As they did so the clapper, moving within the dark metal hollow, struck violently against the side, and a muted boom arose and echoed away across the lake whose waters had now once again subsided to rest.
CHAPTER 18
MICHAEL MEADE was awakened by a strange hollow booming sound which seemed to come from the direction of the lake. He lay rigid for a moment listening anxiously to the silence that succeeded the sound, and then got out of bed and went to the open window. It was a bright moonlight night and the moon, full and risen high, cast a brilliance which was almost golden on the tranquil expanse of the water. Michael rubbed his eyes, amazed at the speed of his reaction, and still wondering whether he was awake or dreaming. He stood a while watching the quiet scene. Then he turned the light on and looked at his watch which said ten past three. He felt wide awake now and anxious. He sat on the edge of his bed, tense, listening. He had again that strange sense of impending evil. He sniffed, wondering if there were in fact some nauseating smell pervading the room. He remembered that just before he woke he had been dreaming of Nick.
He was too uneasy to sleep again. The noise he had heard – he was sure this time that he had really heard it -unnerved him. He had vague memories of stories heard in childhood of noises coming out of the sea to portend disaster. He got dressed, intending to make a tour round the house to see that everything was all right. Strange visions afflicted him of finding that the Court was on fire. He turned the light on in the corridor and walked about a bit. Everything was as usual and no one else seemed to be stirring. He went out onto the balcony and looked round him in the splendid night. He saw at once in the distance that there was a light on in the Lodge. Nick at least was up. Or Toby. He scanned the banks of the lake as far as he could see in either direction. All seemed quiet.
Then he noticed something moving, and saw that a figure was walking along the path that led from the causeway to the ferry. He was clearly revealed now, with a long shadow, the figure of a man walking purposefully. Michael felt an immediate thrill of alarm and apprehension. He watched for a moment and then hurried down the steps and across the terrace to intercept the night wanderer, whoever he might be. The man, seeing Michael coming, stopped abruptly and waited for him to come nearer. Straining his eyes in the moonlight, and almost running now, Michael approached; and then recognized the figure, with mingled disappointment and relief, as Paul Greenfield.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Paul.
“Hello,” said Michael. “Anything the matter?”
“Dora’s vanished,” said Paul. “I woke up and found her gone. Then when she didn’t come back I thought I’d go and look for her.”
“Did you hear an extraordinary sound just now?” said Michael.
“Yes,” said Paul. “I was just falling into a gorse bush at the time. What was it?”
“I don’t know,” said Michael. “It sounded like a bell.”
“A bell?” said Paul.
“I see there’s a light on in the Lodge,” said Michael.
“That’s just where I’m going now,” said Paul. “I thought Dora might be there. Or if she isn’t, I’d be interested to know whether Master Gashe is in his bed. Have you noticed those two rushing round together like a pair of conspirators?”
Michael who had indeed on his own account noticed this said. “No, I noticed nothing.” They began to walk towards the ferry.
“Do you mind if I come with you?” said Michael. He too felt an intense desire to know what was going on at the Lodge.
Paul seemed to have no objection. They crossed in the boat and began to hurry along the path to the avenue. The light beaconed out clearly now. They passed out of the moonlight into the darkness of the trees and felt the firm gravel of the drive underfoot.
As they neared the Lodge they saw that the door was open. The light from the living-room, through the door and the uncurtained windows, revealed the gravel, the tall grasses, the iron rails of the gate. Paul, beginning to run, reached the doorway before Michael. He pushed his way in without knocking. Michael hastened after him, looking over his shoulder.
The scene in the living-room was peaceful and indeed familiar. The usual litter of newspapers covered the floor and the table. The stove was lit and Murphy was lying stretched out beside it. Behind the table, in his usual place, sat Nick. On the table there was a bottle of whisky and a glass. There was no one else to be seen.
Paul seemed nonplussed. He said to Nick, “Oh, good evening, Fawley.” Paul was the only person who addressed Nick in this manner. “I was just wondering if my wife was here.”
Nick, who had shown a little surprise, Michael thought, at his own arrival, was now smiling in his characteristic grimacing manner. With his greasy curling hair and his grimy white shirt, unbuttoned, and his long legs sticking straight out under the table he looked like some minor Dickensian rake. He reached for the bottle, and raised his eyebrows, possibly to express the slightly patronizing amazement, which Michael had often felt, too, at the frankness with which Paul revealed his matrimonial difficulties.
“Good morning, Greenfield,” said Nick. “No, she ain’t here. Why should she be? Have a drink?”
Paul said irritably, “Thank you, no, I never take whisky.”
“Michael?” said Nick.
Michael jumped at his name, and took a moment to realize what Nick meant. He shook his head.
“Is Toby upstairs?” said Paul.
Nick went on smiling at him and kept him waiting for the answer. Then he said, “No. He ain’t here either.”
“Do you mind if I look upstairs?” said Paul. He pushed through the room.
Michael, who was just beginning to realize that Paul was in fact in a frantic state, found himself left alone with Nick. He cast a glance at him without smiling. He was fairly frantic himself.
Nick smiled. “One of the deadly sins,” he said.
“What?” said Michael.
“Jealousy,” said Nick.
Paul’s feet were heard on the stairs. He came blundering back into the living-room.
“Satisfied?” said Nick.
Paul did not reply to this, but stood in the middle of the room, his face wrinkled up with anxiety. He said to Nick.
“Do you know where he is?”
“Gashe?” said Nick. “No. I am not Gashe’s keeper.”
Paul stood irresolutely for a moment, and then turned to go. As he passed Michael he paused. “It was odd what you said about a bell.”
“Why?” said Michael.
“Because there’s a legend about this place. I meant to tell you. The sound of a bell portends a death.”
“Did you hear that strange sound a little while ago?” Michael asked Nick.
“I heard nothing,” “said Nick.
Paul stumped out of the door and began walking back along the drive.
Michael stayed where he was. He felt very tired and confused. If Nick would only have stayed quiet he would like to have sat with him for a while in silence. But those were all mad thoughts.
“Have a drink?” said Nick.
“No thanks, Nick,” said Michael. He found it very hard not to look at Nick. A solemn face seemed hostile and a smiling face provocative. He cast a rather twisted smile in his direction and then looked away.
Nick got up and came towards Michael. Michael stiffened as he approached. For a moment he thought Nick was going to come right up to him and touch him. But he stopped about two feet away, still smiling. Michael looked at him fully now. He wished he could drive that smile off his face. He had a strong impulse to reach out and put his two hands on Nick’s shoulders. The sound that had awakened him, the moonlight, the madness of the night, made him feel suddenly that communication between them was now permitted. His whole body was aware, almost to trembling, of the proximity of his friend. Perhaps after all this was the moment at which he should in some way remove the barrier which he had set up between them. No good had come of it. And the fact remained, as he deeply realized in this moment, for whatever it meant and whatever it was worth, that he loved Nick. Some good might yet come of that.