Algy kissed her, and said he didn’t follow.
“Dull!” said Gay. “If Sylvia hadn’t been born she wouldn’t have married Francis Colesborough, and if she hadn’t, I shouldn’t have asked you to lend me your car, and we shouldn’t have come hurtling down here in the middle of the night and getting mixed up in Francis being murdered. There wouldn’t have been any murder, and even if there had been, it wouldn’t have mattered if there hadn’t been any police.”
After which lucid explanations she put her head down on his shoulder and found it comforting.
XXXIII
Mr. Zero opened the door of his room and came out upon a dimly lighted corridor. The light was at the far end, so that if anyone had been watching they would probably not have seen him, and they certainly would not have caught the slightest sound. The pile of the carpet was deep, and Mr. Zero’s movements were extremely quiet and controlled. The hour being a quarter before three in the morning, there was no one watching. The house slept a deep, safe, comfortable sleep. No one waked, no one stirred, no one saw Mr. Zero descend the stair and cross the dark hall below.
He came out of the hall into a room at the back of the house. There was no light there. He groped his way to the window and unlatched it. Setting down a small attaché case which he had been holding, he put both hands to the window and raised the sash. He picked up the attaché case, climbed out, and drew the window gently down again to about an inch from the sill. Then he took a torch from his pocket and found his way round the house and down a drive. Coming out upon the road, he increased his pace and walked rapidly away into the dark.
About twenty minutes later he came to the place he was bound for, a deep pond lying a little way off the road. The night was still. The water gleamed faintly under the open sky.
Mr. Zero bent to his case, took something out of it, and straightened up. His arm swung, and the something went spinning through the air to fall with a splash in the deepest part of the pond.
Mr. Zero shut his attaché case and retraced his steps toward the road. There was a gate to be climbed, and just as he was getting over it a car came roaring down the hill. With the gate on the outer side of a very sharp bend, the car seemed to be coming straight at him. He had time to jump down from the gate with his case in his hand, but the lights caught him before he could turn away or throw up an arm to screen his face. A murderous spasm of anger shook him. The car swung to the bend and was gone. The tail-light showed its red spark and disappeared. Someone who was out late and was in a hurry to get home, damn him.
But five minutes later Mr. Zero was quite comfortable in his mind again. The fellow was probably a returning roisterer, and must anyhow have had enough to do to negotiate that extremely awkward bend at the really reckless pace he had been making. People had no business to drive like that, but in this instance there were mitigating circumstances. If he had been going as slowly as he should have been, his headlights would have given Mr. Zero a more protracted publicity, and Mr. Zero passionately desired privacy. For the rest of the return journey he had it.
In less than half an hour he was in bed again, and long before the clock struck four he was asleep. What was there to keep him awake? The letters that named him were burned and their frail ash scattered. The police had Francis Colesborough’s pistols and they were welcome to them. The silencer was at the bottom of a most deep, convenient pond. Mr. Zero slept in peace.
The car which had taken the bend with the ease and speed of long practice continued upon its way. Dr. Hammond had been out all day and most of the night and he was in a hurry to get home. When he had put away his car and locked the garage door he went through into the house, walking on tiptoe, because he always hoped that Judith wouldn’t wake.
But while he was getting out of his coat she was half way down the stair in her blue dressing-gown, with her black hair flying, and one cheek scarlet where it had been pressed against the pillow.
“My poor child-I thought you were never coming. Soup in the dining-room-come along and have some at once.”
Jim Hammond grinned.
“You’re an officious woman, Ju. Why can’t you stay quiet in your bed instead of flying up like a jack-in-the-box? Can’t trust me to find my way to the dining-room, can you?”
She linked her arm in his and pulled him along.
“Why are you so late?”
“Because the Meaker baby was. Ten pound boy-hideous-healthy-and they’re all as pleased as Punch. Ju, get off to bed!”
“I’d much rather talk to you while you have your sandwiches.”
The dining-room was warm and bright, the sandwiches were good, and the soup was hot. Dr. Hammond experienced the tired man’s inclination to stay where he was and not bother about going to bed. When Judith drove him he snapped at her, yet presently he interrupted his undressing to wander into her room.
“Funny thing happened when I was coming home. You know Hangman’s Corner? Well, I came up to it pretty fast-”
“And some day you’ll get into trouble, my child,” said Judith, sitting up in bed.
“Don’t interrupt, woman! I’m an extremely careful driver. Where was I?”
“At Hangman’s Corner. And I do wish they’d call it something else.”
“They won’t because of the pond. Well, I was coming down over the hill, and the headlights picked up a man who was getting over the gate. What do you suppose he was doing there at that hour of the night?”
“Going to Hangman’s Pond or coming away from it, I should say. That gate doesn’t lead anywhere else.”
“He was coming away,” said Dr. Hammond-“getting back over the gate into the road-and he looked scared to blazes.”
“I don’t wonder. He probably thought you were going to run him down gate and all.”
Dr. Hammond yawned.
“Funny thing is I thought I’d seen his face before, only I can’t think where.”
He drifted out of the room, and made short work of getting into his pyjamas, returning to switch out the light and announce as he got into bed,
“If anyone else thinks of having twins, tell ’em to drown ’em. Night, Ju.”
Yet twenty minutes later his head came up from the pillow with a jerk. Judith Hammond, wooing a dream in which the Meaker baby was hers, felt justly annoyed at being not only awakened but shaken.
“Ju, I know who that fellow was.”
“What fellow?” said Judith, half cross and half forlorn. Perhaps she and Jim would never have a child. Perhaps-
Jim Hammond stopped shaking her to thump the bedclothes triumphantly.
“The fellow I saw getting over the gate. What a damned extraordinary thing!”
XXXIV
But, darling, you can’t marry him, so what’s the good of saying you’re engaged?”
“I’m going to marry him,” said Gay with a fighting sparkle in her eyes.
She and Sylvia were in the Parlour, Sylvia in an easy chair, and Gay on her knees before a reluctant fire. She gave it a vicious poke and repeated firmly,
“I’m going to marry him.”
Sylvia leaned forward.
“But, darling, how can you? I mean, you can’t marry him if he shot Francis, because they’ll hang him, won’t they? Besides we are cousins-aren’t we, and I don’t think it would be at all nice.”
Gay whisked round with her cheeks burning.
“He did not shoot Francis! And they won’t-they won’t! Sylly, how dare you?”
Sylvia’s lovely eyes widened.
“I thought they did if you shot people. I thought that’s what they were for.”
“He didn’t shoot Francis!”