CHAPTER ELEVEN

GREENSEA HOUSE

 

Forbes and Temple began to make plans immediately. It was decided that Steve and her husband should be accompanied by Forbes, Ross, Bradley and the inevitable Storey, all travelling in the largest of the cars which would accommodate the entire party. After some discussion, Sir Graham agreed it was best that Temple and Steve should visit the house alone, the others remaining within easy call. As Steve pointed out, Sir Felix had invited her to drop in at any time. On the other hand, the presence of police officers would most certainly put Sir Felix on his guard and possibly close all future avenues of approach, whether the visit proved fruitless or not. So it was agreed that Temple should carry a police whistle in case of extreme emergency, and the Yard men would be within earshot.

Following the landlord’s directions, they had little difficulty in finding Greensea House before dusk fell. The name was painted on the large gates at the entrance, and Forbes steered the car on to the grass verge at the side of the road under some overhanging trees. As the engine wheezed into silence, the Chief Commissioner asked:

“Have you decided what you’re going to say to Sir Felix?”

“Yes,” amplified Storey. “You can’t just mention casually that you’ve dropped in for a cup of tea.” He was doing his best to be helpful, for he felt that his presence was not altogether welcome. In fact, he had had to exert considerable persuasive powers to cajole Forbes into allowing him to join the party.

“On the other hand,” said Steve, “we can’t ask Sir Felix if his house happens to be The Marquis’ headquarters.”

“Leave it to me,” said Temple, “I daresay I’ll think of something.”

“All the same, Steve,” declared Sir Graham, with some emphasis, “if you as much as set eyes on one of those men who came for you this afternoon, give Temple the tip right away, and I’ll have a warrant out for Sir Felix immediately.”

They got out of the car and began to look round. There was a nip of frost in the air, and the moon was rising above the mist, giving it a strange luminous quality. It was almost dark now, but they could just discern the shadowy outline of the house through the trees.

“Pretty impressive-looking place,” commented Forbes. “Sir Felix must have a hefty income to keep two large houses going. I didn’t know Egyptology paid such good dividends.”

“Baronets do occasionally inherit money with their title,” Temple reminded him.

“H’m, yes, I suppose so. Oh well, better be moving. We’ll get behind those laurels in the drive and keep out of sight. Mr. and Mrs. Temple will walk up the drive in the ordinary way.”

“Give us a quarter-of-an-hour, Sir Graham,” said Temple, “then if you don’t hear from us …”

“We’ll storm the bastille!” said Roger.

“Righto,” laughed Temple. “Though on second thoughts, you’d better make it twenty minutes – the drive seems a fair length, and it’ll probably take an extra five minutes before we—er—make contact.”

“Twenty minutes then,” promised Forbes. “Good luck!”

Paul Temple and Steve set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the house. The mist was patchy, but they managed to find their way to the front door without making use of their torch. Finally, they had to use it, however, in an effort to discover the bell.

During their search, they heard a sound which caused Steve to pause for a moment and grip Temple’s arm: through the stillness of the evening came the strange eerie howling of a bloodhound. It began with a deep bay, and ended on a prolonged wailing note.

“We seem to have been provided with appropriate sound effects,” commented Temple, and Steve forced a smile.

They listened in silence. After a few minutes, the noise stopped, and Temple turned his attention to the door again. The narrowly-focussed beam from the electric torch flickered across the front of the house.

“There doesn’t seem to be a knocker, only a letter-box,” he whispered. Neither was there any sign of a bell. Temple was about to rattle the letter-box and in doing so he pressed against the door.

“By Timothy! It’s open!” he exclaimed in surprise.

He was pushing it open wider, but Steve laid a hand on his arm.

“Darling—we can’t go in,” she breathed.

“Keep your torch handy,” he replied, “and don’t be scared, Steve!”

“Paul, do be careful!”

Temple took Steve’s arm, and focussing the torch ahead, they advanced slowly into the stone-flagged hall; a grandfather clock ticked with measured beat and a slight clanking of the pendulum sounded almost deafening in the intense silence.

“I’m sure we shouldn’t—” Steve was starting to protest, when Temple interrupted her by calling out: “Hello there! Anybody at home?”

His voice died abruptly into echoes.

“H’m, it seems deserted,” he murmured.

“Don’t you think we ought to get back to Sir Graham and—”

“All right,” he agreed, “we’ll just take a look in here first.” He opened a door on the left and swept his torch round the room. It was furnished in very much the style Temple had expected. There were several Hepplewhite chairs and a quaint writing bureau in the far corner.

“Empty,” he pronounced, laconically. “Looks like the morning room.”

“What a lovely old coffee set in that cupboard,” said Steve. “I’m sure it’s Wedgwood.”

“Speaking as an interested layman, I should say you were right.”

Temple crossed the room, leaving Steve standing somewhere near the door. He was moving very silently on rubber-soled shoes, and had switched off his torch. The moon was shining through one of the windows, lighting up one corner as its beams came obliquely across the room, throwing the rest of it into rather more intense shadow.

“Don’t do that, darling, you made me jump,” said Steve, suddenly. She had her back to the room, and was trying to examine the corner cupboard.

Temple looked round in surprise.

“What d’you mean?” he asked.

“You touched my hand, dear.”

Temple made an involuntary movement.

“I could hardly have done that when I was over here, quite ten feet away.”

“But you’re touching it now,” protested Steve, from the gloomy corner where she was standing.

Temple swung the torch full on her, and had some difficulty in restraining a gasp.

“For God’s sake don’t move!” he breathed.

“What is it? Paul, what is it?”

“Don’t move, Steve! Don’t move!” he repeated, in even tones. He was trying not to alarm her. He half-turned away from her, took out his automatic and aimed very carefully at two beady eyes in the V-shaped head of the snake which was sliding over the arm of a chair.

Steve watched in terrific fascination. The snake withdrew its head suddenly, and Temple had to move to a fresh position. The light of the torch seemed to dazzle the reptile. He was taking careful aim again when the room was suddenly flooded with light, and Temple swung round abruptly. At the door stood Sir Felix Reybourn, with Mrs. Clarence hovering in the background.

“Oh dear, it’s that Tina again!” said the housekeeper, in some annoyance. She crossed over towards the snake, which vanished under a sofa.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Temple,” said Reybourn reassuringly. “Tina is quite harmless, though she will roam about in awkward places!”

With a smile Temple replaced his automatic pistol.

“Now come along, Tina,” admonished Mrs. Clarence. She began making soothing noises, and eventually ran the reptile to earth in a corner, where – to Steve’s bewilderment – she calmly picked it up and carried the snake out of the room.

Open-mouthed, Steve watched her, and when she had gone, sighed audibly in relief.

“I’m sorry if Tina upset you, Mrs. Temple,” Sir Felix apologised. “I keep a lot of pets, you know, down here. Most of them are quite harmless, but perhaps a little terrifying.”

“Surely she’s a viper,” said Temple.

“Oh yes—one of the most dangerous till her fangs were extracted. But she’s amazingly tame nowadays. Sensitive too. I daresay she was just as scared as you were!” He laughed somewhat deprecatingly.

“By jove, you must think me quite a character! I’m a zoologist in my spare time, you know, Mrs. Temple, so that accounts for the strange collection of friends. Shall we go into the drawing-room? There’s a fire in there.”

He led the way, letting them pass out of the room before him. As he paused at the door to switch off the light, a thought obviously occurred to him.

“Oh Mr. Temple, forgive my asking, but how did you manage to get into the house?”

Somewhat taken aback, Temple hesitated, and it was left to Steve to fill the breach. She smiled disarmingly.

“It was very presumptuous of us, Sir Felix, but the front door was partly open, and we couldn’t make anyone hear.”

“Open?” repeated Reybourn, in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” said Temple. “See—it’s still open—”

Sir Felix crossed to the door, peered out for a moment, then closed it.

“That’s very extraordinary. I don’t see how it could have happened.”

“Have you been away from the house very long?”

“Yes, it must be at least an hour and a half,” calculated Sir Felix, thoughtfully. “After we left you at the inn, Mrs. Temple, we came straight back here, then we went on to Ferndale Court, Lord Breckton’s place. He’s an old crony of mine, who lives about half-a-mile away. We left there about—well—fifteen minutes ago I should think.”

“I suppose Lord Breckton could verify that,” suggested Temple.

Reybourn seemed faintly annoyed.

“Of course he could verify it – if you consider that necessary,” he replied, rather petulantly.

“It may be necessary,” answered Temple, slowly.

“What d’you mean?” demanded Reybourn, the colour mounting to his sallow features.

Temple pointed to a dark, moist stain that was visible near the door.

Reybourn stooped and examined it. He touched it with his finger then slowly recoiled.

“Good God, it’s blood!” he cried. There was no mistaking the panic in his voice. “But—but how could blood get there?”

Temple leaned against an antique oak chest.

“Now Sir Felix, let us be quite honest with each other. What does that suggest to you?”

Sir Felix’s brow was corrugated in deep thought.

“Well,” he said at last, “it looks to me as if someone has been badly hurt and then taken through the front door and out of the house.”

“Just so,” Temple nodded. He paused before adding as he looked full into Reybourn’s eyes: “Did you take anyone out of the house tonight, Sir Felix?”

The Egyptologist backed in alarm.

“No! No! I swear I never—”

He was interrupted by a sudden shriek, which was repeated almost immediately. Then there was a sound of footsteps, a door was flung open and Mrs. Clarence came rushing into the hall in a state of great agitation.

“Sir Felix!” she screamed.

“My dear Mrs. Clarence, whatever’s the matter?” He went over and supported her.

“I—I—was drawing the curtains in the library,” she panted, “and … and … “

“Easy now, Mrs. Clarence. Take your time!”

“I must be seeing things, Sir Felix!” she gasped.

“Please tell us what you saw, Mrs. Clarence,” urged Temple.

She clutched a corner of her apron.

“I happened to look through the library window. It’s bright moonlight outside now, and … oh, Sir Felix, there’s a body out there!”

She collapsed into hysterics.

“Look after her, Steve,” said Temple, quickly. “Come on, Sir Felix – which is the best way?”

“Through the front door—it’s only round the bend!”

In a few seconds they were standing beneath the library window.

The man was lying face downwards.

“Poor devil,” murmured Reybourn, “Is he…?”

Temple stooped. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he presently announced.

“Oh, my God,” said Reybourn softly.

Temple switched his torch full on the features of the dead man.

“Have you seen this man before, Sir Felix?”

“No—honestly I haven’t,” replied the other, in earnest tones. “I’ve never set eyes on him in my life.” He seemed very upset, but presently asked: “Have you any idea who he is, Mr. Temple?”

“I have,” said Temple shortly.

He switched off the torch.

“His name is Derek Slater.”