Borrower of the Night

‘She must have doubled back under the stairs while we were talking. From the gallery that end of the room is not visible. Her room is in the tower, isn’t it?’

He led the way without waiting for an answer. At the opposite end of the Hall an open arch disclosed the first steps of a narrow stair.

‘We’d better check,’ Tony muttered. ‘Make sure the girl doesn’t hurt herself, wandering around . . . Follow me.’

The upper floor was a maze of corridors, but Tony threaded a path through them without hesitating once – another proof, if I needed any, that Tony had already explored the Schloss thoroughly. So, I reminded myself, we were not collaborating. He didn’t have to tell me anything . . . I wished I knew what George had been doing. I could feel his presence close behind me. For a big man he was very light on his feet.

On the first floor of the tower Tony tried a door. It creaked open. The flashlight showed an unfurnished circular chamber with rags of mouldering tapestry on the walls.

‘Nobody lives here,’ said George, peering over my shoulder. ‘Irma must be on the next floor.’

The stairs led up to a narrow landing with a faded strip of carpet across the floor. There was a single door. Tony hesitated, but George marched up to the door and turned the knob. His face changed.

‘Lawrence. Look at this.’

‘What’s the matter?’

George grabbed his hand and directed the flashlight beam onto the doorknob. Below it was a large keyhole, with the shaft of an iron key projecting from it. Tony gaped; but I didn’t need George’s comment to get the point.

‘Door’s locked. From the outside. Either this is not Irma’s room – or that wasn’t Irma we saw walking tonight.’

Chapter Four

‘MAY I ASK WHAT you are doing at my niece’s door at one o’clock in the mo rning?’

The cold, incisive voice came from the darkness of the stairs above us. Tony jumped. The flashlight beam splashed and scattered against the stone arch and then steadied, showing the form of a woman.

She was rather tall, though nowhere near my height. Her hair was snowy white – a beautiful shade that owed its tint to art rather than nature. Her figure was still slender, and her face retained the traces of considerable beauty. Her makeup and her handsome silk dressing gown were immaculate. She had fought time with some success, but the signs of battle were visible; the keen blue eyes were set in folds of waxy, crumpled flesh, and her neck had the petrified scrawniness older women get when they diet too strenuously. I would have known who she was even without the reference to her niece. She looked the way a dowager countess ought to look.

‘Good evening, Grafin,’ George said calmly. ‘So this is your niece’s room. Did you lock her in? And, if so, when?’

He had gall. I have a considerable amount myself, but I wouldn’t have dared to ask that question. To my amazement, the old lady answered it.

‘I locked her in at eleven o’clock, as I do every night. What has happened?’

‘We saw someone in the Great Hall just now,’ George said. ‘It looked like your niece.’

‘I see.’ The light was bad, so I wasn’t sure; but I rather thought she was smiling. ‘Let me show you that it cannot have been Irma whom you saw.’

She unlocked the door and flung it open. When modest Tony hesitated, she took the flashlight from him and turned it on the bed.

Irma lay curled up under a thin sheet, her cheek pillowed on her hand. She stirred and muttered as the light reached her eyes. Then she sat bolt upright.

‘Wake up, Irma,’ said the Grafin. ‘It is I.’

‘Aunt Elfrida?’ The girl brushed a lock of curling dark hair from her eyes. Then, seeing other forms in the doorway, she snatched at the sheet and drew it up over her breast. The extra covering wasn’t necessary; her nightgown was a hideous, heavy dark cotton that covered her from the base of her neck down as far as I could see.

The countess moved to the bed. ‘You have been asleep? You have heard nothing? Seen nothing?’

The seemingly innocuous question had a frightful effect on the girl. Her chin quivered, her mouth lost its shape, and her eyes dilated into staring black circles.

‘Ach, Gott – what has happened? Is it – has she – ’

‘No questions,’ the older woman interrupted. ‘Sleep again. Sleep.’

‘Stay with me!’

‘There is no need. Sleep, I say.’

She moved back, pushing us with her, and closed the door. I had a last glimpse of Irma’s face, rigid with terror, and it made me forget what few manners I possess.

‘I’ll sit with the girl, if you won’t,’ I said. ‘She needs reassurance, not mysterious silence.’

The Grafin locked the door.

‘I have not had the pleasure of meeting you, young woman, but I assume you are our newest guest, Dr Bliss. Is your degree in the field of psychiatry?’

‘I don’t have to be a psychiatrist to realize – ’

Tony stepped heavily on my slippered foot, and the old woman went on.

‘My niece’s welfare is my business, I believe. As for your search tonight – I have proved to you that it was not Irma you saw. If you are still curious, gentlemen, I suggest you visit Miss Bliss’s room – if you have not already made yourselves at home there. At the foot of the bed – conveniently placed for visitors – there hangs a certain portrait. And now, if you will excuse me, I need my rest. Good night.’

‘Why, that old – ’ I began.

This time it was George who stepped on my foot. He was shorter than Tony, but he weighed more. I yelled.

‘What’s all this about a portrait?’ George inquired loudly. The Grafin’s footsteps were still audible above. I didn’t care whether she heard me or not.

‘Oh, hell,’ I said. ‘Double hell. Come on, you guys. I’ve got a bottle of Scotch in my suitcase, and I think this is the time to break it out.’

Shortly thereafter George put down an empty glass and stared owlishly at me and Tony.

‘All right, Doctors. Let’s hear some high-class intellectual rationalizing. What was it we saw tonight?’

Tony had recovered his cool. There was only one funny thing. He couldn’t look at the portrait. He just couldn’t stand looking at it. Staring firmly at his glass, he said, ‘Either it was the girl, or it was a ghost. If you believe in ghosts – that’s what it was. If you don’t – someone is putting us on.’

George snorted and poured himself another drink, without waiting to be asked.

‘Is that the academic brain at work? Your alternatives don’t impress me. You think the Grafin lied about locking that door?’

‘That doesn’t follow. There are any number of possibilities. Maybe she thought she locked it, and didn’t. Maybe someone else unlocked it, and locked it again later. Maybe there’s another door out of the room.’

‘Yeah.’ George looked more cheerful. ‘That’s so. But do you remember what our apparition was wearing?’

‘A light robe,’ I said. ‘White or pale grey, with full sleeves and a gathered yoke.’

‘Well, you saw the girl’s nightgown – God save us. I also saw her dressing gown, or housecoat, or whatever you call it. It was lying across the foot of her bed.’

‘And it, I suppose, was black,’ said Tony.

‘Navy blue,’ I said. ‘With small light-coloured flowers. Very unflattering, with her colouring . . . That doesn’t prove anything. She could have a closetful of long white robes, and she had plenty of time to change.’

Tony stood up.

‘This is a waste of time. You think that girl was faking. Well, I don’t. Come on, Nolan, let’s be off.’