Adders on the Heath (23 page)

Five o'clock found them all at tea in Dame Beatrice's comfortable drawing-room and at six o'clock Célestine, Dame Beatrice's housekeeper, parlour-maid, housemaid, friend and jealous guardian, addressed her spouse Henri, who was enjoying a bottle of wine and a snack of bread and cheese in the kitchen.

'Madame enrages herself. She has enemies.'

'She does not enrage herself,' protested Henri, 'but I think there are some things in the air.'

'What makes the young Monsieur Richardson?'

'He is, perhaps, a murderer.'

Célestine shrieked.

'A murderer? An assassin? But no!'

'One does not know.' Henri took up his largest carving-knife and sharpened it with great solemnity. At this moment Hamish walked into the kitchen.

'I say,' he said, 'the cakes and things at tea were all right, but isn't there something to
eat
? His eye fell on the manoeuvres of Henri. 'Gosh!' he added. 'Are we really in a state of siege? Aunt Dame said so, but I thought she was having me on.'

Célestine hastened to provide him with cold pie and cocoa, viands at the sight of which she herself flinched, but which, she had long realised, were one of the stays of English youth.

'You,' said Henri, with ferocious humour, producing a large but superseded carving-knife, 'must be well-armed, monsieur, should a siege take place. Accept this, if you please.'

'Knives
!' quoted Hamish, flourishing the one provided. 'This is the life! Oh, thanks a lot, Henri!' He retired, making large passes in the air.

'You are a monster who lives by the death of little children!' shrieked Célestine. 'Sharpen an axe!'

Henri, who had lived with his wife for more than thirty years, realised that she was in what the English would call 'one of her moods,' and that, as she was thus possessed, the simplest way to avoid difficulties was to placate her by implicitly obeying her orders. Accordingly, he brought in his largest axe from the weatherproof woodshed and solemnly put on it a lethal cutting-edge. He displayed his handiwork. His wife nodded.

'It is well,' she said. 'There are sweetbreads for dinner. I hope the young men will like them. Dame Beatrice does not eat glands. For her...'

'A curried egg and much Melba toast.'

'Call for Georges.'

Henri retired to the back door and let out an ear-splitting whistle. There was a rattling of footsteps as George descended from his eyrie above the garage, his own choice of residence, since he could have had a good bedroom in the house if such had been his desire. He came into the kitchen and spotted Henri's weapon. He eyed it and took it up.

'Changing your job, brother?' he asked. 'Plenty of work in the woods near where we've been staying.'

'And a dangerous place to stay!' said Célestine sharply. 'What made Madame in such a locality?'

'Oh, we had our usual murders. I
think
Madam is wise to the identity of the criminal. In other words, she reckons her job there is just about cleaned up. That's why we've come back home.'

'This house will be a battlefield. You will see. We shall sell our lives dearly. All the same, this imbecile had no right to give a young boy a carving knife. He will suicide himself.'

'Not Master Hamish,' said George. 'But what is all this, anyway?'

'
I
think it is nonsense, but it is as well to be prepared. One hears of terrible things, and we have a young boy in the house. He may be attacked, murdered, kidnapped! Who can tell?'

'From what I gathered, he
did
stick his neck out. Accused some gentleman of attempting to run down two girls.'

Truly?'

'Well, I didn't get the information direct, as you might say, but from bits of back-seat conversation while I was bringing the ladies and the young gentleman home, something of the sort must have occurred.'

'But this is terrible! We shall be surrounded by assassins!'

'I shouldn't worry, Cissie,' said George. 'Detective Chief-Inspector Gavin is joining the party this evening. Besides, if you keep on moaning, you'll make Henry spoil the dinner. What did you whistle me down for?' he added, turning to the husband.

'I ordered him to whistle for you, Georges,' said Célestine. 'I wish you to arm yourself. You and he must patrol the house this night. You must be on guard. You must on no account sleep. Neither of you should sleep.'

'Oh, I sleep on a hair-trigger since the war,' said George easily. 'And if you make Henry lose his eight hours he'll lose all his good looks as well.'

'Over
you
I have no authority, Georges, but Henri will do as he is told,' said Célestine severely.

'Very well, chérie,' agreed Henri, favouring George with an enormous wink. There were a number of spare rooms in the Stone House, and Célestine always kept the beds in them well aired.

CHAPTER TWENTY

ESCAPADE

'They searched the country wide and braid,

The forests far and near,

And they found him into Elmond's wood,

Tearing his yellow hair.'

Old Ballad-(Anon)

Gavin, the young men and Laura enjoyed the sweetbreads. Dame Beatrice, whose interest in food was apt to lessen with every passing year, dutifully ate curried eggs and Melba toast. Hamish, sumptuously fed in the kitchen, went to bed without being ordered to do so, at eight o'clock, just as it was beginning to get dark, for, on this particular evening, Hamish had secret plans. From the age of seven he had dispensed with Laura's attempts to visit him to say good night and she had also promised not to peep in on him when she herself was ready to go to bed. He had no fear, therefore, that his plans would be frustrated because of maternal anxiety and care. Once he was upstairs he would see no more of his parents until the morning.

Hamish possessed the glory and the weakness (in the opinion of most of his adult relatives) of having a single-track mind. Once his heart was set on any project, however ill-advised and even dangerous it might seem to others, he felt bound to carry it through. He had once addressed his father in these terms:

'I don't mind letting
you
down, but I'm never going to let
myself
down. By this I mean that if I commit myself to something I shall feel bound to go on with it.'

'Well, all right. I hope you'll stick to that,' his father had replied, for Robert Gavin viewed with equanimity those vagaries and resources in his son which occasionally made Laura wonder how soon she would be subjected to a nervous breakdown.

Having supper in the kitchen with Henri and Célestine was always interesting, and the boy was already fluent in idiomatic French. Fortunately, Dame Beatrice's servants were Parisians and their accent was untainted by
patois
. Hamish had listened, fascinated and excited-although he did not betray his emotions-to Célestine's outspoken fears for the safety of the house and its occupants, a monologue punctuated only very occasionally by Henri's soothing comments.

Hamish placed no reliance on these, for had not Henri presented him with the carving knife-unsharpened, it was true-with which to defend himself (and possibly his mother and Dame Beatrice) when the fun began? He went into the dining-room to greet and bid good night to his father as soon as supper was over in the kitchen, and found the five adults, empty coffee cups before them-for Célestine had orders not to clear these until she and Henri had concluded their own meal and the company had repaired to the drawing-room-arguing the case against Campden-Towne. They ceased talking as soon as he arrived to say good night. Laura gave him an apple, as it was always a major battle to get him to clean his teeth, and expressed surprise and pleasure when he informed her that he was going straight to bed.

'I've been listening to a lot more French than usual,' he explained, 'and it's made my brain rather tired.'

'He's up to something,' said Laura, as soon as he had gone. 'I'm going up to his room to make sure he goes to bed.'

'I thought you had a gentlemen's agreement with him not to do that,' said Gavin. Laura snorted, but when the others went into the drawing-room she accompanied them, although she cast a speculative look at the staircase on the way.

Hamish, having gained his room, switched on the light and picked up the carving knife. With some difficulty, and having to employ a slightly saw-like movement, he managed to cut the ball of his thumb and draw a spot or two of blood. Satisfied, he put down the knife on his bedside table, undressed, sat on the bed to eat his apple and then lay down, leaving the light on. For a year or more he had trained himself to wake at a given time, mostly in order to go swimming or riding at dawn, a practice which had always received encouragement from his mother.

On this occasion he proposed to allow himself to sleep until eleven, by which time he supposed, in his ignorance of their habits, his parents and Dame Beatrice would be in bed. Having banged his head eleven times on the pillow and muttered fiercely to his subconscious mind, 'And I mean
tonight
, not tomorrow morning,' he fell asleep. True to his own self-discipline, he woke at eleven, dressed, turned out the light and, shoes in hand, crept down the staircase.

From outside the drawing-room door he could hear his father's voice. So they were still up! What was more, they might emerge at any moment and discover him. He debated, but only for a few seconds, whether to go on, and chance having them hear the front door being opened and shut, or whether to retreat to his room and wait there until they had gone to bed. Unfortunately he had no idea when this was likely to be. They might stay up and talk for hours. The first of his preconceived ideas was obviously wrong. He had better carry on, all the same.

His mind made up, he turned the knob of the front door. He would chance matters. This was not easy. The devoted servants had locked and bolted the door and put the chain on. Bolts have to be noisily withdrawn, and chains are apt to rattle. There was one bright spot, however. If the house had been made secure, it was probable that the servants had gone to bed. This would mean that the side door and the kitchen door, both well away from the drawing-room, would be available to a person who wanted to leave the house unobserved and unheard.

Hamish turned from the front door and tiptoed down the hall. His assumption that the servants, at least, had been helpful and sensible enough to go to bed proved to be correct. He listened intently at the kitchen door, but there was no sound of any kind except for the loud ticking of the kitchen clock. He wasted no more time, but padded in his stockinged feet to the back door. It was not until he had pulled the door to and had put on his shoes, that he remembered the carving knife. He was bitterly regretful to have left it behind, but felt it would be madness to go back for it and risk being caught.

Then he remembered that there were bound to be knives in the kitchen. He had not latched the door; he had merely pulled it to; he did not stop to take off his shoes again, trusting, this time, that the kitchen, shut off, as it was, by a green-baize door, would prove sufficiently remote from the drawing-room for his footsteps to go unheard.

The kitchen, of course (he thought angrily), was in complete and utter darkness. He would have to switch on a light. He groped for it, and found it. Then he opened the table drawer. It did not contain a knife of any description, for Henri was much too jealous of his implements to leave them lying around in table drawers. Each was put lovingly away in its own velvet-covered, satin-lined, padded and quilted case. The only useful object (from the boy's point of view) which the drawer contained was a butcher's steel. Hamish, intent on his adventure, seized this and crept away again.

Half an hour later Célestine, who had changed her mind about Henri's guard-duty, preferring to have him guard her person rather than the house, with difficulty woke him. He was a very sound sleeper and preferred to have his eight hours undisturbed. He had to pay attention at last, however, for Célestine abandoned her attempts to shake him into wakefulness and, instead, bit him sharply on the lobe of the ear. Henri yelled and sat up.

'Be silent, idiot!' hissed his spouse. 'Those assassins are here!'

'Nonsense, my cabbage! You have been dreaming,' riposted Henri, tenderly caressing his ear.

'Keep your voice low! Tell me, did you or did you not turn off the light in the kitchen before you came to bed?'

'But certainly I turned it off.'

'Well, it is on again now. It is shining on the wall of the kitchen garden. Turn your head and look for yourself. Better still, go and look out of the window and assure yourself that what I say is true.'

Henri groaned, but, well aware that he would get no peace-and certainly no more sleep-until he had obeyed her, he climbed out of bed and went to the window. (The blinds in their bedroom were never drawn except when Célestine decided that the summer sunshine was too strong for the very pretty carpet which Dame Beatrice had given them.)

'It is very true,' said Henri. 'The light
is
on. But there is a simple explanation which you might have thought of for yourself instead of making a meal of my ear.'

'The explanation is obvious! Those assassins, I tell you, they are here!'

'The explanation is obvious, certainly. It is Madame Gavin. She is often hungry and she sleeps little. She knows that there is always something in my larder which she will like. No doubt she is refreshing herself at this moment. There is a cold raised pie and some bottles of beer. Now compose yourself and let me sleep.'

'You do not come back to this bed! Put on your trousers-those barbarous garments!-and take with you your axe and confront these criminals.'

Henri groaned again, but did as he was told. At least, he carried out instructions so far as pulling on his trousers and picking up his axe were concerned. What he did
not
do was to repair forthwith to the kitchen. He preferred to take the more prudent course of seeking reinforcements just in case his wife was right-although he did not think she was. He went to the door of the Gavins' room on the floor below, and knocked.

They had been upstairs for less than ten minutes and Laura was creaming her face.

'See who that is,' she said. Gavin went to the door and through the opening Henri could see Laura seated at the dressing-table. He gestured violently to Gavin and exclaimed,

'So my wife is right! I did well to come and see!'

'What on earth are you doing with that bloody great axe?' asked Gavin, eyeing the keen-edged weapon with amusement. 'Gone berserk or something?'

'Someone had turned on the light in the kitchen. I thought it was Madame Gavin, but I see not so.'

'Well, I
was
thinking of going down,' said Laura, applying a tissue to her well-creamed countenance, 'but I haven't so far. I expect you left the light on when you went to bed. It's easy enough. My brothers are always doing it.'

'I did not leave the light on, madame.'

'Oh, well, I'll pop down and have a look round,' said Gavin, pulling the belt of his dressing-gown a little closer. '
Could
be burglars, I suppose. They're probably mopping up the bottled beer.'

'Arm yourself, monsieur! They may be desperate!'

'Then you'd better come along with that axe.'

'Willingly, monsieur.' With Gavin in the lead, they tip-toed down the stairs. The kitchen was empty.

'Then you
must
have left the light on,' said Gavin, reasonably enough. But Henri was obstinately certain that this was not so.

'Let us rouse the household, monsieur,' he urged. 'Of a certainty, someone has entered.'

'Oh, rot!' said Gavin easily. 'No need at all to panic. But we can have a look at the downstair doors and windows, if that will help.'

It took them less than two minutes to find out that the back door was not only unlocked and unbolted, but that it was not even latched.

'And now, monsieur,' said Henri, with dignity, 'you are not prepared to say, I hope, that, in addition to leaving the light on-an extravagance and a carelessness of which I have never been guilty during all my years in the service of madame-I neglected to lock and bolt this door? Monsieur, my honour is at stake. I must convince you. Allow me to arouse Georges. He knows that always-but
always
!-I lock and bolt this door as soon as he goes at night to his apartment above the garage.'

'I think a better idea would be to have a look round first. All the same, if you
did
lock and bolt the door, I don't see how anybody from outside could get in. Locks, I grant you, can be picked, but a couple of hefty bolts, top and bottom, are a different matter. You can see for yourself that the door is quite undamaged and the hinges are still functioning. Still, we'll take a look round, first securing the door and then giving the once-over to the windows and the side entrance. If you're right, it seems to me more than likely that somebody must have got in through a window and then left by the back door. Wonder what they were after?'

'If burglars, the silver, and madame's antique clocks, most likely, monsieur.'

'She's got some pretty good china, too. All right. Let's go and check up. I suppose you'd know if anything was missing.'

'Of the silver and the clocks, undoubtedly, monsieur. Of the china, I am less sure.'

'Oh, well, I can remember that, I think.'

They made a methodical search, but nothing appeared to be missing and the house was its usual serene, untroubled self. As they came out of the dining-room they met Laura at the foot of the stairs.

'What
is
all the hoo-ha?' she enquired.

'Don't know yet,' her husband replied. 'Back door open, kitchen light on, nothing missing, nobody about.'

'Except Hamish,' said Laura immediately. 'I
knew
he was up to something. I said so. I'm going up to his room, whether you like it or not.'

'Hold on a minute,' urged Gavin. 'I'm not going to snoop around outside. It's hardly likely to be Hamish. He always scrambles down that porch over the front door. It's bang outside his bedroom window.'

'He wouldn't climb down in the dark.'

'Probably got eyes like a cat. Anyway, he must know the way blindfold. Besides, it wasn't really dark when he went to bed. You go on up and turn in.'