…” Roberta snatched at his arm and he stopped short. Somewhere in the top floor of the house Lady Wutherwood screamed. Roberta knew at once it was she who screamed. It was the same note that had drilled through the silence of the lift well. It persisted for some seconds, intolerable and imbecilic, and then a door slammed it away into the background. Other voices sounded on the top floor. Somebody had joined them on the landing. It was the night nurse with her veil askew.
“Where’s she gone?” cried the night nurse. “I don’t accept the responsibility for this. Where’s she gone?”
On the top floor the man in the overcoat was saying: “Get back to your rooms, the lot of you. Move along now. Do what you’re told.” And a voice, Tinkerton’s: “I’m going to my lady.”
“You’re doing what you’re told. Into your rooms, now, all of you. I’ll see you later.”
“You can’t lock me out.”
“I have locked you out.Stand aside, if
The man in the overcoat came downstairs.
“Where’s my patient?” said the nurse. “I must get to my patient.”
“You’re too late,” said the man, and to Henry: “You two come along with me, sir. I’m going to the telephone.”
They followed him to a small study on the second landing. He sat down to a desk and dialled Whitehall 1212. His fingers shook and his mouth looked stiff.
“… Campbell here on duty at 24 Brummell Street. Mr. Alleyn, please. What’s that? On his way? Right. There’s been a fatality here. We’ll want the divisional surgeon quick. Get him, will you, I’m single-handed.”
He replaced the receiver.
“Look here,” said Henry violently. “What was she doing? You can’t drag us around like a brace of dummies and tell us nothing. What’s happened? What’s this fatality?”
The man Campbell bit his fingers and stared at Henry.
“Who locked the door of the room where the body is?” he demanded.
“
“But you knew it was locked, sir?”
“Of course I did. I heard a damned ghastly noise in the room and went down to investigate. What’s happened upstairs?”
The man seemed to weigh something in his mind and come to a decision. “Come and see,” he said.
They seemed to have forgotten Roberta but she followed them up the long stairs. On the next landing they picked up the nurse and went on to the top floor, a strange procession. The nurse and Campbell had a torch and Henry his candle. The top landing gave on to a narrow passage. The detective opened the first door. The Moffatts, two girls, and Tinkerton, fantastic in their night-clothes, were huddled round a candle.
“Here, you,” said Campbell, “Mr. Moffatt. Go down and fix up the lights. Some one’s pulled out the main fuse. Find it and get it back. Or have you got a spare?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, fix it. Have you got a police whistle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go to the front door and blow it. When the constable comes, take him up to the door of the room where the body is and tell him I said he was to stay there. Detective-Sergeant Campbell. Then wait by the front door. Let in a doctor who will be here in a few minutes and send him upstairs to the top floor. Then wait for Chief Inspector Alleyn who’s on his way from Victoria Station. Send him up too.”
He passed the next door and paused by a third. “Your patient’s in there, nurse. We’ll take a look at her first. We’ll have to see if there’s a key on her. You come in with me, sir, and look out for yourself. She may give trouble.” He turned to Roberta. “You slip in after us if you please, Miss, take my torch and shut the door. If we’ve got to hold her I may trouble you to help. And you, Nurse. Now then.”
He unlocked the door, glanced at Henry, and then opened it quickly. He went in, with Henry on his heels. The nurse followed; Roberta slipped in behind her and shut the door.
It was an unused servant’s bedroom. For a moment Roberta thought Lady Wutherwood was not there but the light from the torches found her. She sat on the floor at the head of the stretcher bed. She turned her head and looked blindly into the light and though her retracted lips at first suggested a snarl it was evident by the noise she made that she was laughing. Her hair hung about her eyes; the white discs at the corners of the mouth glistened; she turned her head gently from side to side. Her throat was bare and in its pale thickness a pulse beat rapidly. She wore a dark gown over her nightdress and her hands moved among its folds.
“Now, my lady,” said Campbell, “nobody’s going to hurt you. Here’s Nurse come to take you back to bed.”
The nurse in a most unnatural voice said: “Come along, dear. We can’t stay in a nasty cold room can we? Come along.” Lady Wutherwood shrank back against the wall. The nurse said; “We’ll just help you up, shall we?” and moved forward.
Lady Wutherwood was on her feet with a swiftness that suggested some violent wrench of pain. She pressed herself against the wall. Her hands were in the pockets of her gown, holding them together, crushed tight against herself.
“That’s better,“ said the nurse. Campbell moved closer to Lady Wutherwood and in answer to this signal Henry followed him.
“Now you come along with Nurse, my lady,” said Campbell. “We’ll just take your arms.
Henry’s candle rolled on the floor and went out. The nurse and Roberta pointed their torches at the three struggling figures. Lady Wutherwood struck twice at Campbell with her right hand before he caught her arm. Henry had her left arm. The left hand was still rammed down in the pocket of her dressing-gown but she fought with the violence of an animal. Suddenly the room was flooded by a hard white light. Roberta threw her torch on the bed. “Collar her low, Robin,” said Henry’s voice. Roberta was on the floor. Her arms embraced a pair of soft legs, struggling inside the folds of robe and nightgown. “Disgusting,
