‘It makes sense to me,’ said Roddy. ‘I know for a fact she has a grudge against the family. And look at it this way: she and Owen go upstairs to look for Henry together – five minutes later, he’s dead. That makes them the prime suspects, in my book. What do you think, Hilary?’
‘I agree entirely. Apart from anything else, have you noticed the way they’ve been looking at each other all evening? Lots of little meaningful glances have been passing back and forth. I don’t think this is the first time they’ve met at all. I think they’ve known each other all along.’
‘Well, is this true?’ said Thomas. ‘Have you two met before?’
Phoebe gazed at Michael helplessly, before admitting: ‘Well, yes … We did meet once. Years and years ago. But that doesn’t mean —’
‘Ha! So now it’s all coming out!’
‘I’ll tell you another thing,’ said Roddy. ‘Owen’s already condemned himself out of his own mouth. Hilary and I were both upstairs when Mark was found: so was Dorothy, and so were you, Thomas – looking for Pyles. Now, Owen says that he was standing at the top of the staircase looking at the suits of armour all this time. So if any of us had tried to leave the billiard room and get past him, he would have seen us, wouldn’t he? But he says that nobody came by!’
Thomas rubbed his hands. ‘All right,’ he said to Michael. ‘Talk your way out of that!’
‘There’s a perfectly simple explanation,’ he answered. ‘The murderer didn’t enter or leave the billiard room by the door. There’s a passage from that room. It leads to one of the bedrooms upstairs.’
‘What the devil are you talking about, man?’ Thomas thundered.
‘It’s true. Ask Tabitha: she knows. She knows because Lawrence used to use it, during the war.’
‘What tommyrot.’ He turned to his aunt, who had been listening to this conversation with every appearance of enjoyment. ‘Did you hear that, Aunt Tabitha?’
‘Oh yes. Yes, I heard it all.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I think it was Colonel Mustard, in the kitchen, with the candlestick.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Hilary. ‘We’re wasting valuable time. Dorothy hasn’t been down for half an hour or more: we must try to find her.’
‘All right,’ said Thomas, getting up. ‘But these two aren’t coming with us.’
The curtains in the dining room could only be opened and closed by means of a thick cotton rope. Thomas cut off two lengths from this and lashed Michael and Phoebe securely to their chairs. Care of the prisoners was left to Mr Sloane (and Tabitha, for what she was worth), while Roddy, Hilary, Thomas and Pyles set off to search the house, agreeing to meet back in the dining room in twenty minutes’ time.
Hilary was the first to return, followed shortly by the butler.
‘Any luck?’ she asked him.
Pyles shook his head. ‘You won’t be seeing her again,’ he said, in his most lugubrious tone. ‘Not on this side of the grave.’
Roddy arrived with more bad news.
‘I went out to look in the garages. I thought she might have driven off without telling us.’
‘And?’
‘Well, her car’s still there, but it wouldn’t be any use to her in any case. One of those huge beech trees has blown right over, and the driveway’s completely blocked. So now we’re all well and truly stuck.’
Michael laughed. ‘What did you expect?’ he said. He was still tied to his chair, and not in the best of tempers. ‘We psychopaths think of everything, you know.’
Roddy ignored him. ‘I’ve had a thought, though, sis: what about your plane? Could we get away in that?’
‘Well, I can’t fly the thing,’ said Hilary. ‘And my pilot’s staying in the village tonight. He won’t be round till the morning.’
‘Do you mean Conrad?’ asked Phoebe mischievously. ‘I should like to meet him again.’
Hilary gave her a furious look, and Roddy couldn’t resist explaining, with a smirk: ‘Conrad got the push a few months ago – on Sir Peter’s orders. His replacement isn’t quite in the same league.’
‘Do you think he could possibly take me for a ride, when he comes round tomorrow?’ cried Tabitha, her eyes alight with anticipation. ‘I love aeroplanes, you know. What sort is it?’
‘A Buccaneer,’ said Hilary.
‘The Lake LA-4-200, I suppose? With the four-cylinder Avco Lycoming engine?’
‘Oh, shut up, you old fool.’
Hilary picked a grape from the fruit bowl and began tossing it nervously between her hands.
‘Now there’s no need to get bad tempered, you naughty girl,’ said Tabitha. ‘A kind word and a happy smile don’t cost much, do they? Always look on the bright side, I say. Things could easily be so much worse.’
‘Aunty,’ said Hilary slowly. ‘We’re trapped in an isolated house, with a homicidal maniac, in the middle of a thunderstorm. All the phone lines have been cut off, we have no means of escape, two of us have been killed and another has gone missing. How could things possibly be worse?’
At that moment, the lights went out and the house was plunged into darkness.
‘Oh God,’ said Roddy. ‘What’s happened?’
The blackness to which they had been consigned was absolute. The heavy dining-room curtains were closed, and it was impossible to see even an inch or two ahead in such thick, impenetrable gloom. To add to the eeriness of the situation, it seemed to all of the company that the sounds of the raging weather outside had increased tenfold as soon as their powers of vision were taken away.
‘It must be a fuse,’ said Pyles. ‘The fuse box is in the cellar. I’ll see to it at once.’
‘Good man,’ said Roddy.
Whether he would succeed on this mission seemed open to doubt, for his progress towards the door was marked by any number of thuds, crashes, smashes and tinkles as he collided heavily with various objects of furniture scattered around the room. But finally he made it: the door creaked open and shut, and they could hear his receding footsteps echoing faintly as he made his halting way across the stone-flagged hall.
Then the clicking of Tabitha’s needles resumed, and she started humming another tune. This time it was ‘The Dambusters’ March’.
‘For God’s sake, Aunty,’ said Roddy. ‘How on earth can you do any knitting in Ulis dark? And would you kindly desist from singing those infuriating songs?’
‘I must say, Mr Owen, your ingenuity compels admiration,’ said Hilary; and her brother could recognize in her voice a forced, brittle cheerfulness – a sure sign that her spirits were violently agitated. ‘I can’t help wondering what sort of fate you had in mind for the rest of us.’
‘I hadn’t really thought, to be honest,’ said Michael. ‘I was more or less improvising the whole thing, you see.’
‘Yes, but surely you must have had a few ideas. Henry’s back; Mark’s arms. What about Thomas? What part of his anatomy were you intending to go for?’
‘Where is Thomas, anyway?’ said Roddy. ‘He should have been here ages ago. The last I saw of him he –’
‘Ssh!’ It was Hilary who cut him short. The atmosphere in the room grew suddenly tense. ‘Who’s that moving about?’
They all strained to listen. Was that a footstep they had just heard? Was there someone (or something), in the room with them, a furtive, watchful presence, creeping through the inky shadows – and now very close at hand? Was that the sound of something on the table itself – where they were all sitting, rigid with expectation – being very quietly, very stealthily moved?
‘Who’s there?’ said Hilary. ‘Come on, speak up.’
Nobody breathed.
‘You were imagining it,’ said Roddy, after about a minute.
‘I don’t imagine things,’ Hilary answered, indignantly. But the tension had gone.
‘Well, fear can play strange tricks,’ said her brother.
‘Look: I am not afraid.’
He laughed scornfully. ‘Afraid?
You’re scared witless, old girl.’
‘I don’t know what gives you that idea.’
‘After all these years, darling, I can read you like a book. Anyone can tell when you’re upset. You start messing around with the grapes.’
‘The grapes? What are you on about?’
‘You start playing around with them. Peeling them. Taking the skins off. You’ve done it since you were a kid.’
‘I may have done it since I was a kid but I’m not doing it tonight, I can assure you.’
‘Oh, come off it. I’ve got one of them in my hands right now.’
Roddy stroked the fruit between finger and thumb – it felt smooth and oily without its skin – and then popped it into his mouth. He closed his teeth upon it, but instead of the expected release of fresh, tangy syrup upon his tongue, he felt only a rubbery squelch, and his mouth was filled with an appalling taste, the nameless virulence of which he had never known before.
‘Jesus Christ!’ he shouted, and spat it out. He began to retch violently.
Just then, the lights came back on. Squinting in the sudden brightness, it took him a few seconds to identify the object he had just coughed up, which was now lying on the table in front of him. It was a half-chewed eyeball. Its fellow stared balefully at him from the fruit bowl: the bloodshot eye of Thomas Winshaw, fixed for ever in its last, unblinking, lifeless gaze.
CHAPTER SIX
The Crowning Touch
‘HE should sleep now,’ said Phoebe, as Roddy lay back on the pillow, his breathing gradually taking on a slower, more regular rhythm. She gently took the glass from his hand, set it down on the bedside table, and put the bottle of pills away in her bag.
Hilary regarded her brother dispassionately. ‘He always was a squeamish little thing,’ she said. ‘Still, I’ve never seen him perform in quite that way before. Will he be all right, do you think?’
‘I expect he’s just in shock. A few hours’ rest ought to take care of it.’
‘Well, we could all do with that.’ Hilary glanced around the room, and went to check that the window was securely fastened. ‘I suppose he’ll be safe in here, will he? There’s not much point leaving him sleeping like a baby if our resident maniac is just going to sneak in and bump him off the minute our backs are turned.’
They decided that the best thing would be to lock him in. Phoebe didn’t think that he would wake before morning, and even if he did, the temporary inconvenience of being held captive was surely of little importance when set beside his personal safety.
‘I think I’d better keep the key,’ said Phoebe, slipping it into the pocket of her jeans as they set off down the corridor together.
‘Why’s that?’
‘I would have thought it was obvious. Michael and I were tied up when Thomas was killed. That puts us in the clear, doesn’t it?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Hilary curtly, after a moment’s thought. ‘In any case, my congratulations go to whoever’s behind this whole set-up. They haven’t missed a trick. Disconnecting all the phones, for instance. I think I could forgive just about everything apart from that.’
‘Preventing us from calling the police, you mean?’
‘Worse than that – I can’t even use my modem. First time in six years I’ve missed a copy deadline. I’d got an absolute corker for them, too. All about the Labour Party peaceniks and how the Iraqis would have run rings around them. Ah well.’ She sighed. ‘It’ll just have to wait.’
They made their way back to the sitting room, where Tabitha was once again installed by the fire, now preoccupied not with her knitting but with the perusal of a bulky paperback which on closer inspection turned out to be Volume Four of The Air Pilot’s Manual. She looked up when Hilary and Phoebe came in, and said: ‘Why, there you are! I was beginning to think you were never coming back.’
‘What about Michael and Mr Sloane?’ Phoebe asked. ‘Are they still outside?’
‘I suppose they must be,’ said Tabitha. ‘Really, you know, I find it hard to keep track of all your comings and goings.’
‘And there’s been no sign of Dorothy, I suppose?’ Hilary ventured.
‘The only person I’ve seen,’ said the old woman, ‘was your father. He stopped by a few minutes ago. We had a lovely little chat.’
Phoebe and Hilary exchanged worried looks. Hilary knelt down beside her aunt and began to speak very slowly and distinctly.
‘Aunty, Mortimer isn’t with us any more. He died, the day before yesterday. That’s why we’re all here, remember? We came for the reading of his will.’
Tabitha frowned. ‘No, I think you must be quite mistaken, dear. I’m certain it was Morty. I must say, I didn’t think he was looking his best – he was very tired and out of breath, and he did have blood all over his clothes, now I come to think of it – but he wasn’t dead. Not a bit of it. Not at all like Henry, or Mark, or Thomas.’ She smiled at the last name, and shook her head fondly. ‘Now that's what I call dead.’
There were footsteps outside the room, and Michael returned, with Pyles and Mr Sloane in tow. Hilary rose from her kneeling position and took Michael aside to acquaint him with the latest turn of events.
‘Loony alert,’ she said, in a loud whisper. ‘The old biddy’s completely lost it this time.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘Says she’s just been talking to my father.’
‘I see.’ Michael paced the room for a few moments, sunk in thought. Then he looked up. ‘Well – who’s to say she’s not telling the truth? I mean, did anyone actually see Mortimer die?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Phoebe. ‘As I said, I wasn’t here when it happened. I’d gone back to Leeds for a couple of days.’
‘And was that your idea?’
‘Not really. He more or less forced it upon me. Told me I was looking under the weather and insisted that I took a break.’
‘And what about you, Pyles – did you ever see Mortimer’s body?’
‘No,’ said the butler, scratching his head. ‘Dr Quince – Dr Quince the younger, that is – simply came down that morning and informed me that the master had passed away. And then he very kindly offered to make all the arrangements with the funeral director himself. I wasn’t involved at all.’
‘But my father couldn’t be running around here killing people,’ Hilary protested. ‘He was confined to a wheelchair, for God’s sake.’
‘That was the impression he liked to give,’ said Phoebe. ‘But I saw him get up and walk once or twice, when he thought nobody was looking. He wasn’t nearly as ill as he liked to make out.’
‘I cannot find it in me to believe,’ the solicitor maintained, ‘that Mr Winshaw himself is still alive, somewhere in this house, and is responsible for all these dreadful murders.’
‘But it’s the only possible solution,’ said Michael. ‘I’ve known it all along.’
Hilary raised her eyebrows.
‘That’s a rather extraordinary statement,’ she said. ‘Since when have you known it, exactly?’
‘Well … since Henry was killed,’ said Michael; and then thought again. ‘No, before then: since I arrived here. No, before that, even: since Mr Sloane turned up at my flat yesterday. Or – oh, I don’t know: since I was first approached by Tabitha and started writing this wretched book about you all. I can’t say. I really can’t say. Perhaps it’s even longer than that. Perhaps it goes all the way back to my birthday.’
‘Your birthday?’ said Hilary. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Michael sat down and put his head in his hands. He spoke wearily, without emotion.
‘Years ago, on my ninth birthday, I was taken to see a film. It was set in a house rather like this one, and it was about a family, rather like yours. I was an over-sensitive little boy and I should never have been allowed to see it, but because it was supposed to be a comedy my parents thought it would be all right. It wasn’t their fault. They could never have known the effect it was going to have. I know it
sounds hard to believe, but it was … well, easily the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. I’d never seen anything like it before. And then half-way through – less than half-way through, probably – my mother made us get up and leave. She said we had to go home. And so we left: we left and I never found out what happened in the end. All I could do was wonder about it, for years afterwards.’
‘Enchanting though I find these childhood reminiscences,’ Hilary interrupted, ‘I can’t help thinking you’ve chosen an odd time to share them with us.’
‘I’ve seen the film since then, you understand,’ said Michael, apparently not having heard her. ‘I’ve got it on video. I know how the story works out: that’s how I know that Mortimer’s still alive. But that isn’t the point. It was never enough, being able to see it whenever I wanted: because I wasn’t just watching it, that day. I was living it: that’s the feeling I thought would never come back, the one I’ve been waiting to recapture. And now it’s happening. It’s started. All you people’ – he gestured at the circle of attentive faces – ‘you’re all characters in my film, you see. Whether you realize it or not, that’s what you are.’
‘Just like Alice, and the Red King’s dream,’ Tabitha chipped in.
‘Exactly.’
‘If I may make a suggestion, Michael,’ said Hilary, in a sweet tone of voice which rapidly turned sour, ‘why don’t you and Aunt Tabitha retire to a quiet corner together, for a private meeting of Nutters Anonymous, while the rest of us apply our minds to the trifling little question of how we’re going to get through the rest of the night without being slashed to ribbons?’
‘Hear hear,’ said Mr Sloane.
‘We all seem to be forgetting, apart from anything else, that according to the local police there’s an escaped killer in the area. Forgive me for being so prosaic, but I can’t help thinking that this has slightly more bearing on our predicament than Mr Owen’s admittedly diverting fairy stories.’
‘That business with the policeman was all a red herring,’ said Michael.
‘What’s this? Another theory? Why, the man’s a perfect magician! What’s it to be this time, Michael – Plan Nine from Outer Space? Abbott and Costello Meet the Wolf Man?’