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  He was about to open the car door, when he heard hurried footsteps in the house. He turned, and saw Wirral near the door, looking harassed.

  Behind him was Abel; and the groom seldom entered the front of the house.

  Wirral raised his voice: “Mr. Mannering—Mr. Mannering, sir!”

  Mannering ran up the steps.

  “Mr. Mannering—” Wirral said again, and then stopped for breath. Abel, coming forward sturdily, carried on for him.

  “Can you come with me a minute, sir?”

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “I—I’d rather show you, sir,” said Abel.

  “I just can’t imagine how—” began Wirral, and stopped, for Mannering and the groom were already hurrying along the passage, along which the footman with a fine head of hair had already disappeared. Abel led the way through a maze of passages until they reached the store-room – and the door of the room where the plaster cast had been put away was closed.

  Abel turned the key in the lock, and pushed the door open.

  Mannering needed only a single glance to see what had happened.

  The plaster cast was smashed.

  It lay in hundreds of tiny pieces, on the shelf, in the seed-box and on the floor. The soil which had been lifted with it was spread about the floor and the shelves, too, and there were smears on the walls. Someone had broken in, picked up the seed-box and hurled it against the wall, smashing the cast and afterwards breaking the pieces into tiny fragments. Here and there, pieces of the white plaster had been trodden into powder.

  The bloodstained grass was on a shelf behind the door.

  “I can’t imagine how anyone got in,” said Wirral in an unsteady voice. “There are only two keys, sir—I have one and you had the other—the one that Abel’s got now. And I swear mine hasn’t been taken during the night, I’m quite sure, sir. I keep a duplicate key of every door in my room, and the box wasn’t touched during the night.”

  “I don’t think they used a key,” said Mannering.

  He was looking at the lock of the door, and bent down to examine it more closely. There were scratches, made by a sharp instrument – not an ordinary skeleton key, more likely a knife or a piece of stout wire with a rough edge. The lock was a simple one.

  He straightened up.

  “I thought we could rely on that,” said Abel heavily.

  “Yes,” said Mannering. “So did I.”

  “But who—” began Wirral.

  Mannering spoke impatiently.

  “We were watched last night, and afterwards we had burglars. Have you noticed anything else unusual this morning?”

  Wirral hesitated.

  “Well, have you?”

  The old butler swallowed a lump in his throat.

  “Well—well, sir, there was something unusual. Just along here, sir. This—window.” He pointed. “I locked it myself last night, but it was unlatched this morning. I thought—I thought one of the staff had stayed out late, and been locked out. I meant to make inquiries during the day, sir. I didn’t dream of this.”

  “Nor did anyone else,” said Mannering drily. “Don’t talk about this too much, either of you.”

  “Lady Bream—” began Wirral.

  “I’ll tell Lady Bream.”

  “Very good, sir.” said Wirral. “Is there anything more you require just now, Mr. Mannering?”

  “No, you carry on.”

  Wirral left him with Abel, at the entrance to the store-room. The groom’s eyes were glinting, as if he were beginning to feel angry. Mannering lit a cigarette, while Abel stretched out a hand and picked up the largest fragment of the plaster – a piece no larger than a peanut. He powdered it between his powerful thumb and forefinger, and growled: “That’s what I would like to do to un.”

  “Perhaps you’ll have the chance,” Mannering said. “They’re clever, Abel, aren’t they?”

  “Clever? They are downright bad,” growled Abel. His frank eyes were turned towards Mannering and he spoke in a tense voice. “You’ll excuse me, sir, but—do you really believe that someone broke in?”

  Mannering said: “Don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Abel flatly. “Take a look at that window, sir. That wasn’t opened from the outside, but from the inside. Someone opened it to make it look as if this had been done by a burglar, but it was done by someone living here. One of the staff, who saw what happened last night, or heard that I’d put that box in here.”

  “Can you make any guess about who it was, Abel?”

  “I wouldn’t guess about a thing like this,” said Abel dourly.

  “If you get any ideas, let me know,” said Mannering easily. “I shouldn’t worry too much. We know there was a dog, and there may be other prints down in the thicket.” He turned round suddenly. “The casts down there might be all right. You haven’t looked at them, have you?”

  “I didn’t notice when I went for the grass,” said Abel. “There was something white, that was all. Shall I go and look?”

  “Yes,” said Mannering. “Hurry—and don’t talk about it, whatever you find.”

  Abel said quietly: “I won’t talk, sir, but maybe others will. And, excuse me, but have you asked for the police yet?”

  “The police know there’s trouble.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Abel, and went off briskly.

  The plaster casts which had been made of the other paw-marks were broken. They had been smashed and trampled on. Abel searched for a quarter of an hour, but found no sign of another paw-mark.

  Before Mannering heard about that, he went back to the store-room and made a close inspection of the lock and the passage window. He breathed on the metal parts, but there were no prints on the window-fittings and, as far as he could see, only one man’s prints on the door handle; Abel’s almost certainly. So the man who had broken in had carefully wiped off his prints.

  Yes, it was cleverly done.

  Like the attack on him in London.

  He went back to the hall, musing. Dr. Halsted struck one false note, this latest incident, another. The pressure was being increased, but he could not make up his mind whether Gloria was in imminent danger or whether there had been just another attempt to frighten her and so worsen her condition. He felt a cold anger against her persecutors …

  He’d have to talk to the local police.

  Voices on the landing broke into his thoughts. He slipped into the drawing-room, and left the door ajar. Lady Bream was talking, but he could not at first distinguish the words. Then the new doctor spoke, in his syrupy voice. The tone of extra refinement, the measured enunciation, was reminiscent of a ham actor ruining Shakespeare; or of a pompous politician claiming that he had a panacea for the ills of the world.

  The voice drew nearer.

  “Yes, Lady Bream, I am quite sure—in fact Dr. Chatterton informed me, when I saw him yesterday afternoon, that he was coming to the same conclusion. The environment is not suitable. Memory—ah, what a terrible thing is memory of evil happenings. It is almost malign—it affects the nerves as a malignant growth may affect the brain. It warps both judgement and reason. I ask you, Lady Bream, to imagine how your niece feels every time she walks through this great house, where she has known such happiness.”

  They had reached the hall now, and were coming towards the drawing-room.

  “It is redolent of the past,” continued Dr. Halsted. “Every step she takes must bring back to her the remembrance of the days that are gone. Look!” He raised his voice, and Mannering could imagine that he had also raised a pointing finger. “Look at that portrait, of an ancestor of Lady Gloria and her father. How often they must have stood together, looking at it, admiring it. She will recall that every time she enters the house. And she is obsessed by books—she associates them with her father, of course. There are so many books here. She must be taken away from the atmosphere here. She wants peacefulness—constant attention—loving care, but also expert care.”

  They were close to
the door now.

  “I’d hate her to go,” said Lady Bream gruffly.

  “It would be difficult for you, of course,” said Dr. Halsted. “But you need have no fear, Lady Bream, once she is out of this environment, I feel confident that she will recover. It will take time, yes, time heals all wounds—but in the wrong circumstances, under the wrong conditions, it can aggravate the wounds of the mind. I can recommend several nursing homes where …”

  The door opened. Lady Bream came in, and Halsted followed, still booming away.

  “… where she will have all the attention and the skill required. But the one I favour is near London. There, Dr. Chatterton or I, whichever of us is free, can visit her regularly. We can also report progress to you. But—and this I emphasize, dear Lady Bream—she must not have visitors. Not even you, during the first few weeks. You see, we want her to forget, and if she sees her friends and relatives, no matter how kindly and how loving, then she—”

  He caught sight of Mannering, and broke off. For a moment, he looked alarmed – or was that imagination? Whatever it was, it went in a flash, and Dr. Halsted composed his expression into one of polite curiosity.

  “John, Dr. Halsted thinks Gloria should be taken away,” announced Lady Bream.

  “Does he?” murmured Mannering.

  “I don’t think I have the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir,” said Dr. Halsted.

  “Eh? Haven’t you met?” Lady Bream knew perfectly well that they hadn’t met. “Mr. John Mannering, Gloria’s cousin—second or third, I don’t remember. Dr. Halsted.”

  Halsted bowed.

  Mannering smiled politely.

  “I was telling Lady Bream that there appears to be scant opportunity of recovery while Lady Gloria remains in a house redolent of the past,” said Dr. Halsted smoothly. “And I am sure that anyone who has her interests at heart will agree with me. However, I can merely advise.”

  “Dr. Chatterton didn’t suggest it,” Mannering remarked.

  “You are wrong, sir, quite wrong,” said Dr. Halsted. “It is true that he hadn’t mentioned this to Lady Bream, because he knew what distress it would cause her, but I assure you that he did suggest it. Only yesterday afternoon, before he was called away, he was discussing the case with me. And he declared that in his view every effort had been tried here, and that success could only be achieved if he were to move Lady Gloria somewhere else, where she would get a complete change of surroundings. Fresh—but understand me, friendly—faces, and a treatment which, with the best will in the world, she cannot get here. Don’t you agree with me, Mr. Mannering?”

  “It could be,” agreed Mannering.

  Dr. Halsted seemed satisfied with that grudging concession, and took out a slim gold cigarette-case. He proffered it to Lady Bream, who waved it away; to Mannering, who saw that it contained Egyptian cigarettes, and took out his own case. It seemed right that the doctor should smoke Egyptians; there was something exotic about him. He gave Mannering the impression that he was acting a part.

  “When do you want her to go?” demanded Lady Bream.

  “As soon as it can be arranged,” said Dr. Halsted. “We should lose no time, it is now urgent. Her condition this morning almost amounts to prostration. She gives the impression of having had a great shock, a very great shock. I am not at all sure that the accident of last night would in itself, account for her present condition. I advise that she is kept quiet all day, and if—if it is possible to make arrangements for her to be moved this afternoon, then I would advise that. In the morning, at the latest.”

  Wirral came in with coffee.

  Nothing was said while he was in the room, but as soon as he had closed the door, Lady Bream burst out: “Isn’t there another way?”

  “None,” declaimed Halsted roundly.

  Miserably, Lady Bream poured out coffee. Halsted took his, crooking his little finger as he put the cup to his lips. The man was a posturing fool; Chatterton would not be able to stand him for five minutes. But one thing puzzled Mannering; everything in this affair had been handled cleverly and skilfully; why had ‘they’, chosen a man whose manner would shout suspicion? Halsted was not even acting well.

  Lorna came in.

  “Lorna, I don’t know what to say,” said Lady Bream, looking at her helplessly. “Dr. Halsted thinks that Gloria—”

  “I do not think, Lady Bream,” interpolated Halsted solemnly. “I am quite sure that the only way of easing this awful shadow from the mind of your niece is to take her away from here. The only way.”

  Lorna glanced at Mannering, but Halsted was looking at him, as if anticipating difficulties. Mannering kept his expression formal and grave, and spoke almost as solemnly as Halsted.

  “If it has to be, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “How wise—wise!” purred Halsted.

  “Can you come again this afternoon?” asked Mannering.

  “Oh, yes, gladly,” said Halsted; he looked eager.

  “Then I think you’d better,” said Mannering. “Shall we say four o’clock, and if there’s no improvement in her condition, we’ll have to be guided by you. You’re staying nearby, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, with friends.”

  “Can we have the address?” asked Mannering. “Then if we need to, we can get in touch with you quickly.”

  There was a moment’s pause before Halsted finished his coffee, took the cup and saucer to the tray and placed it down carefully, dabbed gently at his lips with a white silk handkerchief, and said: “By all means. I am staying with Mr. Wilfrid Kenley, at Marchant House. Doubtless Lady Bream knows Marchant House.”

  Lady Bream said: “Yes. The Marchants sold it years ago. It’s in the market, I thought.”

  “My friend Mr. Kenley has only recently acquired it,” declared Halsted. “He is enthralled by its beauty and the loveliness of the surrounding countryside, as well he may be. I have seldom been in a habitation of such charm and elegance. However, that is beside the point. Marchant House, Mr. Mannering—and the telephone number is Lithom 33.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And now I must go,” said Halsted. “No peace for the wicked!” He laughed gently, bowed low over Lady Bream’s hand and over Lorna’s, nodded to Mannering and, as Wirral opened the door, went out.

  Lady Bream said hoarsely: “I was afraid it would come to this. I didn’t want it, but I suppose he’s right.”

  She went out slowly; and Mannering looked out of the window.

  Soon he saw the curly-haired footman passing – and there was no apparent reason why the footman should be on the terrace at that time of day. Mannering saw Dr. Halsted glance at the man, who nodded slightly.

  So there was collusion.

  Mannering turned to watch the footman as he entered, but Lady Bream came back, dabbing at her eyes.

  Dr. Halsted drove off.

  The footman disappeared.

  Chapter Eleven

  Pleasant Journey

  Mary Scott was happy; and showed it clearly. And this did much to create in Detective-Sergeant Edward Longley a conceit which, to do him justice, was not deep-rooted. Mary had looked attractive with her cheeks smudged with dust and wearing a drab smock; in the open two-seater, a gleaming green car in which Longley took great pride, with the sun shining on her and the reflection of the green fields and the hedges in her eyes, she looked – superb. Whenever he could, Longley stole a glance at her. She was usually looking towards the horizon, or at the hedges and the fields, but now and again she caught his eye. The wind had brought colour to her cheeks and gave an added sparkle to her eyes, and she often smiled.

  They had left London at a quarter to ten; it was now nearly half past eleven, and they had another twenty miles to go.

  The road here was narrow for a main road, and windy and hilly. The little car took the hills in top, and Longley handled her as if he loved her. They passed through a village of stone cottages and red roofs, and paused to allow two quarrelling hens to cross in front of th
em.

  “Won’t be long now,” said Longley.

  “No, it’s a pity,” said Mary.

  “Oh, well. Work, you know.”

  Mary laughed.

  “It’s a holiday for me.”

  “If it comes to that, I suppose it is for me,” said Longley, who until then had been able to utter nothing but absurd and fatuous remarks about the country looking nice this morning, and wasn’t it hot? “I work mostly in London. Don’t often get a chance of coming out into the country during the week.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “By George, yes! Always prefer the country to the town,” said Longley. “That is, up to a point. There are a lot of amenities in the town which you can’t get in the country, aren’t there?”

  “I suppose so,” said Mary primly.

  “What I mean is,” said Longley earnestly, “that I’d like to live and work in the town, but have plenty of time to get into the country in the evenings and at weekends. I think you appreciate the country more that way—you get all of the fun and none of the disadvantages.”

  “Are there any disadvantages?” asked Mary.

  The question stumped Longley, who glanced up and saw a cottage, not far along; and outside the cottage was a freshly painted sign, depicting a loaf of brown bread and a trademark. He slowed down. The cottage was on a rise, etched delightfully against the sky. The front garden was a mass of flowers, not set beds like those at Lithom Hall – a cottage garden, ablaze with lupins, marigolds, stocks, tiny flowers of all kinds and colours and, at either corner, ramblers already flaming red or with pink buds next to white flowers, open to the sun. The road curved near the cottage, and was wide enough for two or three cars to park.

  “Coffee?” asked Longley abruptly.

  Mary didn’t notice the abruptness.

  “I’d love some.”

  Longley pulled up near the rustic-wood gate, and they climbed out. Mary stretched her arms above her head and ran her fingers through her curly hair. Longley watched, wondering why she could make his heart pound heavily although he had known her only for a few hours. She wore a pale-yellow linen dress, with a short, green coat, which she took off as he opened the gate.