He opened the drawing-room door abruptly and addressed the group inside.
“We’re doing it out here. Auditorium round the fire, nice and warm. Masterman will let you know when we’re ready.”
Inside the drawing-room Miss Masterman and Mr. Tote sat silent and the others talked. Dorinda found herself admiring the Uncle’s flow of bonhomie. It really was quite easy to be amused and to join in. Perhaps the fact that Justin had come over to sit on the arm of her chair made it easier than it would have been if he had been out in the hall with Moira Lane. But of course Mr. Carroll wouldn’t want him there. He admired Moira himself.
Mr. Carroll was a fast worker. It was certainly not more than ten minutes before the door opened and Mr. Masterman beckoned to them with an arm shrouded in black drapery.
Coming out of the brightly lighted room, the hall seemed dark. The glow had gone from the fire. All the lights had been extinguished except a small reading-lamp. It stood on the stone mantelpiece, its tilted shade covered and prolonged by thick brown paper in such a manner as to throw one bright beam across the hall. It fell slantingly and made a pool of light between the foot of the stair and a massive oak table placed against its panelled side. All beyond this was shadowy, the stair itself, the space around it, the back of the hall-degrees of darkness receding into total gloom.
Masterman piloted them to the hearth, around which chairs had been assembled, placed on a slant to face the stairway and the back of the hall. A point on which everyone afterwards, seemed uncertain was whether Mr. Tote had taken his place among the rest. No one could declare that he had, and no one was prepared to say that he had not.
From somewhere above their heads a high, floating voice said, “The curtain rises,” and down the length of the stair came a movement of shadowy forms, becoming more distinct as they came nearer to the pool of light, entering it and passing out of it again into the deeper shade beyond. Masterman first, really an effective figure in his black cloak, always the most macabre of garments, and a bandage, white and ghastly, blinding one eye and blotting out half his face. After him Mrs. Tote, bent double over a crotched stick, her grey satin and diamonds hidden by an old stained waterproof, her head lost in a battered wide-brimmed hat. She passed out of the light, and Linnet Oakley took her place-a dazzle of rose and silver, flowers in her hair, flowers in her hands. She had been told to smile, but as she stepped into the lighted space she was suddenly afraid. Her lips parted, her eyes stared. She stood for a moment as if she was waiting for something to happen, and then with a visible shudder went on into the dark. The tall white nun who followed her was Moira Lane. She walked with eyes cast down and a string of beads between her hands. Then full in the beam of light, the eyelids lifted, the head turned, the eyes looked back over her shoulder.
She passed on. At the moment she came level with the oak table something moved on the stair above her and the single light went out, leaving the hall quite black. Upon this blackness there appeared the luminous shape of a face, two jutting horns, two luminous thrusting hands. They were high up-they were lower-they came swooping down. Moira’s scream rang in the rafters, and was followed by a horrid chuckling laugh.
She did not scream again when Len Carroll caught her about the shoulders and brought his crooked mouth down hard upon her own, but she very nearly made her thumb and forefinger meet in the flesh of his under arm.
When Mr. Masterman switched on all the lights the devil was back on the table from which he had swooped, a dark pullover hiding his shirt, and a daubed paper mask dangling from his hand. The horns were paper too. They stuck out jauntily above a face which for the moment really did look devilish. The audience clapped, and Gregory called out, “Bravo, my dear fellow! First-class! But we’ve guessed your proverb-‘The devil takes the hindmost.’ ”
Leonard Carroll waved a hand whitened with paint and came down from the table in an agile leap.
“Your turn now,” he said. “I must go and get this stuff off, or it will be all over the place.” He came forward as he spoke.
Everyone was to be asked about how near he was to Gregory Porlock. The evidence on this point presents a good deal of confusion. There is general agreement that he joined the group by the fire, spoke to one or two people, was congratulated on the success of the charade, and then turned away and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Where the evidence fails is on the point of any direct contact with Gregory. When he was asked why he didn’t wash in the downstair cloakroom he had his answer ready-he had to get rid of the pullover and resume the dinner-jacket which he had left in his room.
Conversation broke out below. Dorinda looked across at Moira and saw her stand just where she had been when the lights went on, between the table and the hearth. She was taking off the two white face-towels which had bound brow and chin for the nun’s head-dress. Her eyes were angry, her fingers moved with energy. She threw the towels down upon the table, stepped clear of the sheet which had formed her robe, and flung it after the towels in a bundle, hit or miss. It slid on the polished surface and fell in a heap to the floor, taking one of the towels with it. Moira’s hands went to her hair. There was no mirror in the hall. She shook out her full crimson skirt and came over to Justin.
“How is my hair? I can’t be bothered to go upstairs. Will it do?”
He nodded.
“Not a wave out of place.”
“Oh, well, I was pretty careful. How did it go?”
“As Porlock said-a first-class show. We shan’t do half so well. You have a magnificent scream. A pity we can’t borrow you.”
She laughed.
“Would you like to?” Then with a jerk in her voice, “Oh, Len was the star turn.”
Gregory had gone over towards the stair. He stood a little clear of the group about the fire and raised his voice.
“Well, it’s our turn now. I’m afraid we shan’t be a patch on you. You were really all most awfully good. Will you go back into the drawing-room now and leave us to do the best we can- Mrs. Tote, Mrs. Oakley, Moira, Masterman. Carroll won’t get that stuff off in a hurry-he’ll have to join you later. I don’t think we want to wait for him. The rest stay here.”
He began to walk towards them, but before he had taken a couple of steps the lights went out again. Linnet Oakley gave a little startled scream. Mr. Masterman called out, “Who did that?” There was a general stir of movement. Someone knocked over a chair. And right on that there was something between a cough and a groan, and the sound of a heavy fall.
Justin Leigh reached for Dorinda and pushed her back against the wall. If he groped his way along it he would come to the front door. He had no idea where the other light switches were, but in every civilized house there is at least one which you can turn on as you come in from outside. Disregarding the confusion of voices behind him, he made his way past a door whicn he didn’t yet know to be that of the study, and arrived. Reckoning from the groan, it might have been three quarters of a minute before he found a switch and the light came on in the candles all round the hall.