The first reaction to Leonidas’ announcement came, oddly enough, from the Reverend Doctor Absolon, so comfortably relaxed over his port and his cigar. It took the form, indeed, of no more than a flicker of the eyebrows, directed at Appleby. For a moment Appleby supposed that what was being suggested was merely a sense of mild amusement at a form of words which might have been deemed more appropriate to the movements of a duke or marquess than of one so addicted as Adrian Snodgrass appeared to be to the role of a very private gentleman. But then Appleby divined that it was something quite different that Absolon wanted to convey. Leonidas, he was indicating, had taken the identity of the new arrival for granted. Adrian Snodgrass was totally unknown to him, so here might be, as it were, the Tichborne Claimant in person. And the Claimant had won his first small round. A preliminary assumption was established. Professor Snodgrass had only to behave in as dotty a fashion as he appeared abundantly capable of, and the fellow might get away with goodness knew what.
But Absolon was very tolerably dotty himself. Beneficed clergymen of the Church of England ought not to drift around scattering bizarre suspicions among their parishioners. And the suspicion was, of course, fantastic. Something quite sufficiently surprising had happened. Adrian Snodgrass was indeed in residence.
‘Quite so,’ the Professor was saying. ‘Precisely so, Leonidas. My guest and I heard Mr Snodgrass arrive. You have presented yourself?’
‘Yes, sir. I came over to the Park at the time you directed, and very shortly afterwards Mr Snodgrass rang the dining-room bell. I found him at table, sir. I uncorked the champagne.’
‘Excellent! And he appears to be in good spirits?’
‘Decidedly, sir. Most affable, he was. A jocose gentleman, if the word may be permitted me. I followed your instructions, explained that I was in your service at the Old Dower House, and that you had said I was to venture to wait upon him. He asked at once if I would consider being employed by himself at what he termed a stiffer screw. I took this as evidence of a facetious disposition. He then told me to put a second bottle of champagne on the ice.’
‘The devil he did!’ It was Dr Absolon who uttered this unclerical ejaculation. ‘Well, well!’
‘The which I did at once.’ Leonidas looked with a kind of respectful disapproval at the vicar. ‘I presume Mr Snodgrass had it in mind that he would presently be joined by the Professor. In fact, he indicated as much.’
‘Good!’ Professor Snodgrass said. ‘Capital! Just what did he say, Leonidas?’
‘Verbatim, sir?’
‘Certainly verbatim. I am most anxious to hear the dear lad’s words.’
‘He said, sir, to send the old fellow along at any time. I understand myself to be following the injunction – if that be an agreeable term, sir – now.’
Not unnaturally, this piece of information produced a small pause. Appleby wondered whether Professor Snodgrass was experiencing a certain difficulty in swallowing it. He also conjectured that Leonidas had taken the suggestion of changed employment and a higher wage seriously. This would account for a certain cautiously menial insolence which the bearded butler was permitting himself.
‘Adrian appears affectionately disposed,’ Absolon offered dryly. ‘He does not propose to stand upon ceremony.’
‘But first,’ Leonidas continued with satisfaction, ‘he invited me to take a glass of madeira. I was honoured, and complied.’
‘Quite right,’ Professor Snodgrass said. ‘The gesture was a very proper one on my nephew’s part. Did he say anything else, Leonidas?’
‘Well, yes.’ Very rapidly, Leonidas gave his employer what Appleby found himself judging a wary glance. ‘He asked me whether I knew who the girl was.’
‘The girl, Leonidas!’
‘He said he had glimpsed a female person, sir. As he entered the house.’
‘Did he happen to say anything,’ Appleby interposed, ‘about the female person’s being in white?’
‘No.’ Leonidas looked at Appleby with open disapprobation. ‘Mr Snodgrass did not animadvert upon the person’s attire.’
‘Have you yourself glimpsed this woman?’
‘No.’
‘Or anybody else, since you came over to the Park?’
For a moment Leonidas made no reply. Instead, he looked at his employer as if reproaching him for having suddenly descended to keeping low company. Then he brought himself again to glance at Appleby.
‘No,’ Leonidas said.
There was another pause.
‘Dr Absolon,’ the Professor said pacifically to his butler, ‘has been aware of what might be called suspicious movements out in the park. And so, it appears, nearer the house, has Sir John Appleby. Sir John, by the way, Leonidas, is a new neighbour. It is a little worrying, you know. We did have that alarm at this time last year. But, of course, the lights keep actual burglars, and so forth, away.’
‘I am afraid that has never been my opinion, sir. Contrariwise, indeed.’ Leonidas’ disaffection appeared to be growing. ‘A residence like this, all lit up and deserted, has never made sense to me, I’m bound to say. I wouldn’t do it myself, not for a single night, I wouldn’t, not for a waggon-load of nephews, or monkeys either. It’s asking for suspicious happenings, it is. And when suspicious happenings happen, it’s the servants that get the worst of it. In good service, such oughtn’t to happen at all. To my mind, if I may be permitted to obtrude such a thing.’
This highly improper speech naturally produced adverse reactions in the three gentlemen to whom, indifferently, it had been proffered. Dr Absolon’s glance contrived to express the conviction that, if one did employ a pampered butler, it was exactly this sort of impertinence that one must expect sooner or later. Appleby found himself wondering whether here was not so much a pampered butler as a clever rogue. And Professor Snodgrass himself appeared to feel that some mild rebuke was requisite.
‘Thank you, Leonidas, you may go,’ Professor Snodgrass said – for all the world like an employer in a Victorian novel. ‘In fact, you may retire to bed.’
It is probable that, upon this command, Leonidas gave a cold bow. But only probable, since nobody was ever actually to know. For, much as if the Professor’s words had been a cue-line in some old-fashioned melodrama, they had been instantly followed by a sudden deluge of darkness. The library remained, indeed, faintly lit by the dying fire. But throughout the room, as also in the corridor beyond the open door where Leonidas still stood, every light had been simultaneously extinguished. All Ledward Park was again as Appleby had first encountered it: a mere realm of Chaos and Old Night. Of Chaos in particular. For upon the inky gloom there immediately succeeded what might have been a nicely calculated crescendo of alarming, even of spine-chilling, sounds. First there was an angry shout, then pounding feet, a crash of splintering glass, a woman’s high-pitched scream, the shattering reverberation of a firearm discharged in a confined space. And then silence was entire again.