Chapter Eight

A Flash of Green

Mannering switched on his headlights as he drew near the drive gates, and they reflected from the windows of the lodge, showing that the gates were wide open. He swung the wheel, and they turned into the drive, passing the lodge, outside which stood a man and a woman, the lodge-keepers. Then Mannering saw the approaching car, and dipped his headlights.

“I wonder who that is,” said Lorna.

“Might be anyone,” said Mannering absently. “They do have visitors—Maggie sees to that. She’s probably been trying to cheer Gloria up again.”

Lorna didn’t speak.

The other car drew near, and they saw that it was a Rolls-Royce, with a man at the wheel but no other occupants. They passed. Mannering put his foot down on the accelerator; there was still nearly half a mile to go, and the drive sloped upwards. Only three lights shone at the great pile of the house, and he looked towards it, impressed, as always, by its massiveness and grandeur.

Then he saw Gloria.

He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye; she was running towards the drive. She was very near, and running fast. Suddenly she dashed within the radius of the headlights, and they could both see her face, distorted as with terror, her mouth wide open. She was running straight at them – but whether deliberately or because she was running away from some unseen terror, there was no way of telling.

Mannering swung the wheel.

A flash of vivid green was topped by Gloria’s dark hair.

The nearside wheel ran up the verge, the car tipped over. Mannering applied the brakes, slowly – he mustn’t stop suddenly, or they might turn over.

The girl was only a few yards away.

Suddenly she flung herself forward, on to the verge, as if trying to get beneath the wheels. He turned the wheel again, and felt a bump. He was travelling at only five or six miles an hour, but the bump had sounded sickeningly, and shook the car. Lorna exclaimed. Mannering put on the handbrake, and flung open the door.

Gloria was lying in a heap near the back wheel.

“Is she?” began Lorna, then broke off.

Mannering went down on one knee, and took the girl’s hands. He could see no blood. She was only an inch or two from the wheel; it might have struck her and thrown her to one side; there might be internal injuries. She was unconscious and motionless. He looked round, seeing a thing which sent a wave of relief running through him; the stump of a tree.

They had run over that, not over Gloria.

He examined her arms, shoulders, her head; she didn’t appear to have been touched by the car.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Lorna’s voice was taut.

“Yes, there’s no damage.”

They could see Gloria clearly in the light of the great lamps. She was breathing evenly, peacefully; relaxed, now. There was a rent in the hem of her dress, which showed one leg halfway up the thigh, and the French knickers she was wearing. He lifted and carried her to the back of the car. Lorna held the door open, and Mannering propped the girl up on the back seat, one end of which was piled with luggage.

“Shall I move that?” asked Lorna.

“No, she’ll be all right until we get her indoors.”

He switched on the roof-light of the car and studied Gloria more closely. Then he closed the door, and glanced towards the house. Lights now blazed from the Hall, and he saw Wirral coming towards him at a waddling kind of run, and Lady Bream descending the stone steps of the terrace. He waved to her, hoping to reassure her. As he did so, a little man in his shirt-sleeves popped out of the surrounding gloom.

“Is she hurt, sir?”

Mannering looked round and saw the groom.

“No, she’s all right.”

“God be thanked,” said the groom. “Can I help at all, sir?”

Mannering hesitated.

“Perhaps you can,” he said. “Darling, you drive up to the house. Pick Wirral up on the way, he’ll help you to get her out of the car and to her room. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Lorna slid into the driving-seat, without asking questions. The car moved off, bumping gently back on to the drive, then ran slowly towards Wirral, who was now waddling at walking pace towards it. Lady Bream stood at the foot of the steps, her hand resting on one of the pillars.

Mannering and the groom were left alone in the increasing darkness. Apart from the hum of the engine, there were night sounds; rustlings and creakings among the trees, a fluttering as a bird returned, late, to its nest; the strange, soft sounds of the country at night.

“Where were you?” Mannering asked the man.

“I’d, I’d lost her, sir,” the groom said in a miserable voice. “Fair lost her, I didn’t think I could.”

“What do you mean, ‘lost’?”

“Well, sir, her ladyship had told me to follow Lady Gloria,” said the groom. “From the stables, it were—she was queer, mighty queer. Turned away from Duke—that’s his lordship’s grey, sir, as if she’d been struck by lightning, and come tearing away. So her ladyship waved to me to follow, and I did. But I lost her.”

“Where?” asked Mannering.

The groom turned and pointed into the gloom.

“In the thicket, sir,” he said.

“Did you see anyone else?”

“I—” the man began, but his voice faded.

“Go on,” said Mannering encouragingly.

“I thought—” No, he couldn’t finish, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Yet he hadn’t run far, and it wasn’t as warm as all that. He looked towards the thicket, now just a group of shadows, with some saplings pointing tender spears towards the dark sky.

“Only—a dog,” he said.

“Dog?” exclaimed Mannering.

“But, I didn’t hear un, sir.”

The quietness of the drive lent eeriness to the story. The groom had followed the girl, and lost her near the thicket, and then seen – or imagined he had seen – a dog which had moved silently. And Mannering knew that he thought the dog had been following the girl. Chasing her.

Mannering said: “Let’s go and look.”

“We can’t see a thing, sir, we need a torch.”

“I have one.” Mannering took a pencil-torch from his pocket.

The groom took courage, and they walked side by side, retracing Gloria’s steps. The thin beam of light shone on the grass which was trampled where she had run; they could see the trail clearly. It would be impossible, in this light, to see whether a dog had followed her. They drew nearer to the thicket, and the beam grew brighter. Now it shone on the small trees, elders, wild blackberry bushes and great clumps of dogwood, and showed the light-green of the leaves. The earth was softer, too, for the thicket was in a little hollow.

“Is it damp here?” asked Mannering.

“Damper than most elsewhere,” replied the groom. “The water do lay here, sir.”

A soft wind rustled through the trees, and twigs crackled under their feet, they stirred dead leaves. As the beam moved from side to side, the lower branches of the trees and the grass seemed to be moving, but there was stealthiness about it all – a quiet which seemed more profound then the soft noises. Mannering could hear the heavy breathing of his companion and knew that he was still nervous.

They were in the heart of the thicket.

They saw the imprints of Gloria’s sandals, when they paused to examine the path.

Something glistened: water.

Not far ahead was a tiny pool, halfway across the path, and the earth about it was soft and damp. There was the imprint of the side of a heel, and Mannering knew that the girl had only just missed treading in the pool. He stopped here, and cast the light downwards – and the groom suddenly drew a hissing breath.

“See there, sir!”

The light steadied, and shone clearly on a paw-mark, dark and deep, close to the unruffled pool of water. The groom bent down and peered at it.

“Don’t touch it yet,” Mannering said.

“Why, why not, sir?”

“We ought to take a cast, we might find it useful. Can you tell me what kind of dog it was?”

“A big un, sir.”

“Yes,” agreed Mannering, patiently. “Alsatian? Airedale?”

“Could be either—or any other big breed, I know little about their paw-marks, horses is my line.” He drew in another hissing breath. “But it was a monster, sir!”

“Yes, a big chap,” agreed Mannering again. “And you saw it, running after her?”

“It—it weren’t no more than a shape, a great, pale shape,” said the groom, and his voice was unsteady as he spoke, and he looked about him as if he thought that the dog might leap out of the darkness upon them. “I didn’t hear a sound, sir—and usually dogs make a noise when they run like that, you can hear them padding and hear them breathing. Can’t, can’t you, sir?”

“There were two cars on the drive,” Mannering reminded him.

“Ah, there was and all,” said the groom in a brighter voice. “I’d forgotten that, sir, yours and the other one. I don’t mind it so much now that I can understand why I didn’t hear anything.”

“Did you hear any other sounds?”

“Only her ladyship running,” said the groom. “I didn’t see her until she was nigh under the car.”

“Are you sure you heard nothing?”

“What would I be hearing?” asked the groom.

Mannering pursed his lips and whistled softly: low though the sound was, it made the groom jump. They looked at each other, just seeing the paleness of their faces and their shadowy outlines, and the groom said eagerly: “A whistle! Aye! I heard one, like a squeak it was. I would have thought it was a bough creaking, they make funny noises at night, you can imagine almost anything. But I heard a whistle—was some feller calling off the dog, do you think?”

“It could have been that,” said Mannering.

He took out his cigarettes and proffered them, but Abel refused, saying that he always made his own. Mannering lit up, and his face was red and yellow in the glow from the lighter. It seemed darker when he clicked it off. They were standing on either side of the paw-mark, and the torch-beam streamed downwards, striking on the pool of water, which twisted the reflection into all manner of shapes.

Mannering spoke quietly: “Can you find some plaster of Paris at the house?”

“Oh, yes, sir, we use it often.”

“Get some, will you,” said Mannering. “Bring a spade and a small trowel and a box, a seedling box will do. Be as quick as you can.”

“Ay, sir!”

“Off you go, then.”

The groom was soon lost to sight.

Mannering drew at his cigarette, wondering uneasily whether it was wise to smoke because the glowing tip could be seen. He resisted a temptation to put it out. Every now and again he peered about him. He heard just the night noises. After a while, he picked up several small branches of dead wood which lay on the ground. He tucked them under his arm and went on collecting.

Gloria had gone for a solitary walk, and come to this thicket; and the dog had leapt at her. Terrified, she had run blindly towards the light where she had sought sanctuary; blind terror had made her fling herself forward.

She had been in the grip of that mortal terror, had hardly realized where she was going. If the groom hadn’t seen the dog, no one would have suspected that she had been running away; no one would have been surprised had she ‘committed suicide’.

Supposing that dog had leapt at Lithom’s horse, and made it rear and throw its rider?

He finished collecting the wood and found his way back to the pool. He put the sticks in a square about it, marking it off, and then stood upright and looked round him again, seeing the bright stars and, just rising, a crescent moon which spread a soft, pale light over the park. Lorna would be anxious now, for Gloria would be in bed, and there was nothing left for Lorna to do.

How long had the groom been gone? A quarter of an hour?

He tossed the cigarette away.

No, not a quarter of an hour – the cigarette would not have lasted more than ten minutes, and he had lit it before sending off the groom. Only seven or eight minutes had passed, then, although it seemed so much longer; and it would take twenty minutes for the groom to get everything together and walk back.

He heard more rustling. Was it different from the night’s noises?

He slipped his right hand into his pocket and felt the cold steel of an automatic. He gripped it lightly and listened, wary, poised, trying to make sure from which direction the sound came. After the first few seconds, he was certain that it was a new sound. It might be a fox, even a badger; any one of the larger animals which prowl by night.

Or it might be a man.

It was drawing nearer, and came from the direction of the North Lodge.

Nearer – nearer still.

He drew out the gun and held it close to his waist, pointing towards the sound. He felt a chill, a crawly feeling at the back of his neck, and his stomach muscles were taut. He thought of Gloria, giving way to panic, perhaps haunted by such sounds as this tearing at her frayed nerves.

Nearer.

Was it man or beast?

He peered towards the denseness of the thicket, seeing only the stars and the dark sky when he glanced upwards; he could not see anything above the skyline, because of the trees and scrub. Yet it was drawing closer, and the sound was steady and regular now. Was it imagination, or could he see a shape, about waist-high? Lighter than the darkness, like a grey werewolf slinking towards him. He looked away deliberately, and then back. Now he could see the thing – and knew that it was a dog. It was almost clear of the long grass, not twenty yards away from him; perhaps not ten.

He heard a new sound, a soft whistle that might well have been the creaking of a loose branch, but he knew that it was not. He raised the gun, levelling it towards the shape which moved more swiftly. He heard another fresh sound, like the intake of breath.

He fired.

The flash of the shot lit up the low branches of the trees and the near-by undergrowth, but blinded him to everything else. He didn’t see the dog or the man who had whistled. He heard a yelp, high-pitched and shrill, and knew that he had hurt the brute. He heard it fall heavily; a moment later another whistle hissed through the night, louder than the first, urgent, summoning. More rustling; he thought he could see the shape of the dog rising from the ground. He fired again – but there was no rewarding yelp.

Someone afar off shouted.

The groom was approaching, and had heard the shots.

Mannering did not go in pursuit, but waited until Abel shouted again, then answered: “All safe!”

But was he safe?

There was more rustling, and he thought it was caused by a gust of wind, but couldn’t be sure; he strained his ears and kept his gun cocked. His assailant might try again, from a different angle. He had no idea how badly he had wounded the dog; or even whether there was only one. A whispering sound was close to his ears, and he knew that was caused by the wind. Then the groom shouted again, and, after he had called back, he heard a second voice; so the groom hadn’t come here alone.

The men were little more than a hundred yards away, and he could see a powerful torch flashing. He kept still – until suddenly the torch shone on him, lighting up his legs and feet. He realized that he made a silhouette against it, and could be clearly seen by anyone behind him.