The Golden Ball and Other Stories

  Our patient was still in the same condition. This time I made a thorough examination and was able to study him

  more closely than the night before. At my suggestion it was

  arranged that he should spend as much time with the family

  as possible. I hoped not only to have a better opportunity

  of observing him when he was off his guard, but that the

  172 Agatha Christie

  ordinary everyday routine might awaken some gleam of

  intelligence. His demeanour, however, remained unchanged.

  He was quiet and docile, seemed vacant, but was,

  in point of fact, intensely and rather slyly watchful. One

  thing certainly came as a surprise to me--the intense affection

  he displayed towards his stepmother. Miss Patterson

  he ignored completely, but he always managed to sit as near

  Lady Carmichael as possible, and once I saw him rub his

  head against her shoulder in a dumb expression of love.

  I was worried about the case. I could not but feel that

  there was some clue to the whole matter which had so far

  escaped me.

  "This is a very strange case," I said to Settle.

  "Yes," said he, "it's very--suggestive."

  He looked at me--rather furtively, I thought.

  "Tell me," he said. "He doesn't--remind you of anything?"

  The words struck me disagreeably, reminding me of my

  impression of the day before.

  "Remind me of what?" I asked.

  He shook his head.

  "Perhaps it's my fancy," he muttered. "Just my fancy."

  And he would say no more on the matter.

  Altogether there was mystery shrouding the affair. I was

  still obsessed with that baffling feeling of having missed

  the clue that should elucidate it to me. And concerning a

  lesser matter there was also mystery. I mean that trifling

  affair of the grey cat. For some reason or other the thing

  was getting on my nerves. I dreamed of cats--I continually

  fancied I heard them. Now and then in the distance I caught

  a glimpse of the beautiful animal. And the fact that there

  was some mystery connected with it fretted me unbearably.

  On a sudden impulse I applied one afternoon to the footman

  for information.

  "Can you tell me anything," I said, "about the cat I see?"

  "The cat, sir?" He appeared politely surprised.

  "Wasn't there--isn't there--a cat?"

  "Her ladyship had a cat sir. A great pet. Had to be put

  away though. A great pity, as it was a beautiful animal."

  "A grey cat?" I asked slowly.

  "Yes, sir. A Persian."

  THE STRANGE CASE OF SIR ARTHUR CARMICIAI 173

  "And you say it was destroyed?"

  ·

  "Yes, sir."

  "You're quite sure it was destroyed?"

  "Oh, quite sure, sir! Her ladyship wouldn't have him

  sent to the vet--but did it herself. A little less than a week

  ago now. He's buried out there under the copper beech,

  sir." And he went out of the room, leaving me to my meditations.

  Why had Lady Carmichael affirmed so positively that

  she had never had a cat?

  I felt an intuition that this trifling affair of the cat was

  in some way significant. I found Settle and took him aside.

  "Settle," I said, "I want to ask you a question. Have

  you, or have you not, both seen and heard a cat in this

  house?"

  He did not seem surprised at the question. Rather did he

  seem to have been expecting it.

  "I've heard it," he said. "I've not seen it."

  "But that first day," I cried. "On the lawn with Miss

  Patterson I"

  He looked at me very steadily.

  "I saw Miss Patterson walking across the lawn. Nothing

  else."

  I began to understand. "Then," I said, "the cat--?"

  He nodded.

  "I wanted to see if you--unprejudiced--would bear what

  we all hear...?"

  "You all hear it then?"

  He nodded again.

  "It's strange," I murmured thoughtfully. "I never heard

  of a cat haunting a place before."

  I told him what I had learned from the footman, and he

  expressed surprise.

  "That's news to me. I didn't know that."

  "But what does it mean?" I asked helplessly.

  He shook his head. "Heaven only knows! But I'll tell

  you, Carstairs--I'm afraid. The--thing's voice sounds--menacing."

  "Menacing?" I said sharply. "To whom?"

  He spread out his hands. "I can't say."

  It was not till that evening after dinner that I realized the

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  Agatha Christie

  meaning of his words. We were sitting in the green drawing room, as on the night of my arrival, when it came--the

  lOud insistent miawing of a cat outside the door. But this

  time it was unmistakably angry in its tone--a fierce cat

  yowl, long-drawn and menacing. And then as it ceased, the

  brass hook outside the door was rattled violently as by a

  cat's paw.

  Settle started up.

  "I swear that's real," he cried.

  He rushed to the door and flung it open.

  There was nothing there.

  He came back mopping his brow. Phyllis was pale and trembling, Lady Carmichael deathly white. Only Arthur,

  squatting contentedly like a child, his head against his stepmother's

  knee, was calm and undisturbed.

  Miss Patterson laid her hand on my arm as we went upstairs.

  "Oh! Dr. Carstairs," she cried. "What is it? What does it all mean?"

  "We don't know yet, my dear young lady," I said. "But I mean to find out. But you mustn't be afraid. I am convinced

  there is no danger to you personally."

  She looked at me doubtfully. "You think that?"

  "I am sure of it," I answered firmly. I remembered the loving way the grey cat had twined itself round her feet,

  and I had no misgivings. The menace was not for her.

  I was some time dropping off to sleep, but at length I fell into an uneasy slumber from which I awoke with a sense

  of shock. I heard a scratching, sputtering noise as of something

  being violently ripped or torn. I sprang out of bed and

  rushed out into the passage. At the same moment Settle

  burst out of his room opposite. The sound came from our

  left.

  "You hear it, Carstairs?" he cried. "You hear it?"

  We came swiftly up to Lady Carmichael's door. Nothing had passed us, but the noise had ceased. Our candles glittered

  blankly on the shiny panels of Lady Carmichael's door.

  We stared at one another.

  "You know what it was?" he half whispered.

  I nodded. "A cat's claws ripping and tearing something."

  I

  THE STRANGE CASE OF SIR ARTHUR CARMICHAEL 175

  I shivered a little. Suddenly I gave an exclamation and

  lowered the candle I held.

  "Look here, Settle."

  "Here" was a chair that rested against the wail--and the seat of it was ripped and torn in long strips ....

  We examined it closely. He looked at me and I nodded.

  "Cat's claws," he said, drawing in his breath sharply.

  "Unmistakable." His eyes went from the chair to the closed

  door. "That's the person who is menaced. Lady Carmichael!"

  I slept no more that night. Things had come to a pass

  where something must be done.
As far as I knew, there was

  only one person who had the key to the situation. I suspected

  Lady Carmichael of knowing more than she chose to tell.

  She was deathly pale when she came down the next

  morning, and only toyed with the food on her plate. I was

  sure that only an iron determination kept her from breaking

  down. After breakfast I requested a few words with her. I

  went straight to the point.

  "Lady Carmichael," I said. "I have reason to believe that

  you are in very grave danger."

  "Indeed?" She braved it out with wonderful unconcern.

  "There is in this house," I continued, "a Thing--a Pres-ence--that

  is obviously hostile to you."

  "What nonsense," she murmured scornfully. "As if I

  believed in any rubbish of that kind."

  "The chair outside your door," I remarked dryly, "was

  ripped to ribbons last night."

  "Indeed?" With raised eyebrows she pretended surprise,

  but I saw that I had told her nothing she did not know.

  "Some stupid practical joke, I suppose."

  "It was not that," I replied with some feeling. "And I

  want you to tell me--for your own sake--" I paused.

  "Tell you what?" she queried.

  "Anything that can throw light on the matter," I said

  gravely.

  She laughed.

  "I know nothing," she said. "Absolutely nothing."

  And no warnings of danger could induce her to relax the

  statement. Yet I was convinced that she did know a great

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  Agatha Christie

  deal more than any of us, and held some clue to the affair of which we were absolutely ignorant. But I saw that it was

  quite impossible to make her speak.

  I determined, however, to take every precaution that I could, convinced as I was that she was menaced by a very

  real and immediate danger. Before she went to her room

  the following night, Settle and I made a thorough examination

  of it. We had agreed that we would take it in turns

  to watch in the passage.

  I took the first watch, which passed without incident, and at three o'clock Settle relieved me. I was tired after my

  sleepless night the day before, and dropped off at once.

  And I had a very curious dream.

  I dreamed that the grey cat was fitting at the foot of my bed and that its eyes were fixed on mine with a curious

  pleading. Then, with the ease of dreams, I knew that the

  creature wanted me to follow it. I did so, and it led me

  down the great staircase and right to the opposite wing of

  the house to a room which was obviously the library. It

  paused there at one side of the room and raised its front

  paws till they rested on one of the lower shelves of books,

  while it gazed at me once more with that same moving look

  of appeal.

  Then--cat and library faded, and I awoke to find that morning had come.

  Settle's watch had passed without incident, but he was keenly interested to hear of my dream. At my request he

  took me to the library, which coincided in every particular

  with my vision of it. I could even point out the exact spot

  where the animal had given me that last sad look.

  We both stood there in silent perplexity. Suddenly an idea occurred to me, and I stooped to read the titles of the

  books'in that exact place. I noticed that there was a gap in

  the line.

  "Some book had been taken out of here," I said to Settle. He stooped also to the shelf.

  "Hallo," he said. "There's a nail at the back here that has torn off a fragment of the missing volume."

  He detached the little scrap of paper with care. It was not more than an inch square--but on it were printed two

  significant words: "The cat .... "

  STaXrm CAS OF sin agrHtaAm 177

  We looked at each other.

  "This thing gives me the creeps," said Settle. 'It's simply horribly uncanny."

  "I'd give anything to know," I Said, "what book it is

  that is missing from here. Do you think there is any way

  of finding out?"

  "May be a catalogue somewhere. Perhaps Lady Carmichaelm"

  I shook my head.

  "Lady Carmichael will tell you nothing."

  "You think so?"

  "I am sure of it. While we are guessing and feeling about

  in the dark, Lady Carmichael knows. And for reasons of

  her own she will say nothing. She prefers to run a most

  horrible risk sooner than break silence."

  The day passed with an uneventfulness that reminded me

  of the calm before a storm. And I had a strange feeling that

  the problem was near solution. I was groping about in the

  dark, but soon I should see. The facts were all there, ready,

  waiting for the little flash of illumination that should weld

  them together and show out their significance.

  And come it did! In the strangest way!

  It was when we were all sitting together in the green

  drawing room as usual after dinner. We had been very silent.

  So noiseless indeed was the room that a little mouse ran

  across the floormand in an instant the thing happened.

  With one long spring Arthur Carmichael leapt from hi,

  chair. His quivering body was swift as an arrow on th

  mouse's track. It had disappeared behind the wainscoting

  and there he crouched--watchful--his body still trembling

  with eagerness.

  It was horrible! I have never known such a paralyzinl

  moment. I was no longer puzzled as to that something th,

  Arthur Carmichael reminded me of with his stealthy fee

  and watching eyes. And in a flash an explanation, wil

  incredible, unbelievable, swept into my mind. I rejected

  as impossible--unthinkable! But I could not dismiss it fro

  my thoughts.

  I hardly remember what happened next. The whole thin

  seemed blurred and unreal. I know that somehow we g

  upstairs and said our good nights briefly, almost with

  178

  Agatha Christie

  dread of meeting each other's eyes, lest we should see there

  some confirmation of our own fears.

  Settle established himself outside Lady Carmichael's door

  to take the first watch, arranging to call me at 3 A.M. I had

  no special fears for Lady Carmichael; I was too taken up

  with my fantastic impossible theory. I told myself it was

  impossible--but my mind returned to it, fascinated.

  And then suddenly the stillness of the night was disturbed.

  Settle's voice rose in a shout, calling me. I rushed

  out into the corridor.

  He was hammering and pounding with all his might on

  Lady Carmichael's door.

  "Devil take the woman!" he cried. "She's locked it!"

  "But--"

  "It's in there, man! Can't you hear it?"

  From behind the locked door a long-drawn cat yowl

  sounded fiercely. And then following t a horrible scream--and

  another .... I recognized Lady Carmichael's voice.

  "The door!" I yelled. "We must break it in. In another

  minute we shall be too late."

  We set our shoulders against it, and heaved with all our

  might. It gave with a crash--and we almost fell into the

  room.

  Lady Carmichael lay on the bed bathed in blood. I have

  seldom seen a more horrib
le sight. Her heart was still beating,

  but her injuries were terrible, for the skin of the throat

  was all ripped and torn Shuddering,

  I whispered: "The

  Claws..."

  A thrill of superstitious horror ran over me.

  I

  dressed and bandaged the wounds carefully and sug

  gested

  to Settle that the exact nature of the injuries had

  better

  be kept secret, especially from Miss Patterson. I wrote

  out a

  telegram for a hospital nurse to be despatched as soon

  as the

  telegraph office was open.

  The dawn

  was now stealing in at the window. I looked

  out on

  the lawn below.

  "Get dressed

  and come out," I said abruptly to Settle.

  "Lady Carmichael

  will be all right now."

  He was

  soon ready, and we went out into the garden

  together.

  "What

  are

  you going to do?"

  THE STRA( CA OF SIR AmHOR CARCAEL 179

  "Dig up the cat's body," I said briefly. "I must be sure--"

  I found a spade in a tool shed and we set to work beneath the large copper beech tree. At last our digging was rewarded.

  It was not a pleasant job. The animal had been

  dead a week. But I saw what I wanted to see.

  "That's the cat," I said. "The identical cat I saw the first day I came here."

  Settle sniffed. An odour of bitter almonds was still perceptible.

  "Prussic acid," he said.

  I nodded.

  "What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.

  "What you think, too!"

  My surmise was no new one to him--it had passed through his brain also, I could see.

  "It's impossible," he murmured. "Impossible! It's against all science--all nature .... "His voice tailed off in a shudder.

  "That mouse last night," he said. "But--oh, it couldn't

  be!"

  "Lady Carmichael," I said, "is a very strange woman. She has occult powers--hypnotic powers. Her forebears

  came from the East. Can we know what use she might have

  made of these powers over a weak lovable nature such as

  Arthur Carmichael's? And remember, Settle, if Arthur Car-michael

  remains a hopeless imbecile, devoted to her, the