Murder Mysteries for the Holiday Season. Джером К. Джером
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Nettleship was looking over his ‘Evening News’ on the following afternoon, when he read something that brought him up all standing. “Have a look at this,” he cried. “More trouble at the Grange last night. But read it for yourself.”
Ella snatched up the paper and read as follows: “We have to report another mysterious occurrence at the Grange, Overstrands. Last night a travelling American on a golfing holiday presented himself at the Grange, there being only one room unoccupied, and that the mysterious Room Five, expressed himself anxious to sleep there, and that the story had no terrors for him. Moreover, he proclaimed the fact that he was armed, and an expert with a revolver. Two hours after he had retired, the steward was aroused by loud groans that appeared to proceed from the haunted chamber. On bursting the door open the unfortunate American was found unconscious, with a wound over his left breast. Up to the time of going to press, he had not recovered consciousness, and his condition is considered critical.”
“What do you think of that?” Nettleship asked. “My dear girl, you really must not face a risk like that.”
But Ella was obdurate. She was going through it now, whatever happened, and she pointed out the fact that no such surprise could possibly overtake her. It was shortly before ten o’clock on Christmas Eve, therefore, that an imperious lady, giving the name of Somerset, arrived at The Grange in a car, and explained in a haughty way that she had been delayed on the road by an accident. The steward was apologetic, and declared he had no room to spare, except the notorious Number Five, and that he could not expect the lady, in the circumstances, to take that.
“What nonsense,” the visitor cried, “show me up to the room at once. Put my golf bag in the corner there, and carry my dressing-bag and jewel case upstairs.”
Chiffner protested, all in vain, and presently the door of Room Five closed on the imperious lady, who was not seen again. Down in the bar a little later, the habitues were filing out through the front door. Just as this was closing on them a man walked in, as if he were a guest there, and followed the steward eagerly into the deserted bar.
“Well, Chiffner,” he demanded, “how is everything going? I suppose my wife turned up?”
“That’s all right, sir,” Chiffner said. “Mrs. Nettleship, otherwise Mrs. Somerset, is up in her bedroom. It all worked beautifully. Everybody in the bar heard the conversation, especially the bit about the jewel-case.”
“And what about your American visitor?” Nettleship asked. “Is he still here?”
Chiffner explained that the unfortunate man had been taken away in an ambulance, and that he was still unconscious.
“‘I am very sorry to hear that,” Nettleship said. “But we are near the end of the trouble. Now then, get all your servants off to bed, and we will sit here until the bell rings. I should think that might be in about an hour. I don’t suppose the man we are after will wait longer than that. Of course, he was in the bar when my wife arrived, and he won’t be able to resist the lure of that jewel case.”
But more than an hour elapsed, and a clock outside was striking one when there came quick metallic ripple, and the little red star, bearing the number five on the indicator, agitated violently. Nettleship jumped to his feet, which he had encased in rubber-soled shoes, and raced up the staircase, until he stood outside number five. Chiffner, who followed, remained as directed, at the head of the stairs, whilst Nettleship gently pushed the door open an inch or two. That it was not properly closed was part of the programme.
Meanwhile, Ella had gone to bed gaily enough, and she proceeded more or less leisurely to set out her toilette-table and open her dressing-case. The jewels—theatrical, specially borrowed for the occasion—were placed somewhat ostentatiously on a side table between the two windows. By the feeble light of a couple of candles she glanced carelessly about her. The fire, which had been lighted, had nearly gone out, nor did Ella make an attempt to restore the cheerful blaze. She looked round the room, with its fine oak panelling, and the half-length portraits let into the walls, and, even with her fine courage and resolution, she shivered slightly as she saw the sombre eyes of a certain Sir Godfrey Kennelly apparently turned upon her with a reproachful gleam. But she recovered quickly enough, for she was not there to worry about dead-and-gone Kennellys, so she proceeded leisurely to remove her dress and let down her hair. It was a bit strange, perhaps, in doing this that she stood close against the wall, right under the portrait of the famous Sir Godfrey, and then, instead of removing the rest of her clothing, she donned a nightdress over the costume she was wearing, and, with every semblance of being ready for the night, threw herself on the bed and blew out the candle.
And there for an hour or more she lay in the pitch darkness pondering over the situation, and quite ready and eager for what was going to happen next. All this time she held in her right hand a little silver-plated revolver, and in the hollow of her left palm she gently caressed the bulb of the pneumatic bell.
She was not in the least frightened, but merely strung up and ready for instant action. She knew that her husband was downstairs, because she had heard the bolt of the front door shot home twice, which was the signal to her that Nettleship put in an appearance, as arranged. And, moreover, according to plan, the bedroom door was not quite closed, and, from time to time she could just catch the sound of voices below. Gradually, as she lay there, with her eyes wide open, and her senses keyed up to the highest point, she began to make out, in the very dim light, the outline of certain objects in the bedroom. And so she lay there, until she began to be haunted with an uneasy dread that all these delicately laid plans were going to miscarry. Was it possible, perhaps, that ‘the ghost’ might be afraid to try another coup so soon after the successful raid on the unfortunate American?
And just when Ella was beginning to make up her mind that the solution of the mystery would have to be postponed, there came a slight noise that might have been made by a rat behind the wainscot, and, after that, somewhere about the place where she judged the portrait of Sir Godfrey to be, two tiny points of brilliant flame radiated into the room, thin and keen, like a pair of lances. They moved slowly, much as slender searchlights might have done, Ella caught sight of them, all that fine courage and resolution returned.
Here were the eyes, those sinister eyes looking out from the notorious portrait as more than one unfortunate occupant of the room had professed to see them. And those eyes had been responsible for more than one tragedy. But upon this occasion, however, they were exercising no hypnotic effect upon the woman who lay there watching them from the bed. As Ella lay perfectly still, watching intently, the eyes moved lower down, until they remained some five feet or so from the oak-panelled wall. It was only just for a moment that they seemed to hesitate there, for they advanced slowly into the room, and swept with brilliant intensity across the bed.
Ella Nettleship, with half-veiled eyes, lay as still as death until the lights were switched off in the direction of the dressing-table. Here they concentrated for a second or two, and it seemed to Ella that she could see a hand stretched out in the direction of her jewel case. Evidently she was not wrong, for she saw the lure lifted from the table, and, with that, she gently pressed the bulb in the palm of her hand.
Then she lay perfectly still for possibly ten seconds before she heard the door of the bedroom creak, and it seemed to her that she could catch the sound of her husband’s heavy breathing. And if she were right, it was up to him now to do the rest. Then something whizzed across the room, there came a choking sort of cry from the direction of the dressing table, and, after a short struggle, a mighty object collapsed with a dull thud on the floor. Followed a rush across the room, and a heavy impact as two bodies came together, and immediately there was a grunt and a groan as the intruder and the newcomer grappled with one another. A curse broke out of somewhere in the centre of the velvety darkness, and then another cry that seemed to be squeezed out of the centre of the gloom with more groans that stopped suddenly in the midst of a heavy fall. But assuredly those curses did not proceed from Nettleship’s lips, and with this comfortable feeling, Ella reached out her hand for the box of matches on the little table by the side of the bed, and lighted her pair of candles.
As the flare lifted and dimly illuminated the room, Ella saw a strange sight. A man was lying on