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Spanish type, her heavily marked eyebrows tending to overpower her features. She wore black.

Maitland bowed, as Granville withdrew.

ā€œI am exceedingly sorry to disturb you, Lady Carradaleā€” and you, sir. But I was under the impression that you had another guestā€”ā€

ā€œYou were mistaken, Dr. Maitland.ā€ Lady Carradale had a high, rather harsh voice. ā€œA friend of yours, you thought?ā€

ā€œWellā€”hardly a friend! My business was official.ā€

ā€œIndeed! You donā€™t look like a policeman.ā€

ā€œNo. Beards are unusual in the police, Lady Carradale. I can only ask you to forgive me for this unwarranted intrusion.ā€

ā€œBut not at all, Doctor. It is a pleasure. Will you and your friend honour us with your company?ā€

ā€œMany thanks. My friendā€”Mr. Donovanā€”and I are most appreciativeā€”ā€

The houselights went up.

All those on their way out, stopped, and turned!ā€”as the tableau curtains were drawn apart, and Granville stepped on to the stage. The gallery became silent.

ā€œLadies and gentlemenā€”ā€

ā€œForgive me again, Lady Carradale ā€¦ I must go. Good night, and thank you.ā€

Maitland and Donovan hurried from the box. As the door closed:

ā€œThrough to the stage!ā€ said Maitland. ā€œWe have been tricked, Donovan! She slipped out! There was someone else in that box! We must look up the history of Lady Carradaleā€¦ through here!ā€

On the stage, a nervous hush prevailed. Granvilleā€™s voice could be heard, explaining to the audience that, owing to the sudden and inexplicable illness of Ian Forrester, the part of Hamlet during the rest of the play would be taken by Mr. Douglas Merrick. In these unhappy circumstances, he was sure, etcā€¦.

ā€œBut where can be possibly have gone?ā€ a womanā€™s voice whispered agitatedly.

And, quietly as possible, stage hands changed the set.

ā€œIs that you, Ives?ā€ Maitland asked suddenly.

Ives elbowed his way through a group and joined Maitland and Donovan.

ā€œItā€™s me right enough. Come outside, where we can talk.ā€

ā€œWhat news?ā€

As they stepped out into a narrow passage inside the stage door, Ives replied:

ā€œHeā€™s got the news!ā€

Ives pointed to a man in his shirt sleeves seated in the doorkeeperā€™s boxā€”a stout, red-faced man who had a glass of whisky beside him and who appeared to be the only person in the building unaffected by the nightā€™s happenings.

ā€œDoorkeeperā€”what do you know about all this?ā€ Maitland demanded.

The doorkeeper leaned through his little window.

ā€œAll there is to know, I reckon,ā€ he replied. ā€œJust before the curtain comes down, a chauffeur bloke hands me a noteā€”or rather, two notes. One for me, and one for Mr. Forrester. He says the one in a envelope must be handed to Mr. Forrester the moment he comes off. See? Well, I gets hold of his dresser and tells him to stand by on the sideā€”ā€

ā€œDescribe the chauffeur,ā€ snapped Maitland.

ā€œBig chap. Very hairy.ā€

ā€œGo on!ā€

ā€œIā€™ve just got back here, and I can tell the curtainā€™s down, and Iā€™m putting on my hat to nip along to the corner, when Mr. Forrester, dressed like he come off, runs past me and out into the street!ā€

He paused on this dramatic line.

ā€œWellā€”go on!ā€

ā€œThere ainā€™t no more to go on to. I can see thereā€™s a woman in the case, and I donā€™t think a lot about it. I puts my hat on and goes along to the cornerā€”ā€

ā€œBut why the hell didnā€™t you report this before?ā€ Ives growled.

ā€œIā€™ve told you, Inspector. When I come backā€”and Iā€™m not gone moreā€™n three minutesā€”how am I to know Mr. Forrester ainā€™t in the theatre? Nobody tells meā€”not till you tell me.ā€

ā€œMy God!ā€ Maitland muttered, and grasped Donovanā€™s armā€”_ā€She_ has got him! Why didnā€™t I realise his danger in time? Why didnā€™t I foresee this!ā€¦ Under our very eyes, Donovan! Under our very eyes ā€¦ā€

3

Night was giving place to morning when a man wearing a grey chauffeurā€™s uniform entered, with almost silent tread, a charmingly feminine little boudoir, furnished in satinwood upholstered in violet, and stood before a long, narrow couch upon which Our Lady reclined.

She wore a loose rest-gown. A tray, with coffee and biscuits, stood beside it. She no more than glanced at the man. He stood, powerful fists clenched, head bowed.

ā€œI am here, My Lady.ā€

ā€œSo I observe, Philo. To reportā€”failure?ā€

ā€œNo, My Lady. Success.ā€

She sat up; and her remarkable eyes opened widely, so that their beauty became fearful.

ā€œThen you have done well, Philo.ā€ She lay back again, laughing gently. ā€œFrom my box I saw the note handed to him in the wings as he left the stage. I knew that, so far, all went smoothly ā€¦ Sister Jean?ā€

ā€œHas been prepared for her journey, My Lady.ā€

ā€œHe got into the car withoutā€”urging?ā€

ā€œThe moment he saw the little Jean lying back on the cushions, Madonna. I closed the door and drove off.ā€

ā€œHow did he behave?ā€

ā€œLike a madman, My Lady. But he could open neither of the doors. She was unconscious. On the Heathā€”at the spot selectedā€”I unlocked the door, and he leapt out and attacked me. In his fury he almost overpowered me. But I tripped himā€”and silenced him. I gave the injection near the top of the spine, as Ariosto had shown meā€¦ He did not awaken again ā€œ

ā€œAnd you left him standing, as I ordered?ā€

ā€œAs you ordered, My Lady.ā€

My Lady laughed again, softly, and extended her hand.

Philo bent and kissed the delicate fingers.

4

The next person to set eyes upon Ian Forrester was a man called Thorndale.

Thorndale was a gardener, one of whose duties was to tend the heating furnace of a house overlooking Reigate Heath. This necessitated his leaving home before six oā€™clock in the morning and walking from the town across a part of the Heath and golf-course. From a mound dominated by a giant fir he usually obtained his first glimpse of his employerā€™s chimneys, visible from that point above the crowns of encircling trees.

This was a misty, cold morning. In fact, the mist was so dense in patches as to deserve the name of fog.

One such patch occurred in the dip immediately below the mound supporting the King fir, and here, grumbling to himself, Thorndale paused to try to re-light his pipe, which had gone out largely because of lack of tobacco.

However, an artist in coaxing a cinder into a flame, he contrived to get his pipe going again, and resumed his slow tramp, both hands thrust into his topcoat pockets. He climbed up the path to the mound, and to some extent, out of the mist. As he passed the great mast of the tree, he paused for a moment, staring.

Someone appeared to be standing thereā€”a man in black.

ā€œGood morning, sir,ā€ called Thorndale. ā€œBit foggy like.ā€™

He went on his wayā€”but received no reply.

This simply led him to suppose that the stranger who stood by the big tree was a surly fellowā€¦ then, led him to wonder.

Had there been someone there? Or had he imagined it?

He turned back.

Reclimbing the mound from the other side, he obtained a clear view of the figure. He had not been mistaken. There was a man there right enough. Butā€¦

Thorn daleā€™s pipe fell on to the turf.

A moment later he was running, headlong, even his precious old pipe forgotten, in the direction of a garage fronting the Heath at which as he passed he had seen men at workā€¦

ā€œWhat are you talking about, mate? Whatā€™s the panic?ā€

An older man, and a daft looking boy, joined the mechanic to whom Thorndale had tried to tell his strange news.

ā€œIā€™m talking about a ghost!ā€ said Thorndale, breathless, but defiant. ā€œThereā€™s a man up thereā€ā€”he made vague gestures in the direction of the mist wantoning over the Heathā€”ā€œstanding under a treeā€¦ Heā€™s all in blackā€”with a dagger in his beltā€”Jewels on his hands ā€¦ A ghost, I tell you!ā€

The two men and the boy exchanged glances.

ā€œBarmy,ā€ said the boy.

The mechanic aimed a blow at himā€”which the daft boy ducked.

ā€œNo harm done if we go and see.ā€

ā€œā€˜Thatā€™s all Iā€™m asking!ā€

ā€œIā€™m staying here,ā€ the older man announced, with a suspicious look at Thorndale.

And so a procession of three inquirers set out for the big fir tree.

Within ten paces of it, the mechanic pulled up.

ā€œBlimey!ā€ he remarked.

ā€œWhat did I tell you?ā€

It was the daft boy who approached the pallid statue of Hamletā€”who touched itā€”who fell back, shriekingā€”who ran like a hunted, wild thing across the Heath, directionless, without purpose.

ā€œHeā€™s turned to stone!ā€ he shrieked as he ran. ā€œHeā€™s turned to stone ā€¦ā€ So was found the body of Ian Forrester.

Chapter Thirteen 1

ā€œNICE view of the Embankment from this part of Scotland Yard, Ives.ā€

ā€œYes, Doctor, very nice. Every time I look out I wonder if Sumuru is walking by down there. Because I shouldnā€™t know her if I saw her.ā€

ā€œMā€™noā€¦ā€ Maitland lighted a cheroot. ā€œThis case must be giving you nightmares, Inspector. I hear that the Commissioner has been blowing off steam.ā€

ā€œHe has,ā€ said Ives grimly. ā€˜There was a conference yesterday. You see, although breaking up this organisation, Order, or whatever the gang may be called, is a Secret Service jobā€”and your pidginā€”their murders are my jobā€¦ and I can make no headway ā€œ

He banged a large, muscular hand on the desk, angrily. Maitland nodded, and:

ā€œThe newspapers are getting very sarcastic, too,ā€ he remarked. ā€˜The death of Sir Miles Tristram was passed over without much fuss, but the death of a popular actor is another cup of tea entirely. Then, all these disappearances are beginning to arouse public uneasiness. Questions in the House and so on.ā€

ā€œDonā€™t I know it!ā€ groaned Ives. ā€œMy particular, private hell is due to the fact that Iā€™m perfectly well aware who is responsible for them. But (a) I have no evidence against her; (b) I donā€™t know who she is or where she is!ā€

Maitland replaced his lighter in his pocket.

ā€œPersonally, I never go far without a bodyguard. Sumuru doesnā€™t jib at trifling obstacles, and Iā€™m undoubtedly a nuisance to her. Itā€™s true that she recovered all the tangible evidence I possessed, but she canā€™t strangle my memory without strangling me!ā€

He stood up, and began to pace restlessly about the office.

ā€œYou know,ā€ said Ives, slowly, ā€œthe death of that poor young actor gave me an idea. I donā€™t know how itā€™ll appeal to youā€”but I think itā€™s worth considering.ā€

Maitland paused, looking at him.

ā€œWhat is it?ā€

ā€œWell, Ian Forrester was murderedā€”a spectacular business ā€”merely because of an affair with a girl (who canā€™t be traced) belonging to this female Stalinā€”I take it, as a sort of warning to others. Very well. What about your American friendā€”Mr. Donovan?ā€

ā€œWell, what about him?ā€

ā€œHeā€™s tied up with one of these girls, too, isnā€™t he?ā€

ā€œYesā€”Claudette Duquesne. Heā€™s desperate about her. But, of course, she has disappeared!ā€

ā€œQuite so. Butā€”and Iā€™m working entirely on your own theory here, Doctorā€”this woman Sumuru may have some use for Mr. Donovan, or think she has. It certainly looks that way to me. So, suppose you were to disappear?ā€

Maitland walked over to the desk and stood looking down at the inspector. His cheroot assumed a very truculent angle.

ā€œWhat!ā€

ā€œIt could easily be arranged. Give the impression that Mr. Donovanā€™s movements were no longer under supervision. The gang might take the opportunity to bring him and the girl together again. You see my point?ā€

Maitland laughed, but not mirthfully.

ā€œYesā€”I see your point, Ives. But Donovan is an old friend. I wouldnā€™t dare to expose him to such danger ā€¦ā€

Ives leaned forward.

ā€œI donā€™t believe the danger would be so great as you think. I could undertake never to let him out of sight of the C.I.D.,

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