The Case Is Closed

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Hilary woke up in the dark. One minute she was very fast asleep, plunged in the drowning depths where no dreams come, and the next minute she was clear awake and a little frightened, with the night air coming in smoky and cold through the open window. The curtain was pulled right back, but the room was dark. There was a middle-of-the-night sort of feeling. But if it was still the middle of the night, she could only have been asleep for a very little time, because it was well after midnight when she got into bed.

Something had waked her, she didn’t know what. Something had frightened her awake. She had come up with a rush out of the deep places of her sleep, and she had waked afraid. But she didn’t know what she was afraid of.

She got out of bed, went softly to the door, and opened it. The sitting-room door was open too. The light shone through it into the hall, and in the lighted room Marion was talking to someone in a low, desperate voice. Hilary heard her say,

‘Why don’t you tell me you did it? I’d rather know.’

And with that she went back and sat on the edge of her bed, and didn’t know what to do next. Marion – at this hour! Who was she talking to? Who could she possibly be talking to? It just didn’t fit in -it wasn’t true – Marion wouldn’t. It w.asn’t any good your eyes and ears telling you the sort of things you simply couldn’t believe.

Well, if you didn’t believe this, what did you do next?

Hilary got up, put on her dressing-gown, and crossed the hall. The sitting-room door stood open about halfway. Without touching it or pushing it she stood by the left-haud jamb and looked into the room.

There was no one there but Marion Grey. She was in her nightgown. Its pale green colour made her look even paler than she was. Her hair hung loose – fine, waving, black hair that touched her shoulders and then turned up in something which was not quite a curl. In this soft frame her face had a young, tormented look. Its mask of indifference and pride was down. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Her lips were soft. They trembled. She was kneeling on the hearth, her hands spread out to the fire that had died an hour ago.

Hilary felt as if her heart would break with pity and relief.

She said, ‘Darling – ’ just under her breath, and Marion said in a low voice of pain,

‘You don’t tell me. I could bear it if I knew – if I knew why. There must have been a reason -you wouldn’t have done it without a reason. Geoff, you wouldn’t! Geoff -Geoff’

Hilary caught her breath. Marion wasn’t talking to her, she was talking to Geoff. And Geoff was in Dartmoor.

She began to plead with Geoffrey Grey whose body was in Dartmoor but whose visible image moved and spoke in her dream. She put up a hand as if to hold him.

‘Geoff-Geoff-why don’t you tell me? You see, I know. She told me – that daily woman. You didn’t know about her. But she came back. She had dropped something in the study and she came back for it, and she heard you talking – quarrelling. And she heard what James said. She heard him say, “My own nephew!” and she heard the shot. So you see, I know; It won’t make any difference if you tell me now – they won’t hang you now. She won’t tell -she promised she wouldn’t tell. Geoff, don’t you see that I’ve got to know? It’s killing me!’ She got up from her knees and began to walk in the room, to and fro, bare foot and silent, with the tears running down her face. She did not speak again, but once in a while she sighed.

Hilary did not know how to bear it. She didn’t know what to do. That sighing breath was more piteous than any sob. She was afraid too of waking Marion, and she was afraid to let her go on dreaming this sorrowful dream.

And then Marion turned from walking up and down and came towards the door. Hilary had only just time to get out of the way. She would not have had time if Marion ’s hand, stretched out before her, had not gone to the switch. With a click the light went out. The bulb glowed for a moment and faded into darkness. Marion ’s fingers touched Hilary on the cheek – a cold, cold, icy touch which left her shivering.

Hilary stood quite still, and heard no sound at all. It was very frightening to be touched like that in the dark and hear no sound. It needed an effort to go back to her own room and put on the light. She could see then that Marion ’s door was ajar, but the crack showed no light there. She took a candle, pushed the door softly, and looked in. Marion was in bed with the clothes pulled round her and only her dark head showing against the pillow.

Hilary shut the door and went back to bed shaking with cold. As soon as she got warm she went to sleep, and as soon as she was asleep she began to dream. She dreamt that she was talking to Mrs. Mercer in a railway carriage, only instead of being an ordinary railway carriage it had a counter down one side of it. Mrs. Mercer stood behind the counter measuring something on one of those fixed yard measures which they have in draper’s shops. Hilary stood on the other side of the counter and wondered what she was doing. She could see everything else in the dream quite plainly, but the stuff in Mrs. Mercer’s hands kept slipping, and changing, and dazzling so that she couldn’t see what it was, so she asked – and her own voice frightened her because it boomed like a bell – ‘What are you measuring?’ And Mrs. Mercer said, with the stuff slipping, and sliding, and shimmering between her hands, ‘That’s just my evidence, Miss Hilary Carew.’

In her dream Hilary said, ‘Do you sell evidence? I didn’t know it was allowed.’ And Mrs. Mercer answered and said, ‘I sold mine.’ Then Hilary said, ‘What did you sell it for?’ And Mrs. Mercer said, ‘For something I’d have given my soul to get.’ And then she began to sob and cry, and to say, ‘It wasn’t worth it – it wasn’t worth it, Miss Hilary Carew.’ And all at once Alfred Mercer came along dressed like a ticket-collector, only somehow he was the shop-walker as well. And he took a breadknife out of his trouser pocket and said in a loud fierce voice, ‘Goods once paid for cannot be returned.’ And Hilary was so frightened about the bread-knife that she ran the whole way down the train and all up the Fulham Road. And just as she got to Henry’s shop a car ran over her and she woke up.