After seeing him out — and letting in a torrent of rain and swirling leaves in the process — Mark, Dorothy and Michael returned to the dining room to inform the others of this extraordinary news.
‘Well, that just about puts the tin lid on a delightful evening,’ said Hilary. ‘Now we get to spend the night here with Norman Bates for company, do we?’
‘There might, even now, be time to leave,’ Mr Sloane murmured, ‘if anyone cares to try it.’
‘I may well take you up on that,’ said Dorothy.
‘I can’t believe that one of my neighbours would ever do such nasty things,’ said Tabitha, half to herself. ‘They all seem such quiet and pleasant people.’
Several of her relatives snorted at this point.
‘Incidentally, you know, you mightn’t be far wrong,’ Michael remarked, turning towards Hilary. ‘I don’t know about Norman Bates, but of course there are films where this sort of thing happens.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, like The Cat and the Canary, for instance. Did anybody see that?’
‘I know it,’ said Thomas. ‘Bob Hope and Paulette Goddard.’
‘That’s right. All the members of a family are summoned to an isolated old house for the reading of a will. There’s a terrible storm. And a police officer turns up to warn them that there’s a killer in the area.’
‘And what happens to the members of this family?’ asked Phoebe, looking directly at Michael for the first time.
‘They’re murdered,’ he said calmly. ‘One by one.’
The crash of thunder which followed this statement was louder than ever. It was succeeded by a long pause. Michael’s words seemed to have had a powerful effect: only Hilary remained determinedly unimpressed.
‘Well, to be honest, I don’t see what we’ve got to be worried about,’ she said. ‘After all, you’re the only one who’s been attacked so far.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Michael. ‘We all know that that was an accident. Surely you’re not suggesting—’
‘Do you mind?’ Roddy now broke in abruptly. ‘I’m beginning to find the tenor of this conversation almost as tasteless as this confounded Stilton.’
He pushed his plate away in disgust.
‘And you know all there is to know about taste, of course,’ said Phoebe.
This remark was accompanied by a very meaningful look, which provoked him to point a finger at her and stammer furiously: ‘You’ve got a damned nerve, you know, being here at all. One weekend, you spent up here, but it was still long enough for you to get your claws into my father. How much money did you squeeze out of him, that’s what I want to know? And more to the point, what’s he supposed to have died of, anyway? Nobody seems to be talking about that.’
‘I don’t know, exactly,’ said Phoebe, on the defensive. ‘I was away when it happened.’
‘Look, we’re wasting time here,’ said Dorothy. ‘Somebody should fetch Henry and let him know what’s going on.’
This struck everyone as a very sensible idea.
‘Where is he, though?’
‘Up in Nurse Gannet’s old room, watching television.’
‘Well where on earth’s that? Does anyone know their way around this blasted house?’
‘I do,’ said Phoebe. ‘I’ll go and get him myself.’
Michael was slow to oppose this course of action, because he had been confused and intrigued by the sudden display of animosity between Roddy and Phoebe, and was beginning to wonder if it had any sort of history behind it. But as soon as he realized that she had departed on what might well be a dangerous errand, he turned to reproach the others.
‘She shouldn’t be wandering around by herself,’ he protested. ‘You heard what the sergeant said. There might be a killer in the house.’
‘What nonsense,’ scoffed Dorothy. ‘We’re not in a film now, you know.’
‘That’s what you think,’ said Michael, and ran off in pursuit.
But once again he had occasion to curse the fiendishly convoluted architecture of the building. Reaching the top of the Great Staircase, he found that he had no idea which direction to take, and wasted several breathless minutes tearing up and down the winding, intersecting corridors until all at once he turned a corner and ran straight into Phoebe herself.
‘What are you doing up here?’ she said.
‘Looking for you, of course. Did you find him?’
‘Henry? No, he’s not there any more. Perhaps he went back downstairs.’
‘Probably. Still, let’s have another look, just in case.’
Phoebe led him around the corner, up a small flight of steps, and then along three or four short, gloomy passages.
‘Ssh! Listen!’ said Michael, laying a hand on her arm. ‘I can hear voices.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s only the television.’
She flung open a door upon an empty room, containing only a sofa, a table, and a portable black and white television which was tuned to Newsnight. Unwatched, Jeremy Paxman was interviewing a harassed-looking junior defence minister.
‘See?’ said Phoebe. ‘Nobody here.’
‘It would be wrong to regard the UN deadline simply as a trigger point,’ the minister was saying. ‘Saddam knows that we now have the right to take military action. When — and indeed whether — we choose to exercise that right, is another thing altogether.’
‘But nearly nineteen hours have elapsed since the deadline expired,’ Paxman insisted. ‘Are you saying that you still have no information as to when—’
‘Oh my God.’
Michael had noticed something: a stream of blood was running down the side of the sofa and dripping on to the floor. He peered gingerly over the back and saw that Henry was lying face down on the sofa, a carving knife sticking out from between his shoulder blades. Phoebe followed him and gasped. They stared speechlessly at the corpse for some time; until they became aware that a third person had entered the room and was standing between them, looking down with blank indifference at the dead man.
‘Stabbed in the back,’ said Hilary drily. ‘How appropriate. Does this mean that Mrs Thatcher is somewhere in the house?’
CHAPTER FOUR
Carry On Screaming
MICHAEL, Phoebe, Thomas, Hilary, Roddy, Mark and Dorothy stood in a solemn circle and contemplated the body. They had raised Henry into a sitting position, and he now stared back at them with the same outraged, incredulous expression which had been the hallmark of all his public appearances.
‘When do you think it happened?’ asked Roddy.
Nobody answered.
‘We’d better get back downstairs,’ said Hilary. ‘I suggest we find Tabitha and Mr Sloane and all have a good talk about this.’
‘Are we just going to leave him like that?’ asked Thomas, as the others started to leave.
‘I’ll … clean him up a bit, if you like,’ said Phoebe. ‘I’ve got some things in my bag.’
‘I’ll stay and help you,’ Dorothy volunteered. ‘I’ve had a bit of experience with carcasses.’