"Come and sit down, Miss Martin."
I obeyed him. The first rush of my anger had long since ebbed, but nervousness tightened my throat and made me wonder a little desperately how to start.
Not that there was anything even slightly intimidating about him today. His voice and face were grave and friendly as he turned towards me. It came to me then, with a sense of almost physical shock, that the portrait above the mantel was not of his son, but of Léon himself.
He must have caught my involuntary glance upwards, for his own followed it. He sat in silence for a moment, regarding the picture sombrely, then he turned to me and smiled. "It seems we are an ill-starred race, we Valmys."
There was the same wryness in voice and smile that I remembered from our first encounter. The slightly dramatic phrasing, no less than the repeated and deliberate reference to a state he ostensibly wanted ignored, jarred on me sharply. Did he see everything then, purely in relation to his own misfortune? I said nothing, but looked away from him to the fire.
He said: "I am told we have barely escaped another tragedy this afternoon."
I looked up. (Another tragedy.) I said stolidly: "Has Madame de Valmy seen you?"
"She came straight to me. She was very much shocked and upset. It has made her ill. Her heart, I am afraid, is not robust."
He paused and the dark eyes scanned my face. There was nothing now in his own but gentleness and concern. "You, too, Miss Martin. I think you had better have a drink. Sherry? Now supposing you tell me what happened." He reached a hand to the tantalus at his elbow.
"Thank you." I took the glass gratefully. My nervousness had gone. I was left with an empty feeling of reaction and fatigue. In a voice drained of any emotion I told him briefly of the afternoon's events. "Do you know who was out with a gun today?" I asked in conclusion.
He lifted his sherry-glass. "Off-hand, no. Armand Lestocq told me-no, that won't do. He went to Soubirous this afternoon to the sawmill. In any case Armand is never careless with a gun."
"But you’ll be able to find out, won't you? He shouldn't be allowed-n
"I am doing my best." A glance. "My active work is mainly done by telephone. And when I do find out he'll be dismissed."
He was turning the glass round and round in his long fingers, watching the gleam and shift of the firelight in the amber liquid. Behind him the mellow brown-and-gold of the books glinted in the firelight. Outside the dusk fell rapidly; the windows were oblongs of murky grey. Soon Seddon would come to draw the curtains and turn on the lights. Now in the flickering glow of the logs the room looked rich and pleasant, even-in this book-lined bay where the fire burned-cosy.
I said: "Someone's been out already to look around?"
He glanced up. "Of course. But the chances are that the culprit would make straight back when he saw what he had done -or nearly done. He wouldn't want to be caught out with the gun." He gave a little smile. "You do realise that whoever it is is going to take quite a bit of trouble to cover his tracks, don't you? Good jobs aren't as easy to get as all that round here."
"If he'd been going to come forward he'd no doubt have come running when he heard me shout," I said. "But I quite see why he's scared to. It might even be a question of police proceedings.”
The dark brows rose. "Police? If there had actually been an accident-yes. But as it is-"
"I don't think it was an accident."
He looked considerably startled. "What in the world arc yon suggesting, then?" Then, as I made no immediate reply, he said in a voice where anger flickered through derision and disbelief: "What else, Miss Martin, what else? Deliberate murder?"
Mockery-but through it I felt anger meeting me, palpable as the beat of a hot wind. The words bit through the air between us. I merely gaped at him, surprised.
Then it drew off. He said, his voice smooth and cold: "You're being a little hysterical, aren't you? Who would want to kill a child? Philippe has no enemies."
No, I thought, and no friends either. Except me. I sat up and met Léon de Valmy's hard stare. I said coolly: "You take me up too quickly, Monsieur de Valmy. I wasn't suggesting anything quite as silly as that. And I am not hysterical."
His mouth relaxed a little. "I apologise. But you gave me a shock. Go on. Explain yourself."
I drank sherry, regarding him straightly. "It's only that I can't quite see how it could have been pure accident. The place was so open and he must have been able to hear us fairly easily. I think it was some silly prank-some youth, perhaps, showing off or trying to startle us. And he got nearer than he meant to, and then was so scared of what he'd done that he made off."
"I see." He was silent for a moment. "You had better fill in the details for me. Exactly where were you?"
"We went down the path that short-cuts the zigzag towards the Valmy bridge. We left it about half-way down, where you cross a deep ravine and turn right down the valley."
"I know it. There's a cascade and a trout-pool."
Some fleeting surprise must have shown in my face, for he said quietly: "I have lived at Valmy all my life, Miss Martin."
It was an almost physical effort to keep from looking at the picture above our heads. I said quickly: "Of course. Well, you know how the path runs along the hillside down the valley? After about half a mile it's quite wide, and flat, and there are thick trees on the left going down towards the river, but on the right, above you, they thin out."
I know. An open ride, with grass and beech rising to a ridge of rock. Above the rock is the planted forest."
I nodded. "The pines are about twenty feet high now, and very thick. We were going along the path; Philippe was singing and hopping about ahead of me, not looking where he was going."
"Fortunately, it seems," said Léon de Valmy dryly. "Yes. Well, just as he tripped and fell flat, a bullet went slap into the tree that had tripped him, and I heard the report from above us, to the right."
"From the ridge?"
"I suppose so. It was the best cover, and where it happened there was nothing between us and the ridge except brambles and a few stumps covered with honeysuckle."
"You saw nothing?"
"Nothing. I shouted, and then, of course, I had to attend to Philippe. I suppose I assumed that whoever it was would have had a bad fright, and would come pelting down to see if we were hurt. But he didn't. I'd have gone up to investigate, only I thought I ought to get Philippe straight home."
He was watching me curiously. "You would have done that?"
"Of course. Why not?"
He said slowly: "You are a courageous young woman, are you not?"
"Where's the courage? We both know it couldn't have been deliberate. Why should I be afraid of a fool? "
A pause, then all at once his face lighted with that extraordinarily charming smile. "A young woman might well be afraid to approach a fool armed with a rifle. Don't be angry with me, mademoiselle. It was meant as a compliment."
"I'm sorry." I swallowed, and said as an afterthought: "Thank you."
He smiled again. "Tell me, just how much do you know about guns?"
"Nothing whatever."
"I thought as much. You seem, when you talk of an ‘accident', to be picturing a singularly unlikely one. You think, in fact, that this fool with the gun fired more or less at random through the trees at a barely-seen target, or even at a sound?'
"Yes. And I can't quite see how he didn't know-“
"Exactly. The place was open and you said Philippe was shouting or singing."
"Yes. That's why I thought it must have been meant as a joke."
"Some unauthorised youth with a talent for excitement? Hardly. No, the explanation's far simpler than that. An 'accident' with a gun usually only means one thing-a carelessly- held gun, a stumble (as Philippe stumbled) over a stone or a root… and the gun goes off. I think, myself, that he must have seen Philippe fall, and have thought he had hit him. So… he panicked, and ran away."