As they entered the library, the windows creaked ominously and the lights flickered. Everybody was already there – no, not everybody – Doctor Klein was missing, Antonia noticed.
Semi-darkness, dark wallpaper, dark drapes. Only the gold script on the crowded book spines glimmered.
The body lay on its back on the shabby tiger hearthrug. There was someone kneeling beside it, John de Coverley, the victim’s brother.
A rather theatrical kind of tableau, Antonia thought.
‘I am not sure, but I believe she is dead,’ John de Coverley said in a hoarse voice. ‘Where’s that doctor? We need a doctor. Why isn’t he here when he is needed?’
‘Will someone kindly inform me what’s going on? Have we all stepped through the looking glass? It isn’t supposed to happen like this at all, you know that perfectly well,’ Lady Grylls spoke in an imperious voice.
‘Sybil is dead,’ John de Coverley said.
‘She can’t be. It’s too early.’
‘Don’t touch anything,’ Major Payne said automatically, though he knew it was a bit too late for that.
‘She seems to have been strangled with the curtain cord.’ John de Coverley’s right hand flew up to his eyes and a sob escaped his lips. He rose. He winced. He clutched at his side. ‘Sorry – my back – old injury – always gets bad each time there’s a crisis. Sorry – I need to sit down. Old injury.’ He collapsed into one of the fraying tapestry-covered armchairs.
Payne eyed him speculatively. Where was it he had he heard something about backache? He asked for more light, then walked up to the body and bent over it.
The curtain cord was deeply embedded into the folds of Sybil’s neck. The flesh around it was swollen, reddish-blue – so was the face – distorted, almost unrecognisable – the mouth was gaping open – the tongue protruded from between the teeth. He touched her wrist, then his hand went up to her neck. The skin felt rubbery under his fingers.
‘Where the heck is Klein?’ he heard Oswald Ramskritt say to Ella. ‘He’s your buddy, you should know.’
‘He is in his room. I believe he is ill.’
‘Oh how convenient!’
‘I think it’s serious.’
‘I knew it would end in tears,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘Something told me it would end in tears.’
Payne took his time. He was taking no chances. He still couldn’t quite believe that this wasn’t all part of the Murder Game that was being staged in their honour …
The body was still warm but it was limp and no pulse could be detected.
Payne then noticed that Sybil’s left hand was clenched in a fist. Something was protruding from between the fingers. Black silk cord – thinner and finer than the curtain cord –
With some effort Payne managed to open the fingers. There was something clutched between them – something round and flat –
He looked up. His eyes fixed on the desk.
‘My love, would you –?’
Antonia seemed to know exactly what he wanted her to do. Silently she walked up to the desk and examined the drawer.
‘Forced open. Badly splintered,’ she said. She wrapped her hand with her handkerchief, stooped over and picked up a bronze paper knife from the floor. One or two wood fibres still clung to it. She held it up within Payne’s view.
‘I see.’ He nodded. ‘Someone was in an awful hurry.’
Sybil de Coverley had been about to unlock the drawer which, she said, contained what she imagined was vital evidence. Sybil had been about to reveal to them the identity of the would-be killer. But hadn’t that been part of the murder mystery they were expected to solve? Where did the game end and the real murder begin?
‘Is my sister dead? Really dead?’ John spoke from the armchair, his hand covering his eyes.
‘I am afraid she is.’
‘But why – why would anyone want to kill Miss de Coverley?’ Mrs Garrison-Gore spoke in a choked voice.
Payne cocked an eyebrow. ‘You don’t know?’
She reeled back. She might have been struck by a bullet. ‘Of course not! This has nothing to do with me. Nothing at all.’
‘It was you who organised the Murder Game. You wrote the script, didn’t you? It was you who decided where and when Sybil’s body was to be discovered. In the Murder Game you have been playing,’ Payne went on slowly, ‘Sybil was going to be killed because she knew the identity of a would-be killer. That’s correct, isn’t it? No point denying it. We know all about it.’
‘Don’t look at me! I didn’t tell them. I am not a snitch,’ Lady Grylls wheezed. ‘They worked it out. They are awfully clever, I keep telling you.’
‘But maybe this has nothing to do with the Murder Game,’ said Payne. ‘Sybil was killed for real, brutally strangled. We must call the police at once.’
‘That could be a little difficult,’ Oswald Ramskritt said. Antonia had the impression he was suppressing a smile. ‘The phone is not working. There’s no network, so our mobiles are no good either. And it would be impossible to navigate the mainland. The sea’s like a seething cauldron – can’t you hear it?’
Major Payne locked the library door and put the key in his pocket. ‘No, impossible. Out of the question,’ he said.
John de Coverley went on pleading with him in an urgent whisper. ‘I know this kind of thing doesn’t often happen in real life, maybe not at all, but I beg you to investigate my sister’s murder. I beg you.’
‘Impossible.’
‘Please.’
‘Out of the question,’ Payne said again. ‘This is not a game. Not any longer. This is a matter for the police.’
‘Can’t call the police. Landline not working. No network either.’
‘Ramskritt could go to the mainland in his yacht.’
‘He said he couldn’t. You heard him – the sea’s like a seething cauldron and so on. Besides,’ John de Coverley said, ‘I am damned if I’ll let that fellow out of my sight. He’d probably skedaddle.’
‘Why should he?’ Payne cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you suggesting it was he who strangled your sister?’
‘No, of course not. Sorry. I don’t care much for him, that’s all. Sometimes a chap takes against a fellow for no apparent reason.’
‘Couldn’t you brave the waves? We were given to understand you were a first-class sailor.’
‘Were you? Good heavens. Someone must have got hold of the wrong end of the stick. I am afraid I know nothing about boats – complete wash-out as a sailor – get most awfully seasick. So you see, you’ve got to investigate. You are our only hope. You and your charming wife. You’ve had experience in matters of violent death. You know exactly what’s to be done. Your aunt told us all about it.’
‘My aunt often gets frightfully muddled –’
‘She said you knew the kind of questions that should be asked,’ John de Coverley persisted. ‘She said you knew what to look out for. How to set about things. I am sure you can find the killer before the police come. You can begin by checking everybody’s alibi –’
‘That would be highly irregular.’
‘The killer is clearly one of us – well, it isn’t me, but it’s one of the people staying under this roof.’ John de Coverley counted on his fingers. ‘Ramskritt, Ella, Maisie, Doctor Klein, Mrs Garrison-Gore. No one seems to have any idea where Doctor Klein has disappeared to.’ He frowned. ‘What’s the point of having a doctor in the house when he vanishes into thin air just when his services are most in demand? Perhaps you should consider Doctor Klein with extra care.’
‘You think I should?’
They were still standing in the corridor outside the library door. Payne had crossed his arms. He had asked everybody else, including Antonia, to go to the drawing room.
‘I’d hate to prejudice you in one way or another, but there’s something damned peculiar about Doctor Klein. I can’t quite say what, though … I think we could eliminate your aunt from the list of suspects.’
‘Indeed we could. Jolly decent of you to say so.’ I am giving stock responses, Payne thought. Part of me continues to treat this as a game. My mind seems unable to grasp the fact that there has been a murder in the house.
‘I believe your aunt was with you, wasn’t she? I mean at the crucial time?’
‘That is correct. We were in the drawing room. We never for a moment lost sight of my aunt. My aunt is as innocent as the sacrificial lamb.’ I shouldn’t be flippant, Payne reminded himself. ‘Are you sure there is no one else in the house?’
‘Positive. No one but us ten – no, nine – keep forgetting poor Sybil’s gone. You don’t suppose someone is hiding somewhere? We could conduct a search, of course, should you insist, but it would be a waste of time. There are no priests’ holes anywhere in the house, if that’s what you’re thinking. Wrong period. No underground tunnels connecting the island with the mainland either, though, during the war, papa seriously considered the possibility. I am sure it would have cost him a pretty penny.’
Payne said that neither his wife nor he had any legal right to ask anyone any questions.
‘But it could be days before we manage to inform the police!’ John de Coverley cried in tones of despair. ‘We are cut off. Completely cut off. And one of us is a killer!’
There was a pause. Payne watched him thoughtfully as he tried to fix his monocle in his eye.
‘Why do you bother?’ Payne’s voice suddenly sounded weary. ‘It is only plain glass. Unlike this one –’
With the air of a magician who is performing a well-known and rather tedious trick which he wants to finish fast before moving on to something of more general interest, Major Payne produced an almost identical-looking eyeglass attached to a piece of black silk ribbon. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is the real thing.’
His host’s face, he noticed with interest, became utterly blank, not merely expressionless but deserted – as if there was no one behind it. And when he spoke, it was in a voice that was a little different from the one he had been employing so far. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘It was clutched in her hand.’
‘In my sister’s hand?’
‘Yes,’ Payne said. ‘Even though she is not your sister. Let’s go to the drawing room, shall we? What I want to know is where exactly the Murder Game ends and the real murder starts – or could the two be in some way bizarrely entangled?’