CHAPTER IX
Endacott, although abstracted, seemed for him to be in an almost genialframe of mind when he obeyed the summons of the evening gong and,meeting Claire in the hall, waited to enter the dining room with her.
"A tiring day, Uncle?" she asked him.
"Not particularly," he answered. "I made only two calls. Phillpots keptme some time at the British Museum, or I could really have caught theearlier train.--How is the piano?"
"I haven't tried it," she admitted.
"Your aunt all right to-day?"
"More confessions, Uncle. I haven't even seen her."
Endacott, as he took his place, removed his spectacles for a moment,rubbed his eyes wearily, and then looked across at his niece.
"What have you been doing all day then?" he demanded.
Claire summoned up all her courage.
"Mr. Ballaston called for me and I went over to the Cromer Golf Linkswith him," she confided. "I had a lesson at golf, some lunch, andafterwards we came home through Blakeney."
Her uncle, rather to Claire's surprise, made no comment. The service ofdinner appeared to interest him more than usual, and he certainly atewith appetite.
"Railway travelling agrees with me, I think," he remarked. "I feel thatI shall enjoy working this evening. After dinner I shall have a pipe onthe lawn with my coffee, and then--the half-hour which I have beenlooking forward to for so long."
"Did you get what you wanted from Mr. Phillpots?" she asked him, with aqueer little note of eagerness in her tone.
"I did," he admitted. "Unless I am very much mistaken, I can fill in allthe missing spaces in that manuscript within an hour. By-the-by, Claire,you didn't come down again last night after you had gone to bed, didyou, or hear anything unusual?"
She shook her head.
"I was much too sleepy. Why?"
He toyed nervously with some bread upon his plate. His eyes sought hersalmost furtively.
"Just an idea," he said. "I left my work for five or ten minutes andwalked around the garden. When I came back, my papers were alldisturbed."
"I didn't stir out of my room after I went upstairs," she assured him."Was anything missing? Were there any papers there that mattered?"
"As it happened there were not," he replied. "If it had beento-night--well, it might have been different, although a manuscript inChinese, even though translated, as it will be, would be scarcely likelyto attract an ordinary thief, would it?"
She moved in her chair a little uneasily.
"I should think not," she replied. "In any case, if you were only out ofthe room for a few minutes, who could have entered without your seeingthem?"
"Just so," he agreed. "As you suggest, it might have been fancy, or abreath of wind from outside, or the opening of a door."
"You mustn't sit up too late to-night," she told him. "You are lookingvery tired."
He nodded gently.
"All the work I have to do," he said, "will be finished in an hour.Afterwards I may write a letter while you go in and see your aunt."
His sudden fit of what was for him almost garrulity, left him and herelapsed into his usual silence, punctuated only by monosyllabic repliesto Claire's remarks. He accompanied her into the garden, however, at theconclusion of the meal, and whilst they sat together over their coffeehe asked her an abrupt question.
"How old are you, Claire?"
"Twenty-one," she told him, "twenty-one last May."
"You are a sensible girl," he went on. "When I heard that I was going tohave a niece to look after and that she was coming out to China for meto take her to England, I must confess that I was terrified. Such anupheaval in my daily life seemed to me calamitous. I have been agreeablysurprised. Your coming has been a pleasure to me, Claire. I only wishthat you had come before."
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. It was the first time he had everspoken to her in such a fashion.
"I am a poor adviser for a young girl," he continued, a littleregretfully, "and I am afraid that your aunt is hopelessly prejudiced inthe matter. I cannot bring myself to believe, however, that the societyof this young man, Gregory Ballaston, is a good thing for you. Idistrust the family ethics. I cannot help thinking that he is hopingthrough you to arrive at the information which so far I have refused hisfather and his uncle."
"I was with him for several hours to-day, Nunks, and he never evenmentioned it," she ventured. "He is going out to Canada in a month or soto earn his own living."
Endacott sighed.
"I am full of prejudices," he confessed. "The last twenty years of mylife have been spent in abstractions, have passed like a dream, awayfrom the world which counts, which one ought really never to lose sightof. I should be an ill-adviser to any one.--Go and play something."
Claire disappeared into the house and soon the sound of her musicdrifted out in little ripples of melody through the perfumed stillness.Her uncle listened for some time without any sign of pleasure or thereverse. Then he rose to his feet and looked up across the roofs of thevillage, over the green slopes in the background, to where a few lightswere slowly appearing from the windows of the Hall. Presently the musicceased and Claire stole out to him. She passed her arm through his.
"It is a very beautiful home that, Uncle," she said softly. "Don't youthink it would be a sin to have it all broken up?"
"A better race might follow," he muttered.
She shook her head.
"They belong," she said gently.
He turned away with a little grunt and entered his study. For a fewminutes Claire flitted round the garden. There was a nightingale singingsomewhere in the distance to which she stopped to listen. Even thenoises from the village, through the gathering twilight, became almostmelodious. Presently she passed through the postern gate, strolledacross the lane and entered the drawing-room of the Little House throughthe wide-flung windows. Madame lay stretched upon her couch, listlessand weary. She welcomed Claire with only the ghost of a smile.
"Where have you been all day, child?" she asked.
"Enjoying myself, I am afraid," was the remorseful reply. "Gregory cameand fetched me and we went over to Cromer."
"How did he seem?" Madame enquired, with a shade of interest, almosteagerness, in her manner. "Was he very depressed?"
Claire shook her head, thankful for the twilight.
"He seemed very much as usual," she answered; "if anything a littlenicer. I enjoyed my day very much. The only thing I felt was that I wasneglecting you."
Madame made a faint gesture of denial.
"I am very glad to think that you had such a happy day, dear," she said."I am glad you came in for a moment, though. I don't know why it is, butto-night I have nerves. Where is your uncle?"
"Working away as usual at his Chinese manuscripts," Claire replied. "Hewent to London this morning and came back at five o'clock."
Madame nodded.
"I saw the car go with him and bring him back. I don't know how it is,but the sight of every one to-day makes me uneasy. Even Bertram seemedqueer. He sat with me for an hour this afternoon. As a rule he soothesme. To-day, somehow or other, he frightened me. I feel as though therewere a sort of psychological thunder in the air."
"Aunt, you mustn't let yourself imagine such foolish things," Clairebegged. "Everything and every one is as usual. Uncle, as a matter offact, was in remarkably good spirits this evening."
"Can any one help fancies and presentiments, my dear, who lies here hourafter hour, day by day, as I do," Madame sighed. "I know it is silly,but instinct is stronger than reason, and Bertram, at any rate, wasstrange to-day. Every now and then he left off talking and there seemedto be something always behind his eyes."
Miss Besant entered the room and Claire called to her. She began to makepreparations with firm, capable fingers, for moving the couch. Clairebent over and kissed her aunt.
"No more morbidness, please," she insisted. "I'll be over earlyto-morrow morning. I may have some news for you
."
"Your uncle has found what he wanted in London then?" Madame asked.
Claire nodded assent.
"He told me a short time ago," she confided, "that in half an hour hewould know everything there is to be known."
She crossed the lane and passed through the postern gate, gazingwistfully over the roofs of the village houses towards the park. Herpreparations for the night, when she finally reached her room, took herlonger than usual. It was late when, after she had turned out thelights, she moved to the window and stood there for a moment lookingout. Suddenly the little reminiscent smile upon her lips changed to oneof actuality, of real and instant pleasure. The moonlight was as yetfaint, but, crossing the stile which led from the park, she caught aglimpse of a white shirt. For a moment she was tempted. He might becoming even as far as the gardens, late though it was. Then she lookedback at her neatly folded clothes and shook her head.
"Claire," she soliloquised, "you're a sentimental idiot!"
After which she turned out the light, got into bed and slept soundly.
When she awoke the sun was shining into her room, the thrushes andblackbirds were singing and there were sounds of unusual movementdownstairs. Still only half awake, she sat up, listening to thefootsteps upon the gravel beneath her window. There were voices too,muffled, yet agitated. Then she heard one word--a dramatic, horribleslur against the background of the summer morning.
"Dead!--Cold dead he were!"
For a moment she shook herself. She felt that she must be in anightmare. Then she became conscious of the reality of those footstepsbelow, the renewed murmuring of awe-stricken voices. She sprang out ofbed. Before she could reach the window, she heard the same hoarse,shocked voice, with its quaint Norfolk inflexion.
"Shot right through the head, that's what happened to him. Writing thereat the table with his papers lying all over the place. There's arevolver on the floor. Police Sergeant Cloutson won't have it touched."
She leaned, screaming, out of the window. Amongst the little crowd belowwere the village policeman, both the gardeners, and Mr. Wilkinson, theclergyman.
"Tell me what has happened?" she cried out frantically.
They seemed all stricken dumb.
"Tell me, tell me what it is?" she insisted.
Mr. Wilkinson turned towards the front entrance.
"If you will put on a dressing gown and come to your door," he said, "Iwill speak to you."
She met him halfway down the stairs. Her knees were trembling, and sheclung to the banisters for support.
"Tell me what it is?" she demanded. "Is it Uncle?"
"My dear young lady," he announced solemnly, "a terrible thing hashappened. You must prepare yourself for the worst. Your uncle has beenshot through the head, apparently at some time during the night. Thedoctor is with him now, but--but he is quite dead."
"Dead!" she repeated mechanically.
"All his papers are in a state of great disorder," the clergymanconcluded. "I am afraid--it is a terrible thing to say, but I am afraidthere is no doubt that your uncle has been murdered."
END OF BOOK TWO
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BOOK THREE