'A murderer? An assassin? But no!'
'One does not know.' Henri took up his largest carving-knife and sharpened it with great solemnity. At this moment Hamish walked into the kitchen.
'I say,' he said, 'the cakes and things at tea were all right, but isn't there something to eat? His eye fell on the manoeuvres of Henri. 'Gosh!' he added. 'Are we really in a state of siege? Aunt Dame said so, but I thought she was having me on.'
Célestine hastened to provide him with cold pie and cocoa, viands at the sight of which she herself flinched, but which, she had long realised, were one of the stays of English youth.
'You,' said Henri, with ferocious humour, producing a large but superseded carving-knife, 'must be well-armed, monsieur, should a siege take place. Accept this, if you please.'
'Knives!' quoted Hamish, flourishing the one provided. 'This is the life! Oh, thanks a lot, Henri!' He retired, making large passes in the air.
'You are a monster who lives by the death of little children!' shrieked Célestine. 'Sharpen an axe!'
Henri, who had lived with his wife for more than thirty years, realised that she was in what the English would call 'one of her moods,' and that, as she was thus possessed, the simplest way to avoid difficulties was to placate her by implicitly obeying her orders. Accordingly, he brought in his largest axe from the weatherproof woodshed and solemnly put on it a lethal cutting-edge. He displayed his handiwork. His wife nodded.
'It is well,' she said. 'There are sweetbreads for dinner. I hope the young men will like them. Dame Beatrice does not eat glands. For her...'
'A curried egg and much Melba toast.'
'Call for Georges.'
Henri retired to the back door and let out an ear-splitting whistle. There was a rattling of footsteps as George descended from his eyrie above the garage, his own choice of residence, since he could have had a good bedroom in the house if such had been his desire. He came into the kitchen and spotted Henri's weapon. He eyed it and took it up.
'Changing your job, brother?' he asked. 'Plenty of work in the woods near where we've been staying.'
'And a dangerous place to stay!' said Célestine sharply. 'What made Madame in such a locality?'
'Oh, we had our usual murders. I think Madam is wise to the identity of the criminal. In other words, she reckons her job there is just about cleaned up. That's why we've come back home.'
'This house will be a battlefield. You will see. We shall sell our lives dearly. All the same, this imbecile had no right to give a young boy a carving knife. He will suicide himself.'
'Not Master Hamish,' said George. 'But what is all this, anyway?'
'I think it is nonsense, but it is as well to be prepared. One hears of terrible things, and we have a young boy in the house. He may be attacked, murdered, kidnapped! Who can tell?'
'From what I gathered, he did stick his neck out. Accused some gentleman of attempting to run down two girls.'
Truly?'
'Well, I didn't get the information direct, as you might say, but from bits of back-seat conversation while I was bringing the ladies and the young gentleman home, something of the sort must have occurred.'
'But this is terrible! We shall be surrounded by assassins!'
'I shouldn't worry, Cissie,' said George. 'Detective Chief-Inspector Gavin is joining the party this evening. Besides, if you keep on moaning, you'll make Henry spoil the dinner. What did you whistle me down for?' he added, turning to the husband.
'I ordered him to whistle for you, Georges,' said Célestine. 'I wish you to arm yourself. You and he must patrol the house this night. You must be on guard. You must on no account sleep. Neither of you should sleep.'
'Oh, I sleep on a hair-trigger since the war,' said George easily. 'And if you make Henry lose his eight hours he'll lose all his good looks as well.'
'Over you I have no authority, Georges, but Henri will do as he is told,' said Célestine severely.
'Very well, chérie,' agreed Henri, favouring George with an enormous wink. There were a number of spare rooms in the Stone House, and Célestine always kept the beds in them well aired.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ESCAPADE
'They searched the country wide and braid,
The forests far and near,
And they found him into Elmond's wood,
Tearing his yellow hair.'
Old Ballad-(Anon)
Gavin, the young men and Laura enjoyed the sweetbreads. Dame Beatrice, whose interest in food was apt to lessen with every passing year, dutifully ate curried eggs and Melba toast. Hamish, sumptuously fed in the kitchen, went to bed without being ordered to do so, at eight o'clock, just as it was beginning to get dark, for, on this particular evening, Hamish had secret plans. From the age of seven he had dispensed with Laura's attempts to visit him to say good night and she had also promised not to peep in on him when she herself was ready to go to bed. He had no fear, therefore, that his plans would be frustrated because of maternal anxiety and care. Once he was upstairs he would see no more of his parents until the morning.
Hamish possessed the glory and the weakness (in the opinion of most of his adult relatives) of having a single-track mind. Once his heart was set on any project, however ill-advised and even dangerous it might seem to others, he felt bound to carry it through. He had once addressed his father in these terms:
'I don't mind letting you down, but I'm never going to let myself down. By this I mean that if I commit myself to something I shall feel bound to go on with it.'
'Well, all right. I hope you'll stick to that,' his father had replied, for Robert Gavin viewed with equanimity those vagaries and resources in his son which occasionally made Laura wonder how soon she would be subjected to a nervous breakdown.
Having supper in the kitchen with Henri and Célestine was always interesting, and the boy was already fluent in idiomatic French. Fortunately, Dame Beatrice's servants were Parisians and their accent was untainted by patois. Hamish had listened, fascinated and excited-although he did not betray his emotions-to Célestine's outspoken fears for the safety of the house and its occupants, a monologue punctuated only very occasionally by Henri's soothing comments.
Hamish placed no reliance on these, for had not Henri presented him with the carving knife-unsharpened, it was true-with which to defend himself (and possibly his mother and Dame Beatrice) when the fun began? He went into the dining-room to greet and bid good night to his father as soon as supper was over in the kitchen, and found the five adults, empty coffee cups before them-for Célestine had orders not to clear these until she and Henri had concluded their own meal and the company had repaired to the drawing-room-arguing the case against Campden-Towne. They ceased talking as soon as he arrived to say good night. Laura gave him an apple, as it was always a major battle to get him to clean his teeth, and expressed surprise and pleasure when he informed her that he was going straight to bed.
'I've been listening to a lot more French than usual,' he explained, 'and it's made my brain rather tired.'
'He's up to something,' said Laura, as soon as he had gone. 'I'm going up to his room to make sure he goes to bed.'
'I thought you had a gentlemen's agreement with him not to do that,' said Gavin. Laura snorted, but when the others went into the drawing-room she accompanied them, although she cast a speculative look at the staircase on the way.
Hamish, having gained his room, switched on the light and picked up the carving knife. With some difficulty, and having to employ a slightly saw-like movement, he managed to cut the ball of his thumb and draw a spot or two of blood. Satisfied, he put down the knife on his bedside table, undressed, sat on the bed to eat his apple and then lay down, leaving the light on. For a year or more he had trained himself to wake at a given time, mostly in order to go swimming or riding at dawn, a practice which had always received encouragement from his mother.