She Fell Among Thieves Read online

  The priest was late for dinner – a breach of duty so grave that, without being told to do so, a servant ran off to his room. He appeared, however, whilst the soup was still on the board, to take his seat in manifest agitation, which I supposed to be due to his failure to be in time.

  Vanity Fair knew better.

  ‘I understand you’ve received a registered letter. Is that the stone which has troubled the stagnant pool?’

  With that air of importance which only the unimportant ever take on –

  ‘My presence is required,’ said the priest. He breathed very hard. ‘If you will allow me, I will leave for England tomorrow.’ He sipped his soup. ‘As a trustee, you know. There’s talk of an aerodrome.’

  His mistress sat very still.

  ‘“Leave for England?”’ she said. ‘You’re out of your mind.’

  The chaplain was wagging his head.

  ‘“Leave for England”,’ he said. ‘I confess I shall feel the move. Besides, I’ve no bags. I used to have one – a brown one: but things get lost. Of course, one shouldn’t take root. But business is business, madam, as someone has said.’

  He returned to his soup, frowning. The rest of us awaited the earthquake with bated breath.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘And business will keep you here, at the Château Jezreel.’

  To everyone’s horror, the divine saw fit to disgorge a ripple of mirth.

  ‘Madam,’ he declared, ‘I know you. You think that I shall be lost. But you mustn’t seek to dissuade me. As the solicitors say–’

  ‘I never seek to dissuade,’ flamed Vanity Fair. ‘Be good enough to tell your advisers that the services of my chaplain cannot be spared.’

  But the man had no ears to hear. The deference shown in his letter had made him drunk.

  ‘Don’t tempt me, madam,’ he boomed. ‘As trustee, my duty is plain. I have no more desire to leave you than you have to let me go. But it will not be for long. And when my business is concluded–’

  ‘Business be damned. Understand this, Below. If you leave Jezreel tomorrow, you leave for good.’

  The chaplain started and choked: for a moment he stared about him: then his benignant satisfaction changed to incredulous dismay. As a baby’s whose cake has been taken, his lips went down, and when, at that moment, a servant offered him wine, he waved away the dainty as though such consolation was only fit for the dogs.

  ‘But, madam,’ he wailed, ‘year after year you have urged me to go on leave: and now that I–’

  ‘That will do,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘Give your letter to Acorn. He’ll write you a suitable answer and send it off.’ She turned to me. ‘Did Virginia show you the lanterns that came from Prague?’

  ‘She showed me a lot,’ I said, ‘but–’

  ‘You must see them tomorrow, if you can spare the time. Has Gaston shown you his wardrobe – that came from Bordeaux?’

  ‘I have bought nothing in Bordeaux,’ screamed Gaston.

  ‘You may have bought them in Paris, but they are “as worn in” Bordeaux. Have a word with Mr Chandos’ servant. He’ll bear me out.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘Where did you go today?’

  ‘We had tea at Moineau,’ said Virginia.

  ‘The dog returns to his vomit,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘Which of you two is it that has this disgusting taste? Or do you both wallow together? Don’t think that I’m going to forbid you, but I’d very much rather you drank.’

  Virginia prayed me in aid.

  ‘Don’t you like dancing, Mr Chandos?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied stoutly. ‘I do.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘You also like the Zoological Gardens. But that doesn’t mean that you cherish the ways of baboons.’ She raised her eyes to heaven. ‘The casino at Moineau, when crowded, must be a gorgeous sight.’

  ‘But, mother,’ protested Virginia, ‘you know you won’t let us dance here.’

  ‘You shall dance after dinner, my dear – with Mr Chandos. Gaston’s interpretation of the art is rather too simian for me. I know that we’re lower than the angels, but why illustrate that truth?’

  ‘I’m very bad,’ I said nervously.

  ‘You would be,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘But not to the pipes of Pan. You danced up the valley today. I saw the spring in your step and the lift of your head.’ She returned to Virginia. ‘I’m not suggesting that the leopard should change his spots: but so long as you’re under my roof, you must behave as my daughter and not as his wife. The servants have to be considered. Once you’re married, you’ll probably live elsewhere. Gaston might find me exacting, as a resident mother-in-law.’

  With a very crooked smile, Gaston expelled a noise which I took to be one of dissent.

  ‘I cannot interpret that sound,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘Did it mean that you enjoy my society?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Gaston.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I tell you frankly I take great pleasure in yours. You importune me for trouble – to my delight. When anyone asks me for trouble, I’ll feed him until he bursts.’ She turned upon me. ‘Digest that, Richard Chandos. It may provoke your stomach, but it’ll do you good.’

  The meal proceeded.

  Glancing at Father Below, I observed with relief that the comfort of apples seemed to have had its way. He was eating with evident relish and, whilst he now and then sighed, he stayed himself with champagne. Here was no subject for pity. I could see him at some station-hotel… His mistress knew best. As for her, her reduction of the obstinate fortress had whisked her ill-humour away.

  My mind flew suddenly to Julie. I found it indecent that we should be feasting while she lay stark in the chapel within our gates. By rights we should have been fasting. But the tragedy had made no difference to life at Jezreel.

  The place seemed suddenly sinister. The breath of the Middle Ages tainted the air… Death was dressed in splendour, and Evil was royally lodged.

  Gaston and Acorn were arguing.

  ‘I know you are wrong,’ said Gaston.

  ‘Have a care,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘My secretary is paid to be right.’

  ‘I do not care,’ said Gaston. ‘I say he is wrong.’

  ‘It’s some time ago,’ said Acorn, ‘but I was at New Orleans when the news came in.’

  ‘What news?’ said Vanity Fair.

  ‘That the Clair de Lune had been holed on her maiden voyage.’

  ‘No, no,’ cried Gaston. ‘It was the Pompadour.’

  The man was right. I knew it. Old friends of mine, the Cheviots, had barely escaped with their lives when the Pompadour was holed on her maiden voyage.

  Before I could put in an oar –

  ‘Well, what on earth does it matter?’ said Vanity Fair.

  ‘But he says I am wrong,’ cried Gaston.

  ‘I’ve no doubt you are. What of that?’

  ‘I am not wrong,’ screamed Gaston. ‘I–’

  ‘That,’ said Vanity Fair, ‘is extremely easy to say.’

  ‘But I was on board,’ raved Gaston, and struck the oak with his hand.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Then –

  ‘Indeed,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘How very disagreeable for the other passengers.’ She turned to Virginia. ‘Do they throw people out at Moineau? Or can you behave as you please?’

  Her daughter set her head on one side.

  ‘I shouldn’t risk it, mother: you’re very well here.’

  To my surprise and relief, Vanity Fair sat back and laughed till she cried.

  I confess my respect leaped up. She knew how to lose.

  After dinner I danced with Virginia, against my will. This on the terrace, to music most beautifully played and the light of the moon. Vanity Fair applauded the exhibition and made us perform until I was ready to drop. When Gaston sought to withdraw, she called him back and made him sit by her side.

  And Julie lay dead.

  Mansel let me talk for a quarter of an hour. Then he lay back in his chair
and crossed his legs.

  ‘With Vanity Fair,’ he said, ‘you never know. That is her ace of trumps. She’s put her arms about you today. But I wouldn’t swear that you’re not to be murdered tonight. That you’re to be visited I’m certain. That’s really why I’m here. I think you’re to be half-killed. I can hardly believe that she would dare bump you off.’

  ‘Well, I don’t care,’ said I. ‘You and I know how much I value my life. But, you know, this woman’s wearing. She’s as good as a raree-show: but she ought to be under glass.’

  ‘That’s perfectly true,’ said Mansel. ‘What I’ve gone through since you came, I cannot describe. To be weighed by Vanity Fair is to be found wanting – and accordingly weighed again.’

  ‘And your duties,’ said I. ‘What are you here to detect?’

  Mansel sighed.

  ‘Vanity Fair sometimes behaves as a child. I am here to watch de Rachel and pick up what gossip I can in the servants’ hall. There’s very little gossip – the servants are too much afraid of losing their jobs. She pays them four times as much as they’d get elsewhere; but if one of them puts a foot wrong, he’s fired that night. I except friend Jean – as lazy a rogue as you’d meet in a summer’s day. But Vanity Fair has his measure: she’s using him. As for the sweet-smelling Gaston, anyone can see what he is – a French Count ten times removed from the cousin whose title he bears. I suppose he’s a right to bear it. I’m told that, except for him, the family’s faded out.’

  ‘Well, there,’ said I, ‘there’s a chance that Titus Cheviot can help,’ and, with that, I told him about the Pompadour.

  ‘Good,’ said Mansel. ‘Drop a line to Titus and tell him to write to Anise. That was five or six years ago. De Rachel left France then and he’s not got a bean: and he sticks what he does for the money Virginia will bring.’

  ‘By God, he earns it,’ said I.

  ‘Serve him right,’ said Mansel. ‘But why does Virginia want him? Answer me that. She’s not too bad, Virginia. But she doesn’t seem to be acting under duress.’

  ‘I’m sure she dislikes him,’ said I. ‘Why, my face is straighter than hers while her mother is twisting his tail.’

  ‘I’d love to hear it,’ said Mansel. ‘Never mind. What else did you pick up in that wonderful dining-room?’

  I told him how Vanity Fair had whipped Father Below.

  ‘That,’ said Mansel, ‘is what I wanted to hear. She requires Below for the marriage. For some reason best known to herself, the date’s not fixed. But he’s got to be here on tap, ready to tie the knot at a nod from her. A locum tenens might boggle at rushing the business through. But Below will do as he’s told – as you saw tonight. That letter he got was written at my request.’ He threw back his head and covered his eyes with his hands. ‘You know I’m more confused than when I began. I’ve confirmed an idea or two, but they’re in my lady’s favour. For one thing, I’m pretty sure that this marriage is going to go through.’

  ‘And Julie?’ said I.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mansel. ‘And Julie. That’s a bad show. And there’s another riddle. What on earth can Julie have done?’

  ‘She was killed, of course.’

  ‘I think that Julie was smothered, and then thrown out. There were certain signs in her face. I imagine your wallah did it – the wallah you saw in the fields. I don’t think he’s gone: I think he’s up in the tower. And he, no doubt, is the fellow who’s coming to see you tonight.’ I glanced at the looking-glass. ‘You needn’t worry. As long as he sees your light burning, he won’t come down.’

  ‘But what’s the idea?’ said I. ‘To put me out of action?’

  ‘To frighten you off,’ said Mansel. ‘Not out of Jezreel, for she likes your company. But off the holy ground of her private affairs.

  ‘Supposing you wake in the night, to find your throat in the grip of a monster you cannot see. You’re being choked to death, and you can’t as much as cry out. You put up a fight, of course, but what can you do? At last you lose consciousness, and when you come to, you’re alone… The next morning you tell your tale. Vanity Fair expresses the utmost concern, declares she can’t understand it. “It looks, Mr Chandos, as though you’d offended some god – spied on his private rites, or something like that…” And while she speaks, she’s mocking you with those eyes. Pure speculation, of course. But I think I’m right.

  ‘Anyway, you’ve done very well, and you’ll soon be free. Tomorrow night the Rolls will be ready for the road: and the day after that you’re going. She’ll try to keep you all right, but you mustn’t stay, for only your going away will convince her that you are no spy. Once you’re gone, she’ll miss you – Jezreel is dull – and she’ll do her very utmost to get you back. And back you will come, my lad, in the fullness of time. You’ll tell her you’re going to Biarritz, and thence to Spain.’

  ‘Where in fact am I going?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Mansel, and got to his feet. ‘I’ll send you your orders in writing tomorrow night. And now you must go to bed. Time’s getting on, and I’ve got to be up at six.’

  My lights had been put out for nearly an hour and, though I was wide awake and straining my ears, I lay with my eyes close shut, as though I were fast asleep.

  Beside the curtains that graced the head of my bed Mansel, I knew, was standing as still as death.

  I never heard the man enter: I never heard him approach.

  The first thing I heard was the smack of Mansel’s fist, as he hit someone under the jaw.

  In a flash I was out of bed, to find Mansel down on his knees, with his hand on his victim’s heart.

  ‘I had to hit hard,’ he breathed, ‘but he seems all right. He won’t come round for some time.’

  (Here I should say that Mansel was a beautiful boxer, and, as such, had been famous before he had left his school.)

  ‘Where’s your torch?’ I whispered. ‘I don’t believe it’s my man.’

  ‘I know it isn’t,’ said Mansel. ‘It’s a colleague of mine, called Jean.’

  With that, he drew his torch and lighted the fellow’s face.

  There was no doubt about it. There were the bull-dog features of the chauffeur who, six hours before, had poured my beer.

  Mansel sat back on his heels and fingered his chin.

  ‘I might have known,’ he murmured. ‘William, my boy, we’ve done a good night’s work. This is going to be very awkward for Vanity Fair.’

  Twenty minutes later Mansel was gone and I was again in my bed, and Jean, who was still unconscious, was lying on the tiles of my bathroom, his ankles lashed with his belt and his wrists with mine. The weapon which he had been wearing was back in his sleeve.

  It was a curious weapon, carefully sheathed and plainly many years old. There is, I believe, one like it in a private collection in Rome. It was not a lethal weapon. The mark it would have made on the skin would scarce have been seen. It was, however, hollow.

  How much liquid this ‘syringe’ contained I do not know, but the drop which Mansel extracted and placed in a phial was found to be more than sufficient to cause immediate death.

  3

  The Path in the Mountains

  ‘It’s a matter for you, Mr Chandos.’

  ‘The Star Chamber’ was cool and dim, for its shutters were shut. Vanity Fair’s manner went with the room. Cool, reserved, entirely at my disposal, she might have been my banker – some very giant of finance that, because I was his client, was awaiting my puny instructions to sell or retain some shares.

  I crossed my legs and laughed.

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘So far as I am concerned, my score was settled last night. I’ll bet he’s got a headache just now that he’d sell for what it’d fetch.’

  ‘Headache?’ said Vanity Fair. She drew in her breath. ‘He’d have something more than a headache if I had my way.’

  Of this I was sure. Vanity Fair had no use for servants that failed.

  ‘What does Acorn think?’ said I.


  ‘I don’t think he knows what he thinks. As usual, he offers me bread, and gives me a stone. I said the man should be jailed, and he quite agreed. “Then have him jailed,” said I. “That’s all very well,” said Acorn, “but what’s he done?” Since I couldn’t answer the question, I sent for you. After all, you’ll have to charge him.’

  ‘Well, he hasn’t done anything,’ said I. ‘He didn’t have time.’

  ‘What d’you think he was going to do?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said I.

  Vanity Fair frowned.

  ‘In a way, you know, it’s a pity you struck so soon. He was bent on mischief, of course, or he would have knocked at the door. Why did you strike so soon? Wouldn’t it have been more normal to challenge him first?’

  ‘His movement was furtive,’ said I, ‘and that was enough for me.’

  Vanity Fair nodded.

  ‘Quite right,’ she said. ‘Never wait. Well, what’s to be done? Acorn is waiting on you. Say the word and he’s going to ring up the police.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Don’t do it for me,’ said I.

  ‘We can do it for nobody else. Unless you’re prepared to charge him, it’s no good our calling the police.’

  I admit the cards were good, but she played them uncommonly well.

  ‘Let the fellow go,’ said I, and got to my feet.

  ‘Wait a minute.’

  She moved to a table to pick up a telephone.

  After a moment’s pause –

  ‘Mr Chandos declines to charge him. Pay him his wages and let him be ready to leave at a quarter to twelve. On foot, of course. I’ll see the man in the guard-room at twelve o’clock.’

  The guard-room lay in the tower that belonged to her suite.

  As she replaced her receiver –

  ‘Please rest assured that Jean will never forget this unpleasant affair. I shall see to that. I trust that you’ll come to forget it, and please begin by putting it out of your mind. Ask Virginia to show you those lanterns. You can’t think of anything else when you’re looking at them.’