It was whilst she struggled out of the giddiness that they turned off from the road.
The house was in a hollow. It was thickly surrounded with trees-big hollies and monstrous yews. It was an old house. They drew up in front of it, and Anne opened her eyes again. She said, ‘Why have you brought me here?’ Because she knew this house, she knew it very well. It was the house where she had lived with Aunt Letty, the house she had seen-was it in a dream-she didn’t know. She sat in the car, her eyes wide, and every now and then the picture before her dipped and slanted. When this happened she shut her eyes and there was a rushing sound in her ears. The man who was in the car with her got out. He must have gone to the door, because when she looked again it was open and he was turning and coming back to the car.
And it was Ross.
She was so astonished that she did not know what to say. For a moment she said nothing at all. She shut her eyes again, but when she opened them he was still there-her cousin Ross Cranston. She couldn’t imagine what brought him there. She shut her eyes again, and then opened them quickly and said, ‘Ross!’
Cranston looked around. He felt the need for someone to back him up. The man who had been driving came round the house.
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘ Miss Forest, will you come in? Are you able to walk?’
Anne looked at him with wavering eyes. She knew Ross- she knew this man too. He had stood in the garden at Chantreys and talked to her. He had stood in the study there and talked to Lilian. And she had stood in the dark on the other side of the door into the dining-room. She had stood there and she had listened, and then she had gone upstairs cold-foot in the dark, and dressed, and run away. She didn’t know his name, but she knew who he was. He had come into the garden whilst she was there. He had talked to her. She couldn’t remember all he had said, but it had frightened her. She thought he had said not to repeat anything, not to tell anyone. But she had. She had told Jim. The thought of Jim rushed to her heart. It was a strength and a deliverance. It was the linking of her two worlds. It was safety. She must keep hold of that.
She got out of the car. She was weak and dizzy and her head went round. She needed Ross’s arm and she held to it. They came into the hall of the house. She knew it all quite well. The third stair would creak when she put her foot on it-it always had-and the tenth one again. It was very difficult to climb the stairs, very difficult indeed. Ross was helping her. That was kind of him. He hadn’t always been kind. She wouldn’t think about that now.
The other man frightened her. Why had he talked to Lilian in the night, and why had she run away? She couldn’t remember, but she stood still and said, ‘I don’t want him to come up.’
They weren’t quite at the top-there were fifteen steps before the landing, and she had taken only twelve of them. There was a pause. She had the feeling that Ross was looking across at the other man. He had her left arm. She stood still and pulled to get it away from him, and he laughed and let it go so suddenly that she came within an ace of falling. He said, ‘What’s the odds?’ and she caught at Ross to save herself and stumbled up the rest of the stairs and across the landing. She needed Ross’s arm to lean upon but not to guide her. She did not need anyone to guide her to her own room.
When she reached it, it was like coming home. The bed was sideways to the window. Someone had put a candle on the chest of drawers. She walked to the bed and laid herself down on it. She would have liked the window open, but it was too much trouble to bother about that. She pulled up the eiderdown until it covered her and turned on the pillow and went to sleep. The last thing she knew was the change from light to darkness. There was the click of a turning key. She slept.
CHAPTER 44
Jim Fancourt hung up, dressed, and went out. The first thing he did was to go round to where Anne had been. Lizabet had to face him. She didn’t want to, but she had to do it. For the first time in her life she came up against the consequences of her own actions and saw them for what they were. She cried, and was told that it was no use crying-it wouldn’t help her, and it wouldn’t help Anne. And there was no help in Janet. She couldn’t get away. She had to answer, and bit by bit the picture of what had really happened in the night came into view. And Janet stood by. She kept her there, and she made her answer. Lizabet would never have believed that she could be so cruel.
And then, before she could even burst into tears, there was Jim Fancourt asking more questions, and more, and more.
By the time they had got everything out of her and Jim had gone she was fit for nothing but to lie on her bed and cry. And Janet left her to do just that. She went out and left her all alone.
Jim Fancourt went to New Scotland Yard. He had to wait, and the time that ticked away was like endless ages. Where was she? Why had they taken her? What were they doing to her? Where was she? Interminably, over and over, the words said themselves. There was no end to them. They got him nowhere. All they did was to make it clear as daylight that if he lost Anne he lost everything in the world worth having.
He did not know how long he had to wait, but when the fresh-faced young policeman came in and said that Inspector Abbott would see him now it seemed to him as if a lifetime had gone by.
The young policeman preceded him, opened the door, announced him by name, and he came into the same room that he had been in before, with Frank Abbott looking up and giving him a friendly greeting. He said, ‘She’s gone-’ and saw Frank’s face change.
‘What!’
‘She’s gone-they’ve got her.’
‘My dear chap-’
‘Everyone said don’t be in a hurry, don’t rush her. And what’s the result? She’s gone.’
‘Anne!’
‘Yes, Anne.’
‘Sit down and tell me about it.’
‘I can’t sit. I’ll tell you about it-it’s soon told. She’s gone- that’s all.’
In the end he produced a fairly coherent version of Lizabet’s story.
‘She doesn’t know what sort of car it was, and her description of the man would fit almost anyone.’
Frank said tentatively, ‘Look here, don’t be angry-It is possible that she recognised these people and went with them because she knew them.’
‘No, it’s not possible! That girl admitted as much. She said the fellow put his arm round her. And there was something about a cloth on her face. She was chloroformed and carried off-I’ve no doubt about that. She wouldn’t have gone of her own free will. I tell you she wouldn’t!’
‘It doesn’t seem very likely. You don’t think her memory came back suddenly when she saw someone she knew- someone out of her past life?’
‘No, I don’t. There would have been no need to chloroform her in that case. Once we got that girl Lizabet to speak, there was no doubt about it-she was chloroformed and she was carried off.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. Either it’s money, or she knows too much-or they think she does. They must know that she saw the murdered girl. If they’re not sure what she remembered, what perhaps she saw-if they don’t know what she knows-don’t you see she’s in the most frightful danger?’
Frank nodded.
‘I took up the question of who had been to see that house with the agents. We haven’t been to sleep over the matter, you know. There were two orders to view-one on the twelfth, and the other on the thirteenth. The one on the thirteenth looks like the right one. It was given to a Mr Mailing- an old man with a beard, very chatty. He said he wanted to take in his grandchildren for the holidays, and he thought he wanted a furnished house, but what did they think? The people at the house-agents put him down as much talk and no performance. The beard could have been a disguise. They said he kept the key overnight.’