and you right. And let’s make it snappy. We’ve a lot of ground to cover while we’re here. Have to hope there’s lightbulbs in the bedrooms, not just candles-seems her ladyship likes to keep to the old ways.”
“It’s daylight.”
“You could have fooled me, Mrs. H.!”
“There’ll be windows.”
“Ha!”
There were indeed several windows in Lady Krumley’s bedroom. Unfortunately, they were so heavily draped with curtains of undeterminable color that only narrow strips of glass were exposed. A few faint slivers of light managed to creep around the enormous four-poster bed that was itself swathed, from ceiling to floor, in some tapestry material. I felt very much like Pip groping his way toward Miss Haversham. It would not have surprised me if a family of mice had run over my feet or my searching hands had become entangled in a tattered veil of cobwebs. Fortunately one of them located the light switch instead, and the room became fairly decently illuminated. Nothing, short of hauling out all the furniture, could have made it cheerful. But it was neither cobwebby nor dusty. I forgot that I wasn’t really here to redecorate and, after setting down my bag on a table under a portrait of a woman who looked as though she had died before it was painted, wandered about the room, sizing it up. It was large and well- proportioned. And if the hideous marble was removed from the fireplace and replaced with a mellow brick or tile it would make a world of difference. I was picturing a peachy faux finish on the walls and copper wall lights on either side of the bed, which perhaps could be made to do to the point of becoming a magnificent focal point if stripped of its dreary tester and hangings. My mood was turning quite dreamy-a soft-colored whirl of Irish linens, plaids and toiles. No chintz. It would be quite out of character for Lady Krumley. I came back to the real task at hand when I stood in front of her dressing table, where she claimed to have left the emerald brooch before it disappeared. It was now crowded with framed photographs, many of Niles, and an assortment of boxes and bud vases that, knowing her ladyship, I guessed she had been given and felt obliged to keep and display. The mirror that needed resilvering cast a distorted reflection back at me. My eyes looked haunted, my nose off center. Behind me the furniture-a wardrobe and several tallboys-seemed to be crowding in on me, growing taller and wider until they became one giant barrier to the world outside this room. My heart started to hammer. I leaned forward to rest my hands on the dressing table. I thought I heard something. A shifting of position… a scratching… a rustling. Then mental clarity returned. I wondered why the bed had been positioned where it was instead of on the long wall facing the fireplace and closer to the door. A moment later my head was literally in a whirl-a terrifying, screeching, wing-beating darkness grew around me. I don’t like birds, not indoors. Not even so much as a trapped sparrow. And now they surrounded me. Bolts of feathered fury, diving at my head, slamming into windows, walls and furniture. Everything they hit made its own sound. Even though I covered my ears while cowering on the floor, there was no muffling that piercing cacophony. I thought if I could reach the bed, I might be able to get under it. But they seemed to sense what I was about. They pecked at my shoes as I crawled. They were on my back, in my hair. At this point of utmost terror I felt a hand close around my neck. I couldn’t scream. My voice had been beaten deep inside me, but I struggled upright on my knees and lashed out with my arms. I felt rather than heard whoever it was retreat. And a calm descended on me. I recognized the birds for what they were: not some gothic horror, but a weapon unleashed upon me by the human villain of Moultty Towers. As I struggled to my feet the birds thinned out. Their mind-tearing sound began to fade, and only the occasional flutter disturbed the air. The rectangle of solidified darkness that had to be the wardrobe momentarily displayed a crack of light, and I rushed toward it, pawing for the door. I had it open, and someone sprang, pushing me back so that I was again down on my knees, but only for a second. I was back up and blundering in what I hoped was the direction of the door. If I reached it I could find the light switch. I needed the clarity of electric light. I was there. My hand made contact at the instant my legs were grabbed. But before pitching forward I swung around and grabbed at a hank of hair.
“Got you!” I hung on for dear life.
“Ouch!” It was a familiar voice, and I dropped my hand like a rock.
A flutter of wings punctuated the ensuing silence. And then one of us-I wasn’t sure which-turned on the light. Mrs. Malloy and I faced each other. Her hat was gone and her eyelashes were both askew. Otherwise she appeared not too much the worse for wear.
“You’ve got feathers in your hair.” She eyed me as if this were some ghastly breach of etiquette. “But at least you’re you. Although I’m not so sure I should be pleased. We’d be a lot closer to that five thousand pounds if I’d been about to capture Vincent Krumley’s murderer like I thought.”
“You hid in the wardrobe.” I was looking around the room. There were plenty of feathers and white splotches on the furniture, but not a blackbird in sight.
“I was plotting me next move.”
“Very sensible.” I dropped down on a chair, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion.
“Just what happened here, Mrs. H.?”
“Birds.”
“I know that.” She stood over me, looking severe. “They were bloody well everywhere when I opened the door. They converged when I reached for the light switch, like they knew what I was up to and weren’t going to let me. I got down on me knees and was floundering around when I bumped into you. If you’d screamed like someone sensible I’d have known it was you, and we wouldn’t have ended up chasing each other around like two cats.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Proper shook up aren’t you, and no wonder. I only wish I had some brandy to give you. But there, there, Mrs. H., Roxie’s here for you.” She did the unthinkable for her-bent down and kissed me on the cheek. “Think they came in through the windows? It’s how they got out. I saw the last one go.”
“I didn’t realize with all that curtaining that any of them were open.” I got to my feet. “But no, I don’t think that’s how they came in. Why would they? We’re not talking about a swarm of killer bees. Someone set them loose. A whole cage full of them I would imagine. Someone who wanted us to believe that Flossie’s deathbed cruse was again at work.”
“To scare us away from Moultty Towers.” Mrs. Malloy picked up her hat and set it back on her blonde hair.
“To give us something to report to Lady Krumley. To keep her shivering in her hospital bed. The original plan may have been to enact the performance when she was in this room, wakened perhaps out of a deep nighttime sleep.”
“A good way to give her another heart attack.”
“True, but adjustments have to be made. And we provide a credible pair of witnesses.”
“So how do you think they got into the room, Mrs. H.? Through the door? It could have been opened a crack…”
“Too risky.” I had been walking in circles and now turned to face her. “I’ve got another idea. It struck me that the bed is in the wrong place. And there is something else. Sir Horace’s dressing room adjoined this one, which means there has to be another door. But where is it? What if after his death Lady Krumley could not bear looking at it and had the bed moved to conceal it? Look at all those hangings, not just at the sides but along the back. It would have been the simplest thing in the world for someone to enter Sir Horace’s room with the birdcage, open the connecting door and release the birds through the folds of fabric.”
“Hold on a tick.” Mrs. Malloy’s rump became the room’s focal point as she crawled over the bed. “Let’s see if you’ve got it right.” Her head momentarily disappeared into a flurry of tapestry, before she returned whole and triumphantly to view. “Just like you said.” She bounded onto the floor, which was quite an accomplishment given the four-inch heels. “Now I suppose you’ll want to try and figure out how whoever it was trapped them dratted birds.”
“Any ideas?” I was standing at the dressing table mirror plucking black fluff and feathers out of my hair.
“Well, it seems to me, Mrs. H., the easiest way would be if they was in the house to begin with. Where would they most likely get in is the question, and seems to me it would be through some gap or missing tile in the roof. And what’s under the roof is the attic. Put some birdseed in a couple of cages, and somehow rig the door to close once a nice group of them was inside. Wouldn’t require more than time and patience. Think we ought to take a look at them attic?”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Malloy. But first I should take a look at the skirting board where Lady Krumley’s maid found the brooch. It’s why I came in here.” I was still looking in the dressing table mirror, plucking at my hair. “Did you have any luck in Vincent Krumley’s room?”
“Not really. That little dog of his-it was a Maltese terrier-was lying on the bed looking all mournful like and it
