'No, not that… Never leave me… never leave me.'
She clung to him – she was crying, the tears coursing down her cheeks. He felt her shudder.
'You're my life, Stephen, all my life – never leave me…'
'Do you care so much, Sandra? I never knew…'
'I didn't want you to know. But now –'
'Yes, now… We're in this together, Sandra… we'll face it together… whatever comes, together!'
Strength came to them as they stood there, clasped together in the darkness.
Sandra said with determination: 'This shall not wreck our lives! It shall not. It shall not!'
Chapter 10
Anthony Browne looked at the card the little page was holding out to him.
He frowned, then shrugged his shoulders.
He said to the boy: 'All right, show him up.'
When Colonel Race came in, Anthony was standing by the window with the bright sun striking obliquely over his shoulder. He saw a tall soldierly man with a lined bronze face and iron-grey hair – a man whom he had seen before, but not for some years, and a man whom he knew a good deal about. Race saw a dark graceful figure and the outline of a well-shaped head. A pleasant indolent voice said:
'Colonel Race? You were a friend of George Barton's, I know. He talked about you on that last evening. Have a cigarette.'
'Thank you, I will.'
Anthony said as he held a match:
'You were the unexpected guest that night who did not turn up – just as well for you.'
'You are wrong there. That empty place was not for me.'
Anthony's eyebrows went up.
'Really? Barton said –'
Race cut in.
'George Barton may have said so. His plans were quite different. That chair, Mr Browne, was intended to be occupied when the lights went down by an actress called Chloe West.'
Anthony stared.
'Chloe West? Never heard of her. Who is she?'
'A young actress not very well known but who possesses a certain superficial resemblance to Rosemary Barton.'
Anthony whistled.
'I begin to see.'
'She had been given a photograph of Rosemary so that she could copy the style of hairdressing and she also had the dress which Rosemary wore the night she died.'
'So that was George's plan? Up go the lights – Hey Presto, gasps of supernatural dread! Rosemary has come back. The guilty party gasps out: 'It's true – it's true – I dunnit.''
He paused and added: 'Rotten even for an ass like poor old George.'
'I'm not sure I understand you.'
Anthony grinned.
'Oh, come now, sir – a hardened criminal isn't going to behave like a hysterical schoolgirl. If somebody poisoned Rosemary Barton in cold blood, and was preparing to administer the same fatal dose of cyanide to George Barton, that person had a certain amount of nerve. It would take more than an actress dressed up as Rosemary to make him or her spill the beans.'
'Macbeth, remember, a decidedly hardened criminal, went to pieces when he saw the ghost of Banquo at the feast.'
'Ah, but what Macbeth saw really was a ghost! It wasn't a ham actor wearing Banquo's duds! I'm prepared to admit that a real ghost might bring its own atmosphere from another world. In fact I am willing to admit that I believe in ghosts – have believed in them for the last six months – one ghost in particular.'
'Really – and whose ghost is that?'
'Rosemary Barton's. You can laugh if you like. I've not seen her – but I've felt her presence. For some reason or other Rosemary, poor soul, can't stay dead.'
'I could suggest a reason.'
'Because she was murdered?'
'To put it in another idiom, because she was bumped off. How about that, Mr Tony Morelli?'
There was a silence. Anthony sat down, chucked his cigarette into the grate and lighted another one.
Then he said: 'How did you find out?'
'You admit that you are Tony Morelli?'
'I shouldn't dream of wasting time by denying it. You've obviously cabled to America and got all the dope.'
'And you admit that when Rosemary Barton discovered your identity you threatened to bump her off unless she held her tongue.'
'I did everything I could think of to scare her into holding her tongue,' agreed Tony pleasantly.
A strange feeling stole over Colonel Race.
This interview was not going as it should. He stared at the figure in front of him lounging back in its chair – and an odd sense of familiarity came to him.
'Shall I recapitulate what I know about you, Morelli?'
'It might be amusing.'
'You were convicted in the States of attempted sabotage in the Ericsen aeroplane works and were sentenced to a term of imprisonment. After serving your sentence, you came out and the authorities lost sight of you. You were next heard of in London staying at Claridge's and calling yourself Anthony Browne. There you scraped acquaintance with Lord Dewsbury and through him you met certain other prominent armaments manufacturers. You stayed in Lord Dewsbury's house and by means of your position as his guest you were shown things which you ought never to have seen! It is a curious coincidence, Morelli, that a trail of unaccountable accidents and some very near escapes from disaster on a large scale followed very closely after your visits to various important works and factories.'
'Coincidences,' said Anthony, 'are certainly extraordinary things.'
'Finally, after another lapse of time, you reappeared in London and renewed your acquaintance with Iris Marle, making excuses not to visit her home, so that her family should not realise how intimate you were becoming. Finally you tried to induce her to marry you secretly.'
'You know,' said Anthony, 'it's really extraordinary the way you have found out all these things – I don't mean the armaments business – I mean my threats to Rosemary, and the tender nothings I whispered to Iris. Surely those don't come within the province of the law?'
Race looked sharply at him.
'You've a good deal to explain, Morelli.'
'Not at all. Granted your facts are all correct, what of them? I've served my prison sentence. I've made some interesting friends. I've fallen in love with a very charming girl and am naturally impatient to marry her.'
'So impatient that you would prefer the wedding to take place before her family have the chance of finding out anything about your antecedents. Iris Marle is a very rich young woman.'
Anthony nodded his head agreeably.
'I know. When there's money, families are inclined to be abominably nosy. And Iris, you see, doesn't know anything about my murky past. Frankly, I'd rather she didn't.'
'I'm afraid she is going to know all about it.'
'A pity,' said Anthony.
'Possibly you don't realise –'
