Dancing Death Read online

  “Look at that window, George! Who’s been spilling water on it?”

  The other peered at it, then began to mount the stairs. Travers followed him.

  “The window’s been opened! That’s not spilt water—it’s melted snow!”

  All at once he felt an overwhelming fear. His heart began to race, and he bit his lip nervously. Paradine watched him as he stood there indecisively. Then he leaned across and opened the window. The snow blew in as he leaned out and peered below. Down there was the blurred outline of a body, already covered by a white film!

  Paradine clutched his arm.

  “What is it? Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I’m all right. Better get downstairs, George. I rather think that’s her body in the snow.”

  The other started to stammer something, but Travers had already moved off. Inside the breakfast room he locked the door, then squinted through the far window.

  “That’s a body all right, George. We’ll open the window and get her in this way.”

  It was Ransome’s body. As they placed it on the floor beneath the window Travers saw the bruises on the throat, the distended lips, and the staring eyes. Paradine’s examination took several minutes, and his voice was oddly nervous as he spoke from time to time.

  “Strangled . . . from behind, by the look of it. . . . Larynx probably dislocated. . . . Must have been unconscious a second or two after the hands gripped her. . . . Dead under an hour.”

  Travers waited till he’d finished.

  “She’ll have to be smuggled up there, George . . . with the others. We’ll wrap her up in this rug. You watch at the foot of the stairs and say when the coast’s clear.”

  They were lucky. In a couple of minutes Ransome s body was placed on the rug before the window of the temporary morgue.

  “We’ll leave her here till the police get here,” said Paradine quietly. “And what about sealing up the room and having Palmer on guard?”

  “Right! I’ll see to it.”

  Then, as they stepped out on the landing and Travers closed the door, Pollock appeared at the head of the stairs with a suddenness that was almost terrifying.

  “Excuse me, sir, but I’ve been looking everywhere for you, sir. Mr. Franklin’s on the phone, sir, and would like to speak to you!”

  Travers took a deep breath. “Thank you, Pollock. We’ll be there in a second.”

  He watched him turn down the stairs, then shook his head. “That wasn’t a godsend, George, it was a miracle! You stay here till Palmer comes. Then tell Mrs. Cairns that Ransome’s been found and won’t be down for some time. And, for God’s sake, pull yourself together and don’t let a soul see anything’s happened. Not a word to a soul! If Ransome’s mentioned, don’t know anything!”

  After which jumble of instructions he sprinted down the stairs for the dining room.

  CHAPTER XIII

  CRASHAW LENDS A HAND

  IT WAS well over half an hour later when Travers went out of the front door, past the loggia, and along the hedge path almost as far as the pagoda, with the snow flickering down spasmodically and the whole prospect as miserable as he felt himself. Then he turned and had a good look at the house. High up in the roof were two gable windows, each with a sheer drop to the ground and not an inch of foothold for a cat-burglar. He nodded to himself, then returned to the house. William, in the hall, was dispatched for Pollock.

  “Just a minute, Pollock, please!” He led the way upstairs to the side staircase, past where Palmer sat on duty.

  “There’s a gable window at each side of the house. Does that mean an unoccupied room, by any chance?”

  Pollock ruminated. “Gable window, sir? Yes, sir; that’ll be the attic.”

  “Right! Let me have a look at it.”

  “Very good, sir!” He led the way up the stairs, round to the right, away from the servants’ rooms, to where a short flight of steps led almost vertically to a species of loft. Pollock pointed to a door.

  “You wish to see inside, sir?”

  Travers nodded. Inside was a room like an inverted V; ten good feet in the middle. In a corner were some discarded trunks and boxes. Travers went over to the window, looked at the snow and the pagoda, then tried it. The window didn’t open. Pollock explained.

  “That’s a sort of dummy, sir. There’s a ventilator up there, sir—in the gable.”

  “I see. Now, Pollock; sometime this afternoon the police are going to be here. You can keep a still tongue in your head?”

  “Most certainly, sir!”

  “Then, not a word to a soul—including Mr. Braishe! Have a small packet of sandwiches made up at once, and a thermos of coffee, and bring a rug along. Put them in the corner by those boxes. And is there a key to this room?”

  “In the door behind you, sir.”

  “So there is!” He pocketed it. “How long’ll it take you to do all that?”

  “About . . . ten minutes, sir.”

  “Good! Use the back stairs—and not a word to a soul! And send William to the breakfast room at once.”

  A two-minute talk with William, and he strolled along to the dining room—in time to see Braishe replacing the phone with Paradine standing by. Braishe appeared to be rather annoyed.

  “No go about Charles. I can’t get through to town.”

  “How’d you first get him? Through an agency?”

  “Yes—County Employment Association. They backed his references.” He scowled at the phone. “If we’re not careful, he’ll bolt.”

  “Not he! He couldn’t get through half a mile of that snow. It’d kill him!”

  Braishe grunted as he closed the doors of the miniature cupboard; then, “Know who’s coming with Franklin?”

  “Afraid I don’t. He wasn’t too sure himself—except that the Yard had been called in.”

  Braishe nodded. “Well, they can’t come too quickly for me—that’s how I feel about it.”

  Travers glanced at Paradine, then looked away again. “Everything else settled? Lawyer, undertaker, and so on?”

  “My God! It’s hellish!” Braishe broke out. “Think of it, Travers. Two days ago—all you people coming here—”

  “Don’t think of it!” said Travers quickly. “Walk about! Do something!” He took him by the arm and steered him out of the room. “Suppose you don’t know where Crashaw is?”

  “I don’t. I think I heard Challis tell him he’d have to do something or go balmy. I think that’s how he put it.” Braishe’s tone was very irritable. “They’re probably in the billiard room.”

  “They might do worse!” said Travers cheerfully. “There’s no disrespect for the dead in keeping sane.”

  He left them standing there and hurried off to the basement staircase where the click of the balls told him Braishe’s supposition was correct. This time the pair of players looked much less self-conscious at being discovered. Challis finished his shot before he spoke.

  “Good news, old boy—what?”

  “You mean about the police.” He nodded. “By the way, why exactly did you choose that Chinese costume for the dance?”

  Challis’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Crashaw looked startled. “Why! what’s the idea, old boy?”

  “Just curiosity! You see I know the reason for everybody else’s.” Then he smiled.

  “Oh, I see!” Challis smiled too—rather warily. “It was like this, old boy. Just another stunt we were doing in the show. You know those comic jugglers you see on the halls—all bounce and bunkum? Well, I’m doing an impersonation of one. Damn funny—though I say so!”

  “I expect it will be! What I really came for was Crashaw. He’s been bewailing the fact that he hasn’t anything to do, so I’ve got him a job.”

  “I say—really?”

  “Come along with me!” Travers took his arm. “Challis won’t mind being left for a bit. Hallo! here’s the gong! Better hurry up, or we shan’t be finished by lunch.”

  Travers prattled away as they mounted the s
tairs. At the top of the servants’ landing he caught sight of William.

  “What about bringing William along to lend us a hand?”

  “What’s the idea precisely?”

  But by the time the footman had joined them they were mounting the steps to the attic room. William opened the door for them to enter. Travers waved Crashaw in first. Then the setting changed dramatically. Travers closed the door and stood with his back to it. William backed alongside him. Crashaw, in the middle of a sentence, stopped with his mouth open. Then he looked suspicious.

  “I say—what’s the idea?” His voice still had its plaintive quality.

  “I’m afraid you know it!” said Travers. “Here you are, and here you stay till the police come. You’ll find something to eat in that corner. The window’s a fixture, so you—”

  “Here—I say!” broke in Crashaw.

  “Shut up! Don’t keep up that ridiculous pose! You’d be far more sensible to own up and ease the strain on yourself.” There was no cheap irony in his voice as he went on. “You had a bit of bad luck, you know, Crashaw. You claimed to be at a school ten miles from Wroughton Park, where my young nephew is. You mentioned Westover, and we talked about its O.T.C. They haven’t got one, and haven’t had since—” He stopped suddenly. “Who’s the chairman of your governors?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say. You see, you didn’t give me the chance to tell you I’d only been there a couple of terms!”

  Travers shook his head reprovingly. “Been at Westover two terms and not know Lord Dillingwater! Really, Crashaw!”

  “Of course, I know the name—”

  “Of course you do! However, here you are, as I said. William’s going to sit outside that locked door—with a loaded revolver. If you break down the door or try to escape, he’ll let you have one in the nearest place. Isn’t that so, William?”

  “That is so, sir!”

  Crashaw wasn’t going to take all that lying down. “You’re making a mistake, Travers—and you’ll be sorry for it. I want to see Mr. Braishe. I insist on seeing him!”

  Travers shook his head.

  “I tell you, you’ve got to send him up here. If you don’t, I’ll kick the place down!”

  “If you try that, you’ll be tied up.” Without any more argument he nodded to the footman to leave the room. The chair was brought to the very foot of the steps, and William took his seat.

  “You’ve had lunch?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good! Here’s the key. If Mr. Braishe does come up later on, let him have it. Let me know if that chap tries any monkey tricks.”

  In the dining room the men were standing round waiting.

  “Sorry!” said Travers. “Don’t wait for Crashaw, by the way. He won’t be down for a bit.”

  The meal went on its way even more cheerfully than he’d anticipated. Moreover, being something to do, it was extraordinarily spun out. In the air was quite a new feeling. Another hour or two, and there’d be yet more people in the house, and a set of wholly new conditions to break the monotony and finally end it. George Paradine was almost his old genial self, more, as Travers suspected, to hide than to express what he was feeling. When the servants had gone someone asked again what had happened to Crashaw.

  “As a matter of fact, he’s locked up in the attic. William’s on guard at the door.”

  “Good God!” exclaimed Braishe amid the general consternation. “What on earth for?”

  “Because he’s our burglar!”

  He waited till the questions were all fired.

  “One reason I know is because he knew nothing about old Dillingwater—the pacifist peer. And, by the way, Martin, Crashaw insists on seeing you.”

  Braishe looked exceedingly annoyed. “Really! I say, Travers! I think I might have been consulted about all this!”

  Wildernesse looked very sheepish. Paradine looked watchful and startled. It was Challis who relieved the situation.

  “About this Lord What’s-his-name, old boy. Hadn’t you better lock me up? ’Cause I’m damned if I know much about him!”

  “Sorry!” said Travers most apologetically. “It’s a most annoying habit of mine—being cryptic. Dillingwater is the big noise at the particular school Crashaw’s claiming to come from—”

  “What about his footprints?” interrupted Braishe. “Franklin said there was only one set. Even Crashaw can’t work miracles, you know!”

  “That’s true enough—but he could create an illusion! Franklin knew all about that. Before he left he gave me a note—as you know—telling me to keep an eye on Crashaw. May I tell you what Franklin knew had happened? Crashaw slipped into the house last night—possibly as the harlequin Celia saw; possibly not. At any rate, he slipped in after the guests had gone, since his prints are over those made by them and the car wheels. He was kept hanging about because he was disturbed two or three times in the night—by Charles and Franklin and myself. I should say in any case he hung on till the very edge of dawn, when perhaps he heard the household on the move. Then he slipped out of the front door—”

  “But Charles found the door locked!”

  “I know! I’m coming to that later. Crashaw slipped out to the porch, and he saw the snow. He knew what a job he’d had getting here, and he didn’t like the idea of tackling it when it was infinitely worse. Also, he was cold—and most damnably hungry. Very well, then: he decided on a bluff about a car. He therefore walked backwards, choosing the ruts as much as possible, as far as the end of the kitchen garden wall, where he was partly sheltered. Then he came back, treading in his own steps, knocked at the door, and was let in. Franklin found out all that from the footprints. What’s more, he took the pains to go to the end of Crashaw’s steps and found they ended—in the air!”

  That, of course, cleared the atmosphere.

  “My God! Would you believe it!”

  “Sorry, Travers!” said Braishe. “But you’ve only got yourself to thank for the misunderstanding.”

  “I know that. But if you people had suspected Crashaw it might have been far more difficult. He might have bolted by hook or crook.”

  “Why didn’t he bolt after breakfast?” asked Wildernesse.

  Travers hesitated for a moment, not because he wasn’t sure of that point. What he was thinking of was the ridiculously thin excuse he’d given—and had had accepted—for Crashaw hanging on in the house at all, once he’d collected the spoil.

  “Why didn’t he bolt after breakfast? Well, why should he? He was welcomed here by a set of charming people—so decent and so intelligent that they couldn’t conceivably have any real low-down sense. Also the morning blizzard arrived and he had to stop. May I recall something to you there? Remember how he advised Franklin to go by the hedge and the wood? Why? Not only was it the way he realized he ought to have gone himself; but he didn’t want Franklin to see those footprints of his that ended nowhere!”

  “Good for you, old boy!” Challis looked round as if to lead the applause. But Braishe was still somewhat reserved.

  “Then you’ve not only got the burglar upstairs—you’ve got the murderer! And you think he’s that type?”

  “That’s for the police to decide,” said Travers mildly. “We’ve got our man, ready to hand over—with a full statement.”

  “What about the boodle, old boy?”

  “That’s probably secreted somewhere at the end of the footprints. We can get that at any time.”

  “Then I vote we have a look now,” and Challis got to his feet.

  Travers smiled. “Then you’d better get a diving suit. It’s under a couple of foot of snow!”

  Paradine’s voice came in quietly. “What about that door?”

  “Oh, yes!” Travers fumbled at his glasses. “If Martin will be good enough to let me have a free hand I’ll try to prove it. Even if I don’t, I shall still hold—with Franklin—that the case is proved against Crashaw. Would you mind if I pushed the bell for Charles?”

  The footman had obviously
no idea of what was in store for him, in spite of the fact that five pairs of eyes were regarding him curiously.

  “Oh, Charles! I’m authorized by Mr. Braishe to ask you a very direct question!”

  The footman’s face coloured. His expression altered at once.

  “Mr. Braishe guarantees that if you answer this question perfectly frankly he’ll pass the whole thing over and make no further reference to it. Also, the police won’t be informed. . . . You locked the front door on the night of the dance?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s a spring lock?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you bolted it top and bottom?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And in the morning, when you got up, everything was as you left it?”

  The hesitation might have been due to the five pairs of eyes, all fastened on him. Travers cut in again before the answer came.

  “You imagined that Mr. Franklin and I were suspicious of you, when we found you wandering about. Also you had on a pair of shoes—done up; probably because you hadn’t been to bed. Is that why, although you found the door unbolted, you decided to say nothing about it?”

  Charles looked round for a lead.

  “Speak out!” snapped Braishe. “You hear what Mr. Travers is asking!”

  “Well, sir . . . the door was unbolted.”

  “That’s all right,” said Travers. “You can go now!”

  He turned to the others. “I may be doing him an injustice—and her too—but I think if you find out, as I did, which one of the maids arranged after all to have a room to herself, you’ll know why Charles was careful how he brought himself into prominence after being discovered wandering about!”

  “I’ll certainly have that seen into!” said Braishe angrily.

  “That’s your own private affair,” Travers told him quietly. “I may be wrong. I hope I am.”

  “You say Crashaw—if that’s the fellow’s name—wanted to see me. What about it? You think I ought?”

  “That’s just as you like. I don’t think perhaps I’d let him know—well, just all that we know. We’re running no risk in holding him.” He got to his feet. “Now, if you fellows will excuse me, I think I’ll turn in for a bit. I have an idea I shan’t get a frightful lot of sleep to-night.”