The Skeleton in the Clock

'And I never do,' replied Lady Brayle, quite sincerely believing every word she said, 'except when I consider it just As, for instance, telling your friend Captain Drake you had gone to London instead of Ranham Old Park.'

Then she whipped round to H.M.. coolly.

'But a fair in Rupert's Five-Acre is one thing. A detestable display on the approach to Brayle is quite another. When I heard of it Henry, I was quite prepared to use this riding-crop on the vulgar.'

'Sure, Sophie. I know that What's more,' said H.M., with a shadow of huge and ghoulish pleasure on his face, 'you're goin' to get another beautiful surprise when you look out your bedroom window.'

'And you,' pounced Lady Brayle, 'were responsible. I shall sue—'

'By the way, Sophie, what are they payin' you? The show's here for a week; you bargained for that. What are they payin' you by the day?'

'I believe,' answered Lady Brayle, lifting one shoulder with an air of indifference, 'it is the beggarly sum of ten pounds.'

'Well… no. As a matter of fact you're gettin' sixty.'

'Sixty pounds a day?'

'That's right And fifty per cent of the car-park profits. I had to do some swift work on that first part; but here it is.' He fumbled inside his breast pocket and took out a cheque. 'This is MacDougall's first of the week's rent D'ye want it or shall I turn it back to him?’'

'This,' Lady Brayle conceded with grace and dignity, 'somewhat alters the complexion of matters.' She allowed a space of silence. 'I accept'

'Here you are, then.'

'I am not mercenary,' said Lady Brayle, taking the cheque carelessly, scrutinizing it with great care, and then hastily putting it in her handbag. 'I do not think,' again she brought out the cheque for examination before shutting it up, 'I do not think that my worst enemy could call me mercenary. But one has one's rights.'

'Definitely, Sophie. Nobody's denying it'

Whereupon Lady Brayle gave him a peculiar smile.

'Another point, Henry. Those photographs of me outside the gates, which by the way are not bad,' she adjusted her shoulders, 'were no doubt the work of Mr. MacDougall. But this strange popularity of mine, which I had never noticed before: 1 can guess it might be some of your work. Was it, Henry?' 'Uh- huh.'

'And why, pray, do you take such trouble on my part?' H.M. looked embarrassed. 'Well, Sophie, there were a lot of reasons.'

'As, for instance?'

'You used to be an A-l sport. You'd still be a human being if you'd only for the love of Esau stop thinking what's vulgar and what ain't. Most of all, I realized — only last night, it was! — why you stole the skeleton out of that clock.'

Chief Inspector Masters started to speak, but checked himself.

Against the dark sky outside, the walls of this little octagonal room appeared starkly white. One of the leaded window lights, propped open, rattled at its catch in the rising wind. Masters, heretofore, had been paying small attention to the conversation; he was looking out of the window, on edge, waiting for a signal. Now, as H.M. mentioned the skeleton and the clock, it was as though someone had flung down a coiling snake.

'Ah!' said Lady Brayle, and grew rigid. 'I thought we should come to some bargaining-point about your precious skeleton. Well you won't get it'

'I'm sorry about that, Sophie. Then I got to take it'

'The law, my dear man…'

'Didn't you hear what I said?' H.M.'s big voice rose sharply in the little room. 'I said I knew why you stole the skeleton. That means I know why it's such vital evidence. And I can take it'

Lady Brayle, with both hands on the arms of the chair, pushed herself up.

'If you think I'm bluffing,' H.M. added, 'I'U give you a 'little tip. Masters here has applied to the Home Office for an exhumation-order.'

'And what precisely, does that mean?'

'It means they're goin' to dig up the body of George Fleet.'

'Henry, are you entirely mad? The skeleton I have here is not that of Sir George Fleet!'

'I know it Sophie,' said H.M. 'It's not Sir George Fleet's,' he added, 'except for a little bit'

'A little bit…'

'Which you can't see,' snapped H.M, 'until you take it out of the clock.' Lady's Brayle's whole manner and tone altered again.

'For God's sake,' she pleaded, 'and for the sake of old friendship, let the dead rest! You don't know how horrible it is!'

You dont…' -

'MacDougall's signalling,' Masters reported, stolidly but with quicker breathing. 'It's the left arm for X? Oh, ah!' He lifted his left arm and waved it A pause. 'Card's up. It's number 7.' From the window-seat Masters picked up a typewritten sheet of paper. 'It's the Mirror Maze, all right Nobody made any mistake. X is the Mirror Maze.'

'So!' grunted H.M., throwing his cigar out of the window. 'And pretty near on time, too. Looky here: where's young Drake? He ought to be with us.'

'How should I know where he is?' demanded Masters 'I told you he went charging out of here, looking for you, not two minutes before you got here! I dont know where. The young lady just pointed to some number on the list and out he went'

'But it was there!' exclaimed Jenny. 'The Mirror Maze!'

'Oh, lord love a duck.' H.M.'s mouth fell open. 'This is bad, Masters. This is bad.'

'Eh? What's up?'

'You know what might happen,' said H.M. cryptically, 'if our dewy-eyed innocent meets the wrong man in that ruddy maze. Masters, come on!'

They paid no attention to protests or entreaties. In a very short time, under the dark sky and with the crowd milling towards shelter against possible rain, they saw the maze ahead. H.M., at a curious pigeon-toed run which made children stare, was able to keep up with Masters.

The circular structure, dull silver with its red letters, loomed up. Out from a fringe of the crowd hastened a lean youngish man, in a grey-and-Mack checked suit and with a beret on his brilliantined black hair. To a man in overalls he handed a bundle of big numbered placards. The young man had a shrewd, shiny, razorish kind of face, now one focus of eager interest in the eyes.

''Owzit, cock?' he asked H.M. affectionately. 'Did I do it right?'

H.M. began to rave.

'But you was in there,' protested Mr. MacDougall 'even if you only looked round. And I wasn't to signal when you come out, was I?' he broke off. 'Oi! Charley.''

A well-dressed young man, in the ticket seller's cage, rose up over the top of the booth.

'I was to drive them out' Charley answered in dubiously refined tones, 'at twelve-thirty. I was to come back at a quarter to one. If anybody wanted tickets, I was to tell 'em the maze was full and would they come back later. Except the right one. I was to give the right one a ticket, or tickets—'

''Your friend's inside,' said Mr. MacDougaU. 'In we go!' Though they writhed through the thick felt curtain in a cursing wedge, nevertheless H.M., Masters, and their companion stood still and said nothing on the other side. They were all listening.

The great black box, like a camera with a faintly illuminated door of looking-glasses, stood silent inside its circular wooden shell Softly the eager MacDougall led the way into the maze. Its soft-gleaming corridors led them on at first one angle, then another.

'Looky here, son,' muttered H.M. 'We can talk now, can't we?'

'We can talk,' said Mr. MacDougall, 'until I give you the sign we're near you-know-where. Meantime, we're buried.' He looked round at all his reflections. 'I don't envy your friend, cock. No fooling: this maze is a bastard. No fooling: it's the best there is. No fooling: ninety per cent of 'em don't get out 'less they take directions from the loud-speaker inside.'

'Which loudspeaker?' demanded Masters.