The Reader Is Warned

'Because that lady,' she nodded at Mina, who was still absently massaging her hands, 'must not be allowed to stay here overnight alone. I mean it, Jack. The hospital phoned to say that two of the servants, the cook and the maid, will be out to-morrow; but not until to-morrow. Mrs Constable has got the bee in her bonnet that she wants to stay alone, and she mustn't be allowed to. I'd stay myself like a shot, only we've got that Rice-Mason case coming up to-morrow and unless I go up to-night it quite plainly and simply means the sack. Can't you stay ?'

(After all, Sanders was reflecting, with his eye on the gap in the bookshelf where New Ways of Committing Murder had stood, I'm not a policeman. It is no business of mine. But I wish that book hadn't disappeared.)

'Please, aren't you listening?'

'Of course,' he said, pulling his thoughts back. 'I'd be only too glad to stay, if Mrs Constable doesn't mind having me. And she could do with looking after for another night: she isn't as well as she thinks she is.'

Mina's eyes puckered up; then her face grew gende with a smile of great charm. Tossing the towel aside, she went over impulsively and put her hand on Hilary's arm.

'Whatever happens,' she said, 'thanks, anyway. You've been very decent to me, both of you. And you, Hilary: I don't know what I'd have done without you. Cooking the meals! And even washing the dishes!'

'A terrible job,' said Hilary dryly. 'A perfectly back-breaking job. It quite wore me out. What on earth do you do when you're off on one of these heathenish trips of yours and there isn't anybody to wash the dishes ?’

'Oh, I pay somebody to do it,' said Mina with a certain vagueness. 'Saves time and trouble, you see.' Her tone changed. 'But don't you worry about me, my dear. I shall be quite all right, too all right. I'm looking forward to it. That is, if I can persuade the toad Pennik to stay too.'

'Pennik?'

'That's right.'

'But I thought-'

'I want to talk to Sir Henry Merrivale,' Mina went on. 'Then we shall see what we shall see. Now get out of here, please, both of you; and let me dress. There!'

She impelled them out with the briskness of one who was again on the edge of a breakdown, and the door closed noisily. Sanders was not sorry to go. He had certain things to say to Hilary; and yet he found that he would have difficulty in saying them.

The hall was very dark except for the line of great pale-glowing coloured-glass windows descending beside the staircase. They seemed even loftier, the curve of a shell; it was like being inside a warm kaleidoscope. 'And twilight saints and dim emblazonings' was the thought that occurred to him while he and Hilary walked down the stairs side by side on the thick carpet. The other words still stuck in his throat; and Hilary talked.

'You can't speak to her frankly. That's the real trouble. You either can't get past her guard at all, into what she's really thinking -'

'Who?'

'Mina, of course! Or else she becomes almost theatrically literary. There's truth on both sides of it, maybe, but how I wish I knew what was really going on here!'

'Hilary.'

'Yes?'

'Why didn't you tell me the truth about Pennik being in your room on Friday night ?'·

They both stopped. They had gone about ten steps down; above and behind them they could hear the grandfather clock ticking. He was afraid the people in the drawing-room below would hear them. 'Come here,' he said, and drew her farther back up the stairs. She did not resist; her arm felt flaccid under his grip.

Presently a quiet voice asked: 'What makes you think I didn't tell you the truth ?’

'Larry Chase saw him coming out, just before you got in through my window. Chase has told the police about it: that's what they want to see you about now. The point is, there's no harm in it. What they want to know is what frightened you so much. But he was there, wasn't he?'

He felt her draw a deep breath.

'Yes,' said Hilary. 'He was there.'

CHAPTER X

'Then why didn't you tell me?'

She was taking refuge: this time in an affected whimsicality which she sustained admirably but which was all wrong. He felt that. After a kind of Victorian curtsey she sat down on the tread of the stairs, clasped her arms round her knees, and looked up at him. In the dimness of coloured glass her expression might have meant anything.

"And why should I tell you, sir?" she said,' inquired Hilary, wagging her head.

'Come off that.'

'Perhaps there are things that a supremely innocent-minded young man ought not to know.'

'Perhaps. But the supremely innocent-minded police are going to cut up rough if they don't know. That's what I'm getting at.'

'Are you threatening me?'

'Look here, Hilary,' he said, sitting down on the tread beside her. 'You're talking exactly like the heroine of a bad thriller. Getting all up in arms and on your dignity, and concealing some trifle for no reason under the sun. The police are interested in Pennik and any movement he made. I'm interested for a different reason. What was it Pennik did to you that scared you so much?'

'What do you think? ... Oh, there you go; like the hero of a bad thriller. Do you think I wanted it shouted all over the place? Do you think any woman wants a fuss made about a thing like that, setting everybody by the ears? That is, unless she's a certain kind of woman - and there is a word for them. Much better to go on and pretend nothing has happened. It -'

Then Hilary's mood changed. Sanders felt her shiver.

'As a matter of fact, you're quite right,' she said. ‘There was something else. And the poor man didn't even touch me.'

"The poor man?'"

Hilary leaned back under the tall window, her head back against the ledge and her body relaxed. 'Tell me,' she said, suddenly. "This girl you're going to marry, this Miss Blystone. What is she like? Go on: tell me.' There was almost a nagging in her voice. ·But-'

'Please tell me.'

'Well... I think she's a little like you.' 'How?'

In his mind there was a remembrance of a steamer's whistle blowing; the sun on the white castle-towers of a liner; a crowd in which Marcia Blystone bobbed about, confusedly trying to say good-bye to everybody. Kessler must have been one of those on deck.

'I don't know; what brought this up? She's less mature than you are. More - sprightly,' he said it because he hated the word. 'Good fun on a party, and a good conversationalist. She's light where I'm stodgy.'

'What does she look like?'

'She's smaller than you are, and more slender. Brown eyes. She's an artist.' That must be very interesting.' 'It is.'

'Do you love her ?'

(At the back of his mind he had been expecting this.) 'Yes, of course.'

For a moment Hilary remained where she was. 'Of course you do,' she said, sitting up and speaking rather quickly. 'And that's why we can be good friends, can't we?'

'We are good friends.'

'Yes; I meant -' She stopped. All pretence of either Victorian coquetry or nagging seemed a mood; it was gone in a flash; she went on quietly, but with desperate seriousness. 'Listen. A minute ago you accused me of talking like a heroine in a thriller. I used to laugh at such things too; but in a way that is exactly how I feel. Master-Mind Chases Girl. What happened two nights ago isn't worth twopence compared to Mr Constable's death. But in its way it was horrible. Herman Pennik isn't really evil; he's only dangerous. I'm not going to tell them everything, because I don't want it bruited about that - well, never mind. The trouble is that if I do tell them everything I'll be accused of holding things back; and if I don't tell them everything I can't have any protection. For the first time in my life since I used to get put in a dark room when I was a child, I'm afraid; really and genuinely afraid; and I've got to have someone to stand by me. You'll stand by me, won't you? You will stand by me?'

'You know I will. Hilary -'

He was interrupted.

In the gulf of the hall below a line of light slanted out. There was a scuffle and bump of feet, an oath, and the shaking thud of a potted palm toppling over in the hall.

'If you'd just take the trouble to look for the light-switch, sir!' said an exasperated voice. 'Excuse me, but if you wouldn't go mucking about until you know where things are, then you wouldn't knock things over.'

'What d'ye think I am, a goddam owl?' shouted a still more heated voice. 'Burn me, Masters, if you think you can see in the dark you come and look for it. I know what I'm doin', don't I ? Aha! Got it!'

There was a click; and, as Hilary and Sanders jumped guiltily to their feet, the whole hall was illuminated and showed them. It also illuminated their faces, which were revealing to H. M. and Masters staring up from below.

'Oh,' grunted H. M. without further comment. He lumbered up the stairs. 'Evenin',' he went on. 'Are you Joe Keen's daughter?'

Hilary nodded without speaking.

'I knew your father years ago. Good egg, old Joe was,' said H. M. He sniffed. 'I say, the chief inspector down there wants to ask you some questions. Mind goin' along? No, son.' He touched Sanders's arm. 'You come with me. I want to be introduced to Mrs Constable.'

Again Hilary nodded coolly.

'I'm quite ready,' she answered, looking at her wrist-watch. 'But I hope it won't be too long. I've got to-night's dinner to prepare.'

She ran lightly down the stairs, while Masters assumed a stern and stuffed look. Lawrence Chase, who glanced out into the hall at that moment, began to whistle between his teeth. And Sanders went on upstairs with H. M. The latter did not say anything: he only looked.

Yet even in a state of discomfort Sanders knew that all this display could not have been for the benefit of Hilary and himself. There was something else in the wind. What it was he discovered almost as soon as H. M. was presented to Mina.

Mina met them wearing a brown dress and a certain cold poise.

'I was just coming downstairs,' she told them, closing the door. 'But perhaps it will do just as well here. Do sit down. Then we can get to business.'

'Ma'am,' began H. M., with that elephantine delicacy which could be as overpowering as his luridest rages, 'ma'am, I'm not glad to be here.'

'But I am delighted that you can be here,' smiled Mina, dabbing powder off her neck. Her eyes brightened. 'I only wish you could have come - earlier. You're not staying with us?’

It sounded grotesque, but H. M. only shook his head.

'No, ma'am. I told you I could only look in for the day. But' - he lowered himself very carefully into a chair, putting both hands on its arms; and he scowled over his spectacles -'but, d'ye see, they tell me you wanted to speak to me, anyway. And so I sort of thought I could put some questions to you that'd come easier from me than from Masters. They're rather awkward questions, ma'am.'

'Ask any questions you like, do.'

'Well ... now. Is it true your husband had thought for some time you were tryin' to kill him?' 'Who told you that? Larry Chase?' H. M. made a gesture.

'He didn't exactly tell us. It sort of came bubblin' up out of the pure and undefiled well. Is it true ?' . There was only one light on in the room, the lamp by the bedside, and this was behind her head. But she choked with something like laughter.

'No, no, no, no! It's so utterly absurd that I can't tell you how ridiculous it is. But why must Larry say that? He knows better. Still, he didn't actually say it, I suppose. It was only poor Sam's idea of a joke.'

'That's a pretty serious subject to joke about, ma'am.'.

She was again all glitter and brightness. Sanders, watching, felt that she held (or thought she held) the other sword in a duel.

'Not really. You see,' she half smiled, 'I write things.' 'I know.'

'Oh, that's good. You see, I only once wrote a straight detective story, which was most unmercifully slated, anyway; but in the other ones I nearly always put in some kind of mysterious or violent death. Sam,' she kept her eyes steady, 'Sam said I had a criminal mind. I said, on the contrary, it was a cheerful and healthy sign; I said it was the people who kept it bottled up that had the criminal minds. It was just his joke that I might want to murder him.'

'And that worried you sometimes?'

'No; never.' She looked surprised.

'I was just thinkin'... where do you get the material for all these reelin' mysterious deaths?'

'Oh, people tell you things. And there's a lot of material in the Egyptian and medieval records. And then, of course, I keep a scrap-book. I called it New Ways of Committing Murder'

Even H. M. blinked a little at this. Poker-players at the Diogenes Club have found any attempt to read his face a highly unprofitable occupation; but a very queer and fishy expression was on it now. He folded his hands over his stomach and twiddled die thumbs.

'So ? A scrap-book, hey ? It must make interestin' reading, Mrs Constable.'

'No. Not any more, please God,' said Mina, gripping her own hands together. 'I burnt it yesterday. I am through for ever with thinking about all such things, even in books.'

She bent forward.

'Sir Henry, I don't know whether they have told you why I was so anxious to see you. I do admire you. I really do - that's not a social compliment. I know all your cases, as far back as the Darworth business in '30 and that film-star's murder at the Christmas of '31 and the poisoned room at Lord Mantling's. I don't think they appreciate you enough. I've often said they should have given you a peerage.'

H. M. turned a rich, ripe purple.

'And what I like so much;' Mina went on, oblivious, 'is the way you can put your hand through brick walls and show that the bogles were only turnip-ghosts. We need that sort of thing; we need it!. That's why I am appealing to you on grounds that I hope will make you help me. I want you to expose Herman Pennik. I want you to nail him down and see that he gets what he deserves: hanging, if possible. Have you met Pennik?'