"Nothing was said about the object of the lawyer's visit?" "No, Mr. Pons. And as I have already indicated, I knew better than to ask."
Miss Brentwood shivered suddenly and huddled closer to the fire.
"Now I come to the most horrible and inexplicable part of my story. I felt tired and excused myself at about eleven o'clock and went to my room. The Priory is a strange house and has exterior shutters in the French style. Apart from being gloomy it still has gas-light which does not add to its cheerfulness. I was preparing for bed when I heard footsteps passing the door of my room.
"A short while later the gas chandelier in my room flickered and the intensity of the light was lowered. I knew then that it was Mr. Marcus whose footsteps had passed my door."
"How so, Miss Brentwood?"
"Because he had been given the room directly over mine. He had evidently just lit his own gas jet which had taken pressure from mine — something to do with the old system we have and the pipes being corroded with age."
"I see. What then?"
"I could hear Mr. Marcus pacing about over my head, as though he were agitated over something; perhaps the late row with my uncle. After a bit I took no further notice and prepared for bed. When I turned out the gas I could still hear the footsteps and they were the last thing I heard when I went to sleep. I had not drawn the shutters at my window and a clear, brilliant moonlight flooded into the room."
Miss Brentwood paused as though the recollection were too painful for coherent thought.
"I was awakened in the early hours of the morning by a terrible cry. At first I did not know where I was a if I were dreaming or awake. But the moonlight still shone glassily into my room and the echo of that horrible scream hung in the air. My heart was thumping and I could hardly breathe but I forced myself out of bed. Then I heard a strange squeaking noise.
"I was over at the window by this time. There came a slithering noise as of something falling and a terrifying crash. I went to the window in alarm and as I did so a horribly distorted face stared at me through the glass. It was the corpse of Mr. Marcus, with a rope round his neck, dangling in mid-air!"
3
There was a deep silence in the room now as the girl reached the climax of her horrific story.
"Good heavens!" I said. "No wonder you look pale and drawn after such a dreadful experience."
"Dreadful indeed," said Solar Pons grimly, laying down his pipe in the ashtray at his elbow.
"Mercifully, I lost consciousness," the girl went on. "I say mercifully deliberately because if you knew what a shock the experience gave me I think I would have gone insane had not consciousness left me. When I recovered I was in bed in my room, with Mrs. Bevan there, looking anxiously after me. I had had a nightmare, apparently, and had been sleepwalking. I had fallen with a heavy sound; my uncle, who was passing the room on his way to bed, had heard me and had got me back to bed. I could not be brought back to consciousness and so the doctor was summoned early in the morning, who diagnosed a mild concussion. It appeared I had hit my head in my fall but had not sustained any serious injury."
"But you did not believe it was a dream?" said Solar Pons. Miss Brentwood shook her head.
"It was too vivid for that. When I found the strength I staggered out of bed and looked out of the window but of course there was nothing there. Everything was normal in the house, apparently. I was told by Mrs. Bevan that Mr. Marcus had gone back to London early that morning."
"Mrs. Bevan heard nothing during the night?" asked Solar Pons, with narrowed eyes.
Miss Brentwood shook her head.
"She is hard of hearing in any event, Mr. Pons, and apart from that has her own quarters on the other side of the corridor."
"I see."
"I lay in bed all day yesterday. Apart from feeling ill I was terrified that I might be going out of my mind. The apparition of Mr. Marcus hanged might have been a dream, but it was so vivid, you see. And I had a dread on me that if I slept last night I might see it again."
"I understand that, Miss Brentwood," I said. "It is a common symptom in such cases of shock."
"My uncle looked in to see me last evening and was pleased when I told him I felt much better. I did not tell him anything of the incident and in any event I am too frightened of him to raise his anger deliberately. But before I went to sleep last night I took a draught and got Mrs. Bevan to close the exterior shutters. I passed a good night and woke early, probably because I had been dozing all the previous day."
Miss Brentwood paused almost as though the recollection were too much for her.
"I rose in the dawn and crept downstairs. It was turned six o'clock and the morning newspapers had just come. Imagine my terror and bewilderment when I read that Mr. Marcus had been found hanged in his London house the previous night!"
I gazed at Miss Brentwood in stupefaction and even Pons' iron calm seemed breached.
"This is extremely interesting, Parker," he said evenly. "I do not know when I have been so absorbed in a problem."
The girl looked at Pons pitifully.
"You do not think -I am mad, Mr. Pons? That I could have dreamed Mr. Marcus' suicide at The Priory while he was actually hanging himself in London?"
Solar Pons shook his head.
"It is extremely unlikely in my experience," he said, little glints of excitement dancing in his eyes. "Pray do not alarm yourself further."
Our client shot him a grateful glance.
"There is little more to be told, Mr. Pons. I had put on my outdoor things as though I intended to flee, as I felt I could not endure that hateful house a moment longer. But as I opened the front gate I heard a noise in the back garden. It was not yet properly light but there was enough glimmer in the east to see my uncle pacing endlessly up and down the rose garden. I went straight to the rector and found him already up, despite the earliness of the hour. Without going into details I hinted that I had a problem that could only yield to skilled help and he advised me to come to you.
"I took the first available train but so frightened am I of my uncle that I have been wandering about all day until now, undecided; still wondering whether I have been the victim of hallucination. I cannot make up my mind whether I have seen a vision; whether danger hangs over me or whether it is past. What has my uncle to do with this? Or did I dream it all?"
"Pray calm yourself, Miss Brentwood," said Pons, taking up his pipe again. "You have told us a strange, somber story with a finale that would have shattered stronger nerves than yours. That your uncle does not think you fanciful is obvious, or he would not have followed you here. You may be in danger but I fancy it is now past. You say Marcus has hanged himself? Well, if that is so, it may bode ill for your legacy, Miss Brentwood."
The girl turned a face to him in which surprise was mingled with something like contempt.
"The legacy does not matter, Mr. Pons. I hope I have not given the impression that I am a mercenary person. Where my sanity and my future are concerned, money does not come into it."
"Well spoken," said I.
Solar Pons smoked on moodily, sending blue smoke over his shoulder.
"But how could my uncle have traced me?" the girl asked. My companion shrugged.
"That is the easiest thing in the world. He may have seen you going out at the gate in the early hours of the morning and followed you to the rector's house. An innocent query in that direction would have given him the information he sought. I take it you laid no constraint on the rector in the matter?"