Читать книгу Dr. Morelle at Midnight - Ernest Dudley - Страница 8

CHAPTER FOUR

Sara Belling took Laking’s briefcase, placing it on the low refectory table alongside the cream wall. She crossed to the desk and gathered up papers, a file and the typewriter.

Laking let his valise drop on the turquoise carpet and threw his hat into a chair. ‘Where’s Stacey?’ he said.

‘She went out before lunch.’ Sara clutched her belongings. ‘I’ve been working in here while you’ve been away. It’s cool. And that view from the front of the house is fatal. I could spend hours looking across the bay. I’ll take these up to my room.’ She paused in front of the desk. ‘You hungry? I could make some tea.’

‘I had lunch on the plane. Right now I want a bath and a change.’ His eyes were weary.

‘Okay.’ Sarah went out and Laking stood still, gazing round the room. It was a pleasant room. Large, light and cool with comfortable, unostentatious furnishings. The cream and turquoise décor was kind to the eyes after a spell in the sun’s glare. There were dark oak bookcases with sliding glass panels. A glass chandelier hung from the centre of the carved ceiling and there were wrought-iron bracket lights round the walls. The fireplace was almost hidden by a Japanese screen and the fronds of palm set in a copper vase in front of it. A big settee, gaily cushioned, on one side of the french windows and a chaise-longue opposite. The desk was plain old oak, wide and roomy with deep drawers.

Laking liked the room. It was the room in which his plan would be fulfilled.

He crossed the room and looked at himself in the Adam mirror. He saw the same reflection which had stared out from Kirkland’s mirror in London. He smiled grimly.

He swung round to the citrus-wood cabinet and opened the top exposing an array of decanters and glasses. He collected his hat and valise and went into the hall and up the wide staircase.

The library reflected Laking’s own tastes, but once outside it the more rococo tastes of the man who had commissioned this villa became apparent. A Birmingham manufacturer, Laking reflected dryly, patting one of the naked statues familiarly as he passed. The man had gratified his desire to have nudes about him in the most permanent fashion. They dotted the garden, these nude statues, some peeped coyly out from the shrubbery which surrounded the front part of the house. Inside the entrance hall there were more of them, the two largest standing demurely on either side of the vast staircase.

Next to the library was a salon and next to that a dining-room which was entered by double doors under the archway formed by the stairs. The windows of the dining-room overlooked the terrace. On the other side of the dining-room were archways, through which could be seen a staircase up to a gallery. The bedrooms could be reached from this staircase as from the main staircase in the entrance hall.

Opposite the library there was a smoking-room and a drawing-room. From this side of the house terraced lawns looked directly over Monte Carlo and straight across the bay to Italy.

There were three bedrooms on the first floor, also a tiled bathroom fitted with an elaborate partially-sunk bath and a shower. The front bedrooms had windows opening on to narrow high-railed balconies and the tall landing window opened on to the flat roof of the portico. The view of the bay from these windows was magnificent.

Laking bathed and slipped into a cream silk shirt and light drill trousers. He was careful to set his bow tie straight before putting on a light jacket. Then he went down to the library and he was sitting at his desk when Sara came in. She carried a dish of crystallized fruits. She placed them on the desk. Laking looked up. ‘Anything happen while I was away?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing important. I’ve been dealing with the routine correspondence under Duke’s instructions.’

Laking nodded, lifting his briefcase on to the desk. ‘I called at the office before I left this morning,’ he said. ‘Brought one or two things away. We’ll get down to work tomorrow.’

‘Just one thing,’ Sara said suddenly. ‘Duke is really excited about the manuscript. Says it’s a real find. He telephoned about half-an-hour before you got here. He’d like to talk to you about it as soon as possible.’

‘Yes. I want to see him.’ Laking’s voice was quiet. ‘Give him a ring. Tell him to come over early this evening for a drink.’

‘I’ll do it now.’ She hesitated, glancing at him. ‘You sure there’s nothing more I can get you?’

He began taking papers from his case. ‘There’ll be nothing else.’

They exchanged glances. Sara smiled at him, then she went out closing the door quietly behind her. Laking sat staring at the door until the sound of her high-heeled shoes on the parquet floor of the hall ceased. She would telephone from her room. He pushed his briefcase aside, took a sheet of note-paper from the top drawer of the desk. He began to write a letter.

Slowly, carefully the thoughts dribbled from his mind. The words looked strange to him now, on the white paper. It was a long time before he finished. When he had signed his name he read the letter through. Then slowly again. Satisfied, he wrote out the envelope, folded the letter, inserted it and sealed the flap. He stared at the address he had written.

A bleak smile touched his lips. It was all too easy. He was going to be the innocent party. The unsuspecting villain of the piece would never be able to extricate himself from this.

The letter must be posted at once, then he must get back and prepare for the trickiest part, which was yet to come. He would have to be careful. Duke Fenton was an astute character, not easily fooled. He must be led gently, convinced beyond any shadow of doubt. Duke knew he had gone to London specially to see Kirkland. That visit was part of the plan. It would help make Duke Fenton swallow the act.

Laking slipped the letter in his pocket and went out into the hall. He called up to Sara and she came to the top of the stairs.

‘What time is Duke coming?’

‘He said six o’clock,’ Sara said.

Laking nodded. ‘I’m going out but I’ll be back before that.’ He let himself out of the front door.

He hurried down the wide steps. As he walked down the hill he looked back at the villa, looked up at the windows. But Sara’s small oval face was not there, watching.

Lower down the hill the road turned and he had a view of the sea between white buildings. He found the pillar box and he pushed the letter into the box, heard it plop on to the heap inside. Then he lit a cigarette and gazed idly along the street. A few people passed in the sunshine but Laking eyed them without curiosity.

As he moved away he glanced back, there was a squeaking of bicycle brakes and a uniformed postman had pulled up in front of the pillar box.

Laking paused and watched the postman open the box and shovel the letters into his bag. His eyes followed the uniformed figure down the road until he was lost from view.