"I shouldn't describe my dealings with him exactly as a friendship," Charles answered. "I allowed myself to be inveigled into buying one of his pictures, and since then he's been trying hard to make me buy another. All right, Bowers, I'll come."
He followed the butler out, and went across the hall to the study.
The artist was standing peering out of the window into the darkness. He started round as the door opened, and Charles saw that he was in one of his most nervous moods. No sooner was the door shut than he said hurriedly: 'M'sieur, you permit that I draw the curtains?"
"Certainly, if you like," Charles replied.
"I must not be seen here," Duval said, pulling the curtains across the window. "Once I thought I heard a step behind me, but when I looked there was no one. I do not think I am followed here, but I am not sure. Sometimes I hear noises, but perhaps they are in my head. For it is very bad, m'sieur, ah, but very bad!"
"I'm sorry," Charles said. "Now what is it you want to see me about?"
The artist drew closer to him. "There is no one outside? You are sure? No one can hear?"
"No, no one."
Duval cast a glance round the room. "I do not like this house. I do not know where the stairs are, but he goes up them like a ghost, m'sieur, and he can hear."
"The stairs," said Charles patiently, "are at the other end of the hall, and since each step has its own creaking board I defy anyone to go up like a ghost. The only people in the house are ourselves, my family, my servant and his wife, and three guests, who are playing bridge in the library."
Duval said suspiciously. "Those three? Who are they?"
"Dr and Mrs. Roote, and Colonel Ackerley."
Duval seemed satisfied, but he sank his voice even lower. "M'sieur, I will be quick. I come to say to you that you must not set your gendarme to watch me. You must tell him there is no harm in poor Duval. M'sieur, it is true! I do not do you any evil when I am in your garden, and I must go there, though I fear greatly, yes greatly! It is there I think I find the Monk. Something I have discovered. But your gendarme he challenge me, and I go away before I have discovered the great mystery. M'sieur, I implore you permit that I search here."
"My dear fellow," Charles said, "I really can't have you prowling about the grounds. My wife doesn't like it, and I warn you I've got a revolver, and I'm liable to shoot if I see anyone suspicious lurking near the house."
This threat did not have much effect. "But me you know, and you would not shoott me after all your so great kindness. No, no, I know better. And I tell you it is of importance - of importance unheard of that you do not let that gendarme follow me. If I am watched what can I do? And he, that imbecile, he goes so clumsily he can be heard, and it is not only Duval who hears him." "You mean - you think you're on the track of the Monk."
The guarded look came creeping back into the artist's wild eyes. "I do not say."
"Then in that case I fear Ido not call off my watchdog."
"But, m'sieur, I have told you I do no harm! I would not hurt you, or those others. What do I care for them? But nothing!"
"Look here," Charles said, "why all this mystery? You've already said you expect to find the Monk in these grounds."
The artist passed his hand across his brow. "Sometimes I do not know quite what I say. I do not wish to tell you that, for you understand it is no use if someone else finds him. I must be that one. M'sieur, think! For years I have waited. At first I did not care: I was content. But now I am not any longer content, and I think that it is better to have courage than to go on like this. For me, I have genius, and I will not be what you call underdog all my life. Better dead, m'sieur! Yes, I have thought that. Better dead! But I do not mean to die. Not like that other. For see, m'sieur! I am armed." He showed Charles a wickedlooking knife, and grinned fiendishly. "That would slip between the ribs, hein! Softly, oh but softly! When I hear footsteps in the dark, I take hold of him, my little knife, and courage comes to me."
"Indeed? said Charles, beginning to think that the man was really mad. "And do I understand that that is meant for the Monk?"
Duval nodded. "Yes, but I do not wish to kill him. No, that is not good. I wish only to see his face, for once I have seen it, m'sieur, he is in my power, and I hold him like that." He closed his fingers tightly.
"Well, when he's in your power," Charles said, "perhaps you'll be so good as to tell him to cease haunting this house."
"Yes, perhaps I do that for you, m'sieur, if you let me search as I please. For I have made up my mind that even if I must go down amongst the dead to do it I will find him."
"Let's hope no such journey will be necessary," Charles suggested, and was surprised to see that leering secret smile twist the artist's mouth again. "In the meantime, I don't think you need worry about Constable Flinders."
"And I may search? You will not forbid me?"
"Well, we'll see about that," Charles said, bent only on getting rid of him. "And now I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to go, because I can't leave my guests any longer."
The artist clutched his wrist. "You will not tell the gendarme to arrest poor Duval?"
"No, I won't do anything like that," Charles promised, and opened the door. He saw Duval out into the porch, and watched him dart out of the beam of light thrown through the open door. With a shrug of the shoulders he shut the door again, and went back to the library.
As he entered the room Celia looked up as though she were about to say something, but encountering a warning frown changed her mind.
"Well, Malcolm, bought another picture?" the Colonel chaffed him. "You know, you haven't yet shown us the first one you bought."
Charles shook his head. "I never show it to people after dark," he said. "It upsets them. Did you make your contract, by the way? That four spade one you were playing when I left you?"
"Yes, we made it," Ackerley replied. "Oughtn't to have, but Roote discarded a diamond. Aha, Roote, caught you napping that time, didn't I? Can't think why you held on to the heart."
Dr Roote merely grunted. He had embarked on his third whisky since dinner, and though still perfectly sensible was looking slightly hazy. In a little while his wife, seeing him look round for the decanter again, gave the signal for the party to break up. Colonel Ackerley stayed on for about twenty minutes after the Rootes had gone, and then he too took his departure.
Gathering up the scattered cards, Celia said: "I'm sorry for that little woman. I should divorce you, Charles, if you got fuddled every evening."
"I do not at any time approve of drunkenness," announced Mrs. Bosanquet, "and when a doctor falls into the habit of taking rather too much, I consider it most reprehensible. Now, if one of us was attacked by appendicitis in the middle of the night, what would be the use of sending for Dr Roote? Mrs. Bowers was telling me that they say in the village that he can't be got out of bed at night to attend to anyone, and we all know what that means."
"If you get attacked by appendicitis, Aunt, we'll send for Ponsonby, from Manfield," Peter promised.
"Yes, my dear, I hope that you would. But my appendix was removed some years ago," said Mrs. Bosanquet with mild triumph.
An hour later, as Peter was about to blow out his candle, and go to sleep, his door opened softly, and Charles came in, fully dressed.
"Hullo!" Peter said. "Anything wrong?"
"No, but I've got a fancy to do a little sleuthing myself. Do you feel like accompanying me?"
Peter raised himself on his elbow. "Who are you going to track?"
"Friend Duval. Unless he's clean cracked, he thinks he's on to the Monk's trail, and I can't help feeling it might be worth our while to follow him."