This time the silence was of such long duration that even Mrs. Bosanquet began to feel sleepy. But just as she had decided that her arms were aching too much, and she had better suggest a postponement of the seance, the board moved quite an inch across the paper underneath it.
"Peter, you pushed!" Margaret said.
"I swear I didn't!"
"Sh!" Mrs. Bosanquet begged.
Once it had started the board seemed to grow quite energetic, and began to describe circles, and make jerky darts in every direction.
"It keeps on leaving me behind," Charles complained. "There it goes again! Now I've lost it."
"Charles, you must keep your hands on it!" Mrs. Bosanquet told him.
"I can't; it doesn't seem to like me."
"It's all jolly fine," Peter remarked, as the board made a dash to one side, "but it can't be writing! It keeps going backwards."
"It's drawing a plan of the Priory," Charles prophesied. "Yes, I thought so; that's that corner by the garden-hall, I'll bet."
"It often starts like this," Mrs. Bosanquet said. "It will settle down, if we are patient."
"I hope you may be right," Charles answered. "I've taken enough exercise to-day without having to chase this blinking board all over the table now. Ah, the beggar nearly got away from me that time!"
"You know, if no one is pushing it, it really is rather wonderful," Margaret said.
"Listen! What was that?" Mrs. Bosanquet exclaimed. "Did you hear a sharp sound rather like a rap?"
"Sorry," Celia said. "It was me. One of my earrings has dropped on to the floor."
At that moment Peter cried: "Ouch!" and Mrs. Bosanquet said quite excitedly: "There! I knew something would happen! Did you feel anything, Peter?"
"Feel anything?" he exploded. "That brute…'
"Fancy Peter being singled out!" marvelled his brotherin-law. "Sit still, Peter: the Monk is probably trying to attract your attention. You may feel something else if you wait."
"If I feel anything else," said Peter savagely, "I'll scrap you!"
"But my dear, what has it got to do with Charles?" Mrs. Bosanquet asked. "You really must try and keep calm."
"You don't suppose any spirit was responsible, do you?" Peter said. "That brute Charles kicked me on the shin."
"If you did do anything so inconsiderate, Charles, I must beg you not to repeat it. And please don't talk any more!"
She sounded so hurt that Charles repented, and relapsed once more into silence.
The board continued to move jerkily over the paper. Celia began to yawn. Then, startling them all into rigidity, two sharp raps sounded somewhere in the room.
Celia drew in her breath sharply, and shrank against Charles.
"Quiet, all of you!" whispered Mrs. Bosanquet. "I will speak to it!"
Two more raps sounded: Peter's chair slid softly backwards.
Mrs. Bosanquet uplifted her voice. "Whoever you may be, I charge you, answer me! Rap once for Yes, and twice for No, and then we shall understand you. Do you wish to communicate with us?"
"Oh don't! Please stop!" Celia gasped.
An apologetic voice spoke out of the darkness, and both Charles and Peter sprang up. "Well yes, Mum, in a manner of speaking I do," it said. "But if I got to stand rapping on this 'ere window, I don't see as how I shall ever get much forrader, as they say."
A shout of laughter broke from Charles. "Flinders!" he cried. "I might have known it!"
Chapter Twelve
He stepped to the lamp and turned it -up. Standing just outside the open French window was Constable Flinders. "How very disappointing!" said Mrs. Bosanquet. "I'm afraid that has broken the thread."
Celia, whose cheeks were still ashen with fright, began to laugh.
"Come in, Flinders," Charles said. "And what on earth are you doing, creeping round the house?"
The constable removed his helmet, and having looked round to be quite sure there was no mat on which he ought to wipe his feet, stepped into the room. "I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir, if I gave you a start, but when I went and knocked on the back door there wasn't no one there, and I see the kitchen all dark. So I come round to the front and happening to see this here window open, and a bit of a light burning, I thought as how I would take the liberty of seeing if you was in here. Because," he added, with a touch of severity, "if you wasn't I should have had to warn you not to go leaving windows open on the ground floor."
"But what do you want?" Peter demanded. "And how did you manage to come right up to the window without us hearing you?"
The constable looked gratified. "I do move quietly, sir, don't I? I've had rubbers put on my boots, that's what I've done. Just to be on the safe side, so to speak."
"They'll be asking you to join the C.I.D. soon," Charles said admiringly. "Sit down, and tell us what you came about."
"Thank you, sir." Mr. Flinders selected the straightest chair he could see, and sat down on the edge of it. "Well, sir, it's like this. After what you told me about that furrin chap - that Dooval - I give the matter a lot of thought, and I come to the conclusion the best thing I could do was to watch him as much as I could, without losing sight of Mr. Titmarsh. And I can tell you, sir, he's one man's work, he is. I lorst him again the other night, and it's my belief he gave me the slip on purpose. Well, sir, this very evening when I was trailing Mr. Titmarsh, who should I see but this Dooval?"
"Where?" Charles said.
"Right here, sir. That is, up by the ruin, me being on the right-of-way at the time, wondering where that old -where Mr. Titmarsh had got to. I don't mind telling you, sir, that it gave me quite a turn, seeing him. "My Gawd!" I says to myself. "Is that the Monk?" Then I got my lamp on to him, and I see who it was. I called out to him, but before you could say "knife" he'd done a bunk, sir. Scared out of his life, he was. So I thought the best thing I could do, seeing as I was so handy, was to come right up on to the house and tell you."
"Quite right," Charles said. He turned, as Margaret, who had slipped out of the room a minute or two before, came back with a tray. "Good idea, Margaret," he approved. "You'll have a glass of beer, after your labours, Flinders?" He got up and unscrewed the top of the bottle. It made a pleasant hissing sound. The constable watched the golden liquid froth into the glass, and his eye glistened. Charles held out the glass.
"Not supposed to take anything when we're on duty, you know, sir," the constable said, accepting it.
Charles poured out two more glasses. "You can't be on duty at this time of night," he said.
"Well, sir, since you make a point of it," said Mr. Flinders, and raised the glass. "Here's your very good health, sir."
"Same to you," said Charles.
Celia spoke. "Charles, you must tell this French person you will not have him wandering about in our grounds. Really, it's a bit too thick! Apparently the whole countryside regards this place as common land. I won't put up with it any longer!"
"What can he be doing here, anyway?" Margaret wondered.
"Looking for the Monk, like the rest of us," answered Charles. "Let's form a society, shall we?"
"No," said Celia crossly. "We shan't. I'm sick to death of the Monk!"
"Well, I'll go and have a chat with Duval to-morrow," Charles promised.
He had no particular desire to set foot inside the artist's dreary little cottage again, so on the following morning he cut short his fishing, and strolled on to the Bell Inn in the hope of meeting Duval there. He was rewarded by the sight of the artist seated alone in the taproom at a table in the corner. He had a glass of whisky before him, and he was sitting in a slack attitude, with his hands clasped between his knees, and his eyes staring moodily at the ground. He looked up as Charles came across the room, and a furtive expression crept into his face.