Darkness came with no abatement of the storm. A belated pilot of the Coastal Command, who had flown off his map, battled over Cloudyfold through a driving misery of snow and, for a fraction of time, passed through the smoke from Jonathan’s chimneys. Peering down, he discerned the vague shapes of roofs and pictured the warmth and joviality of some cheerful week-end party. Just about cocktail-time, he thought — and was gone over the rim of Cloudyfold.
It was cocktail-time down at Highfold. Jonathan ordered the drinks to be served in the drawing-room. Mandrake joined him there. He was filled with a strange lassitude — the carry-over, he supposed, from half-drowning. His thoughts clouded and cleared alternately. He was glad of the cocktail Jonathan brought him,
“After all,” Jonathan said as they waited, “we’ve got to meet at dinner, so we may as well assemble here. What am I to do with them, Aubrey?”
“If you can prevent them from getting at each other’s throats, you will have worked wonders. Jonathan, I insist on your telling me. Who do you suppose tried to drown me, and who do you suppose they thought I was?”
“It’s an interesting point. I must confess, Aubrey, that I am now persuaded that an attack was made.”
“Thank you. If you had felt—”
“I know, I know. I agree that you could not have been mistaken. I also agree that whoever made the attempt believed it to be made upon someone other than yourself. Now, let us, perfectly cold-bloodedly, examine the possibilities. You wore a cloak, and for this reason might have been taken for Nicholas, for Hart, or for myself. If you were mistaken for Nicholas then we must suppose that the assailant was Hart, who resents his attentions to Madame Lisse and who threatened him, or William who resents his attentions to Miss Chloris, or possibly Miss Chloris herself, whose feelings for Nicholas—”
“Don’t be preposterous!”
“Eh? Ah well, I don’t press it. If you were mistaken for Hart, then, as far as motive goes, the assailant might have been Nick himself—”
“Nicholas knew Hart was indoors. He saw him looking out of the bedroom window.”
“He might have supposed Hart had hurried down by the shorter route.”
“But I swear Nicholas recognized me through the pavilion window, and over and above all that, he knew I had the cloak.”
“I agree that Nicholas is unlikely. I am examining motive only. Who else had motive, supposing you were thought to be Hart?”
“Madame Lisse?”
“There, we cannot tell. What are their relations? Could Madame have risen from her bed and picked her way down to the pavilion without being seen by anybody? And why, after all, should she do so? She, at least, could not have known anyone was going down singly or otherwise.”
“She might have seen me from her window.”
“In which case she would have realized that you were yourself, and not Hart. No, I think we may dismiss Madame as a suspect. There remains Sandra Compline.”
“Good God, why Mrs. Compline?”
Jonathan blinked and uttered an apologetic titter. “A little point which I could not expect you to appreciate. My housekeeper, the excellent Pouting, is a sworn crony of Sandra’s maid. It seems that when Hart first arrived in our part of the world, this maid, who was with Sandra at the time of the catastrophe in Vienna, thought she recognized him. She said nothing to her mistress, but she confided her news to Pouting. And I, in my turn, did a little gleaning. The Viennese surgeon was a Doktor Franz Hartz, I learnt, and I knew that Hart, when he changed his nationality also changed his name. The temptation was too great for me, Aubrey. I brought them together.”
“It was a poisonous thing to do.”
“You think so? Perhaps you are right. I am quite ashamed of myself,” said Jonathan, touching his spectacles.
“There’s one thing I’d rather like to hear from you, Jonathan. How did you find out my name was Stanley Footling?” Mandrake watched his host and saw him give a little inward start.
“My dear fellow!” Jonathan murmured.
“It’s only a point of curiosity. I should be amused to know.”
A pink flush mounted from Jonathan’s chin up into his bald pate. “I really forget. It was so long ago. In the early days of our delightful association. Somebody connected with your theatre. I quite forget.”
“Ah, yes,” said Mandrake. “And is Lady Hersey in the joke?”
“No. No, I assure you. Word of honour.”
“What about Nicholas Compline? He knows. You’ve told him.”
“Well, I–I—really Aubrey — I—”
“You put him up to saying what he did at dinner.”
“But without any intention of hurting you, Aubrey. I had no idea your secret—”
“You asked me the other night what sort of man I considered you to be. I didn’t know then, and I’m damned if I know now.”
The light flickered on Jonathan’s spectacles “In a sense,” he said, “you might call me an unqualified practitioner.”
“Of what?”
“The fashionable pursuit, my dear Aubrey. Psychology.”
Madame Lisse dressed early that evening, and got rid of the maid Mrs. Pouting had sent to help her. She sat by her fire listening intently. She heard a delicate sound as if someone tapped with his finger-nails at her door. She turned her head quickly but did not rise. The door opened and Nicholas Compline came in.
“Nicholas! Are you certain…?”
“Quite certain. He’s in his bath. I listened outside the door.”
He stooped swiftly and kissed her. “I had to see you,” he said.
“What has happened? He’s furious.”
“You needn’t tell me that. I suppose you realize that he tried to kill me this morning. They won’t listen to me. Elise, I can’t put up with this any longer. Why can’t we—”
“You know very well. I cannot risk it. A scandal would ruin me. He would make scenes. God knows what he would not do. You should have gone away.”
“Damn it, I did my best. Did you want me to do myself in? I tell you I couldn’t get away. I assure you I don’t enjoy the prospect of another attack.”
“Quiet! Are you mad, to make such a noise. What is the matter with you? You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I came in half-dead with cold,” he said. “Do you suppose he’ll have another go at me? Pleasant, isn’t it, waiting?”
She looked at him attentively.
“I cannot believe he would go to such lengths, and yet one can find no other explanation. You must be careful, Nicholas. Devote yourself again to the Wynne child. You deliberately baited Francis by your behaviour. I warned you. You should have refused the invitation; it was madness to come here.”
“I wanted to see you. God, Elise, you seem to forget that I love you.”
“I do not forget. But we must be careful.”
“Careful! Listen here. For the last time will you make a clean break? We could meet in London. You could write and—”
“I have told you, Nicholas. It is impossible. How could I continue my work? And when this war ends, my friend, what then? How should we live?”
“I could find something—” He broke off and looked fixedly at her. “You’re very mercenary, Elise, aren’t you?”
“All my life I have had to fight. I have known the sort of poverty that you have never dreamed of. I will not endure such poverty again, no, nor anything approaching it. Why can you not be content? I love you. I give you a great deal, do I not?”
He stooped down to her and behind them, on the firewall, their fire-shadows joined and moved only with the movement of the fire itself. From this embrace Nicholas was the first to draw back. His shadow started from hers and in the silence of the room his whisper sounded vehemently —
“What’s that?”
“What do you mean?”