was no time, he had said, and when I heard that shrill, arrogant voice outside the door where we stood listening, I understood. He had expected she would want to amuse herself for a while before she changed.
‘Get out of my way, Max.’
‘No, I forbid it. You have done enough already.’
‘You have no authority over me!’
‘Then I will appeal to someone who does.’ His voice hardened. ‘He will not allow you to endanger the entire enterprise.’
She spat out a string of nouns and adjectives. I thought she was applying them to Max until he replied dryly, ‘I have no fondness for Tregarth either, but business must take precedence over personal resentment. He cannot be forced to carry out his part of the plan unless we hold a hostage as surety for his compliance, and he will be unable to carry it out if you go on playing your little games with him. I have locked the door and I will keep the key, so don’t bother coming back after I have gone.’
She stormed off, using language no lady should employ, and I heard the reverberation as she slammed her door. Max moved away without speaking to us. He’d already given us our instructions, and I couldn’t blame him for minimizing the risk to himself. They probably kept Mary happy by letting her play with traitors and other expendable individuals before disposing of them. Her brother had been fond of knives, too.
Max had given me the key and told me to lock the door. My hand was clenched so tightly John had to pry my fingers loose one by one before he could take it from me.
‘What are you doing?’ I demanded in a hoarse whisper. ‘He told us to stay here.’
‘He told us not to attempt to leave the house for an hour,’ John corrected. ‘I’d prefer to wait elsewhere. I don’t entirely share your blind faith in Maxie.’
‘Why is he doing this then?’
‘God knows. But you can be certain it isn’t because his heart was touched by an appeal to sentiment, of which he has none. Possibly he’s come to think of you as a kind of mascot or good-luck charm. He’s frightfully superstitious – look at those ghastly silhouettes of his. They aren’t a hobby any longer, they have become an obsession.’ He unlocked the door and then turned to look at me. ‘Do you want your gun back?’
‘No.’
‘Then get the knife. You left it on the floor by the chair. And don’t put it in your pocket! Keep hold of it. Stay close behind me. If we’re spotted and I tell you to run, do it, without one of those interminable arguments of yours, and without looking back. Is that clear?’
I nodded. His orders had been perfectly clear. Whether or not I would follow them was another matter.
‘Come on, then.’
Either he had explored the house more systematically than I had had the opportunity of doing or he had stayed there before. Instead of heading for the main stairs he turned in the opposite direction. We had to pass several of the bedrooms, including Mary’s, and if I had not reached a state of total emotional paralysis I would have dropped in my tracks when I heard a crash and an inarticulate shriek from her room. The cry had been one of rage. She must be relieving her feelings by smashing lamps, vases, and other fragile objects.
John’s long, even stride didn’t alter. He was moving more easily now. The end of the corridor was in shadow, there were no wall sconces near it. What I had taken to be a dead end turned out to be a door, painted the same neutral colour as the wall. When he opened it I saw a landing with narrow, uncarpeted steps leading down, and another flight going up. It was lighted by a single bulb on the ceiling. I ought to have known there would be a separate staircase for the servants. Not that the knowledge would have helped. There would be people in that part of the house too.
I felt somewhat easier after John had closed the door, but when he sat down on the topmost step I said nervously, ‘What are you waiting for? The servants will be coming this way.’
‘No, they won’t. Not for a while.’ leaning back, supporting his weight on his elbows, he went on in the same subdued voice, ‘It’s obvious that you have never seriously contemplated a career in crime. If you do, bear in mind that strict attention to schedules is vitally important. Human beings are creatures of habit, and the older they get, the more they insist on regularity. Blenkiron always dines at seven-fifteen. The servants will be preparing dinner for the guests and eating their own; they don’t come upstairs to turn down the beds and so on until the guests have retired to – ’
‘John, if you don’t stop lecturing and start answering questions I am going to scream.’
‘Ask a sensible question, then.’
‘How did you get involved with – ’
‘No, no. That is a reasonable question, I admit, but under the present circumstances it is less relevant than a number of others, and the answer would involve a prolonged explanation which you probably wouldn’t believe anyhow. Try again, keeping in mind that our primary concern at this moment – ’
‘All right! Are we going to stay here until eight o’clock?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Seven-fifteen.’
‘How time flies when one is enjoying oneself,’ John murmured. ‘For the next half hour this is as safe a place as any. I’ve a little errand to do before we leave. You wait here while I – ’
‘No.’
‘It may be a bit tricky – ’
‘No. I’m not letting you out of my sight.’
John studied me speculatively. I scooted back, out of his reach. ‘Oh, no, you don’t. Not another sock on the jaw, for my own good.’
‘It’s a tempting idea. But in this case it might do more harm than good. Besides, you’d probably hit me back. Come along, then. And don’t forget what I told you.’
The stairs ended at another closed door. When John eased it open I started; the voices sounded as if they were only a few feet away. They were. The room to our left was the kitchen. I could smell cooking and hear pots and dishes rattling.
John went the other way, moving as soundlessly as if he too were barefoot. I hadn’t been in this part of the house and I had no idea where we were or where we were going, so I stayed close on his heels. When he opened the next door I did know where we were, and that encouraging old adage about the frying pan and the fire came back to me. Ahead was the main hall of the house, lighted like a stage by the hanging brass chandelier and a dozen sconces. The open archway to my right led to the parlour. Lights blazed from that room as well; in another forty minutes, give or take five minutes, Larry and his ‘guests’ would be entering it. On my left was the staircase. I’d have preferred to stay in the illusory safety of the shadows cast by that massive structure, but John didn’t pause. He walked unconcernedly past the foot of the stairs and entered the corridor that led to the library and Larry’s study.
Apparently he had been right about the household schedule. We met no one. When we reached the study John’s fingers pressed a switch and prodded a button, both concealed in the carving of the frame, before he turned the knob. So, I thought, this wasn’t the first time he had enjoyed Larry’s hospitality. He was one of the world’s most efficient snoops, but even he coudn’t have discovered so many usefal details in two days.
It was at this point that John’s theories failed. I suppose it was something of a compliment to me that Larry had taken the precaution of stationing a guard in his study. Or, to look at it another way, it was something of an insult. Had he really believed I’d be foolhardy enough to return? Well, he had been right. And if I had been looking for evidence of guilt, this was where I’d have looked first.
The guard was the man I had known as Sweet. He was eating his supper off a tray, and he must have assumed his visitors were members of the household, familiar with the security system. That moment of misapprehension, brief though it was, saved our necks. Dropping his fork, he reached for his shoulder holster, but he was too slow. John had him covered.
‘Get his gun,’ John said. ‘Go round behind him. Far around, if you’ll forgive me for pointing out the obvious.’
Sweet’s expression didn’t live up to the nom de guerre he had chosen. His eyes, unblinking as those of a reptile, followed me as I sidled to one side, giving him a wide berth. I was not looking forward to coming within arm’s reach of him but I didn’t have to. As soon as I had reached a point at which Sweet had to turn his head to follow my progress John hit him, not with the gun, but with his left fist.
