‘Good evening, darling. Is everything all right?’
Sarah nodded with a brief smile and continued on her way.
In the salon, Howard Hilton found his son slumped in one of the armchairs, smoking a cigarette and looking worried. He served himself a whisky, sat down opposite him and asked:
‘You’re looking thoughtful, Francis, having problems?’
‘No, I was thinking about the money I won.’
‘I can well understand. It doesn’t happen every day.’
‘Quite so, but I was thinking about how it happened, not the result. Or, rather, about Brian. I’ve just been talking about it with Meadows, Sarah and Paula. We compared notes about all his predictions. It’s pretty surprising. I’m beginning to wonder whether he doesn’t indeed….’
‘Have a gift?’ replied Howard Hilton, contemplating his glass. ‘You know, Francis, the one thing that has surprised me is that no one has yet discovered Brian’s true nature. But that’s where we have to look to get to the bottom of all these mysteries. Brian may be shy and introverted, but that doesn’t stop him being an acute observer of human nature. People talk about a sixth sense, which is a convenient way of avoiding discussion about what might be another form of intelligence. Be that as it may, what’s undoubtedly true is that some people possess a flair for future events, even if they can’t explain it themselves. They seem to be able to process every slight detail about people they meet: their attitudes, their reactions their emotions, their thought processes, and somehow synthesise it all so they may announce a future event….’
‘Maybe,’ replied Francis dubiously. ‘But being able to predict that someone will be able to place a winning bet… I can’t see any explanation for that.’
His father responded with a smile. He emptied his glass and served himself another one.
‘There’s another thing. All the professional gamblers talk about “beginner’s luck.” It may be a trap to lure novices into the game, but apparently there’s quite a lot of evidence to support the idea. I know you’ve always liked the horses, but you’ve never placed a big bet, so in that sense you’re a beginner.’
‘If I understand you correctly,’ observed Francis, ‘I was condemned to win from the start!’
The conversation continued until half past ten, when the two men got up. They climbed the stairs — in Howard’s case, rather unsteadily — and stopped on the landing to wish each other goodnight.
‘Aren’t you going to see Paula?’
‘Not right now. There’s something I have to do in the study.’
Mr. Hilton watched his son walk down the corridor and decided he would have one last cigarette. He lit up and was leaning over the balustrade enjoying the peace and quiet, when it was suddenly interrupted by the distant creaking of the door to the study. Several seconds elapsed, and he was beginning to ask himself why Francis hadn’t closed the door behind, when he heard a muffled thud.
He turned round. The badly-lit corridor was empty.
‘Francis?’ he called out in an anxious voice.
The only reply was an echo. Without further ado, he followed his son, but stopped at the angle with the west wing of the manor.
The study door, a yellow rectangle in the surrounding half-light, was open. Lying on the sill was an inert mass he identified at once.
‘Francis!’ he shouted, rushing to the body.
At that very moment, the door to the room beyond the study opened and Brian appeared.
‘What is it, Mr. Hilton? Oh, My God!’
The two of them leant over Francis, who was lying on his side with his head near the door jamb and the rest of his body in the room. There was a bruise on his temple from which a thin stream of blood was flowing. Brian knelt down to take his pulse, then looked up:
‘Nothing serious, by the look of it.’
A look of relief spread across Howard’s face and the two men peered into the room, which was softly lit by the oil lamp. It was obvious there was nobody there.
Steps sounded in the corridor and Sarah appeared, with Paula just behind. Their faces pale, they listened to Howard Hilton’s explanations, which failed to reassure his daughter, who continued to tremble. Just at that moment, Mostyn arrived and was sent to fetch Dr. Meadows, after which Francis started to recover. Despite Paula’s protests, he stood up. Puzzled, he looked at the worried and questioning faces around him.
‘Francis,’ murmured Sarah in a quavering voice, ‘what happened?’
‘Well…,’ he started to say and frowned as he tried to concentrate.
Then he stopped, looking around in bewildered fashion, until his gaze alighted on the fireplace. There was an agonising silence, during which everyone could see his face grow paler and paler before freezing in an unspeakable expression of horror. The he shook his head in bewilderment.
‘I don’t know… I opened the door and went in and… I don’t remember anything else.’
‘Francis,’ cried Sarah in a hysterical voice, ‘what did you see?’
‘Nothing, Sarah, nothing,’ he replied in an unconvincing voice. ‘I think I got a bit sick, that’s all.’ He rubbed the bruise on his head. ‘I must have hit it against the doorframe.’
Sarah started to reply, but stopped as she saw Brian go towards the fireplace. He stopped in front of the hearth and examined the floor at that point. Then he stood up, looked at his companions, and announced in an expressionless voice:
‘The carpet’s wet.’
14
Dr. Meadows arrived at Hatton Manor at eleven. He examined Francis in his room, then went to give an injection to his fiancée, who seemed in a much more alarming state than the victim. After that, he went to find Brian and Howard Hilton, who had stayed behind in the study. He placed his bag on the table and regarded the two men while stroking his moustache.
‘Nothing serious in Francis’s case,’ he said after a moment. ‘As for Sarah …she was close to a nervous breakdown.’ His expression hardened and he punched his open hand with his fist. ‘Dammit! I’d really like to know what there is about this room. I assume you haven’t forgotten what happened here last year. Why did Harris Thorne throw himself out of the window? Why did Sarah faint from fright? And now Francis!’
‘What’s equally curious,’ offered Howard Hilton, ‘is that nobody can remember anything.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ replied Meadows with an inscrutable look. ‘If you want my opinion, I rather think they know something but are afraid to talk about it. At least in Sarah’s case. I’ve often asked her about the frightful thing she saw, thinking it was a case of loss of memory. But recently I’ve changed my mind. The mere mention of that night makes her go pale and change the subject.’
With a sombre look on his face he lit a cigarette, went over to the fireplace and knelt down to examine the wet carpet.
‘We’ve already looked,’ commented Brian. ‘It seems it’s just water.’
The doctor stood up and nodded his head.
‘It does seem like it. But what does it mean? A few drops of water shouldn’t cause people to drop like flies.’
‘Of course,’ sighed Howard. ‘There must have been someone there. Someone standing in front of the fireplace, dripping wet. Someone, therefore, who came from outside….’
Deep in thought, Meadows leant on the marble mantelpiece and tapped on one of the pewter pots there with his fingers.
‘Someone, the very sight of whom can terrify his victims? It must indeed be a creature of nightmare. Standing in front of the fireplace would mean anyone entering the room would see it immediately, which fits the facts. But, as far as I can recall, Sarah was looking down. And it didn’t rain that day. And there was nobody in the room, I’ll bet my life on it.’