Читать книгу The Frightened Lady - Edgar Wallace - Страница 8

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LEBANON rose, walked unsteadily to the door and tried to open it. It was locked. He fumbled for the key, but it was not there. He was confused; his head seemed to be out of control; it lolled from side to side. With an effort he forced himself awake, found the switch and turned it.

He knew intimately only two rooms in the house. At first he thought he was in a third, but gradually, as his perceptions awakened, he recognised familiar objects. There was a bell-push near his bed; he pressed it, sat on the bed and waited. It was a long time before there was any answer, and he was in the act of pressing the push again when he heard a key rattle into the lock, and snap as it turned.

It was Gilder. Something had happened to the debonair Gilder; his eye was discoloured; his collar showed signs of rough usage; the striped waistcoat he wore was a little torn, and two of the buttons were missing. For a long time he glowered sulkily at the boy.

"Do you want anything, my lord?" he said at last, and Lebanon knew that he had forced himself to this polite address.

"Who locked my door?"

"I did," said the other coolly. "A fellow who called this evening started a rough house, and I didn't want you to be in it."

The young man stared at him. "Who was it?" he asked.

"Nobody you know, my lord," said the other shortly. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Get me a drink—something cold and long. That whisky you gave me was not too good, Gilder."

If the man sensed the suspicion in his voice he gave no sign of embarrassment. "That's what the other gentleman thought. I guess the whisky's bad around here. I'll ask her ladyship to get some more down from town."

"Where is my mother?" asked Lebanon quickly. "Was she there when—"

Gilder shook his head. "No, sir, she was in her room."

"What happened?" asked Lebanon curiously.

The man looked at him with a grim smile. "Maybe you'd like to come and see," he said curtly, and, pulling on his slippers, Lord Lebanon followed him along the corridor, down the broad circular staircase into the hall.

Brooks was there in his shirt sleeves, apparently trying to clear up the mess. A table had been overturned; the edge of the Knole sofa was smashed; a little china clock lay in ruins on the stone surround; and four of the pseudo-wax candles in the great chandelier hung drunkenly and without life. Lebanon stared around.

"Who did this?" he asked, and tried to bring into his tone a note of authority.

"A friend of Dr. Amersham's," said Gilder, and there was a note of malice in his tone which Lebanon did not detect.

The floor was strewn with broken glass and was stained; evidently the whisky decanter had been smashed. One of the panels was broken.

"It looks as if a lunatic had been let loose," said Lebanon.

The smile came off Gilder's face. He was momentarily startled. "Hey?" he said. "Yes, I guess so. He behaved like one, anyway—this friend of Dr. Amersham."

It was half-past three. There was a grey light in the east when Willie unbolted and unchained the great door, and stepped out into the cool freshness of the morning. It was very dark and very calm, and the silence made the young man shudder. The late-sleeping beasts of the earth had gone to bed, and the early risers had yet to chirp their first husky notes of salute to the new day. Far across the Priory Field he saw a light, and then remembered that Tilling, the gamekeeper, lived there, just on the edge of the wood, a surly, unfriendly man. He would be up, of course. It was a gamekeeper's job to patrol the estate. Marks Thornton had a fair share of poachers, shrewd, furtive, brown-faced men, with nondescript dogs.

Willie Lebanon grinned in the darkness. To him, at any rate, poaching was no crime. If he were made a magistrate of the county he would never convict a man for taking what, after all, was his own.

He heard Gilder's slow, rather weary step on the stone flags behind him, and the man came up to him. He was smoking a cigar without any evidence of embarrassment.

"Tilling's up late to-night. I suppose he is on duty?"

Gilder did not answer immediately. He puffed steadily at the cigar, his eyes fixed broodingly on the distant light. "Tilling went to London last night," he said suddenly. As he spoke the square of light went out, and Lebanon heard the footman make a clucking note of disapproval. "That fellow is asking for trouble."

"Who—Tilling?"

Gilder did not reply.

"I think you had better come in, my lord. You've only got your dressing-gown on, and the night is chilly." His tone was quite respectful.

There were times when Lebanon liked this gaunt American. There were times when his very insolent familiarity amused him. He did not resent the cigar or the friendliness or the assumption of equality.

"You're a funny devil," he said, as he followed the footman into the hall, stood by and heard the great bolt shot home and the clang of the chains when they were fastened.

"I have never felt less funny," said Gilder, "or less like a devil."

"Who was it made the fuss?"

Gilder shook his head. "A friend of Dr. Amersham," and then he smiled whimsically. "When you come to think of it, he is probably not so much of a friend—" And then the young man heard the footman's voice change. "What are you doing down here, miss?"

Willie looked towards the stairs. It was Isla. She wore a thick, quilted dressing-gown. Apparently she was half dressed beneath, for she wore stockings and shoes. "Nothing," she said jerkily. "Is everything all right. Gilder?"

"Quite O.K., miss. Nothing to worry about. The gentleman who made all the trouble has gone home."

He said this with great deliberation, looking at her fixedly. Willie had the impression that he was prompting the girl, or rather pressing upon her an explanation for the disorder which was not only untrue, but which she knew was untrue. She nodded her head quickly.

"I see." She was still breathless. "He's gone home...I am glad...Her ladyship wanted to see Dr. Amersham before she went to bed, Gilder."

He stroked his chin. "She did...Well, I guess Amersham...the doctor is out. He went out for a stroll, half an hour ago. Queer time for a stroll, isn't it? You can tell her ladyship I'll send him right along if I can find him."

When the girl had gone Lebanon turned his astonished gaze to the footman.

"Did she see it—whatever it was? Miss Isla?"

Gilder nodded. "I guess she did," he said shortly, obviously in no mood to offer his confidences. "You'd better go to bed, my lord. It's late."

Lebanon did not protest. In fact, he was heartily in agreement with the suggestion, for suddenly he had become shockingly tired and most surprisingly apathetic.

He had been drugged; he knew that, but was very little worried. In that state of exhaustion he was incapable of feeling distressed.