There is always love (18 page)

"Yes, Miss. Thank you a lot." With her hand on the doorknob she turned. "Will you cross-your-throat-an'-hope-to-die that you won't tell anyone about Cline, Miss?'*

If Cline were, as she suspected, the man who had entered The Castle at midnight he had been there dishonestly and should be punished, Linda reflected. In that case, she must expose him; the safety of the entire household would be at stake—it was human lives she wanted to protect, not jewels.

"I can't promise that, Annie. Suppose, when I see him, I discover he is so ill that he'll die if a doctor doesn't attend him? You and I would be practically murderers if we didn't call medical help. A sick person isn't capable of deciding what is to be done for him. Can't you believe that I want to do what is right?" Would that go down on the Judgment Day book as a gray lie or a white lie?

"Gee, you scare me, Miss, with that word 'murderers.' I guess I'll have to trust you. Someday your fella may get into troub—get hurt and you'll know how I feel. I'll be at the big pine at eleven, Miss."

Annie had betrayed herself when she had broken the word "trouble" in half and substituted "hurt," Linda decided. Did the girl suspect that her "fella" had not told her the truth or did she know what a sordid story was back of his injury? What was she letting herself in for? She had an instant's clear perception of possible consequences which closed her throat tight and shut ojff her breath. Greg Merton had said that if she muscled it on the mess, he was out of it. But she didn't know that the man in the game house was the man he was hunting for, did she?

If only she and Greg were better friends. How could they be when he believed she had double-crossed him? Her heart smarted unbearably when she thought of his distrust of her. His fierce "Why not wait till I ask you to?" still echoed through her memory. Sounded as if he were on the verge of a nervous breakdown fearing that she might think he wanted her love. He needn't worry. She had decided that Sanders was using her to take Madam Steele's business away from her 102

nephew. She would do her best to stop him, not because she liked said nephew, but because she detested underground methods of getting business.

She never had known such an interminable day, she thought after dinner, as Buff set the coffee tray on the small table in the library. Guests at luncheon, tea at a neighbor's with Madam Steele, while all the time beneath the talk of war and the fight in Congress on Neutrality had run the anxious self-query, "What shall I do if I find Cline is the man who was shot?"

The butler fussed over the tray. His face was a shade more pasty than usual, his humorless mouth more grim.

"It's a great pity Mr. Greg couldn't stay with us this week. Madam," he complained. "He told me when I served his breakfast that he wouldn't be back till Sunday. We need him,"

"What do you mean, 'need him,' Buff?"

He coughed behind his hand in the best movie-butler tradition.

"I followed you when you came into the library the other midnight. Madam. I heard the shot."

"You couldn't have heard it. There was a silencer on the revolver."

"Being so near, I heard the sound, but I kept out of sight. I knew you would be angry if I appeared. I watched till you went upstairs. I always hear you when you prowl at night. Madam. I've been with you thirty years. I feel a great responsibility about your safety. If the coffee is as you like it, I'll go now." He paused to add, "Your secret is safe with me."

Madam Steele's startled eyes followed him and came back to Linda.

"Well, of all the melodrama! 'Your secret is safe with me.' Gives me the creeps. Makes me feel as if I had hidden a body. Meddling old party. Fancy his following me about the house when I prowl. It's spooky. A lot of protection he'd be. Get out the cards, Linda. It will take about four games tonight to calm my nerves. That's a figure of speech—I haven't any."

Four games! They would make her late to meet Annie at eleven. Then what?

"Did Greg report any progress?" Linda inquired as she dealt the new, shiny cards. "He said last night that he would leave a note for you."

"He left the note. He had discovered nothing. I believe that in spite of the bullet hole in the hanging, he still thinks I had a nightmare. You can't build that way, child. Keep your mind on the game. Anyone would think you had a gunshot wound on your conscience."

"Perhaps I have," Linda told herself. Aloud she said,

"You'll have to admit that a burglar in the house might have a machine-gun effect on the imagination. Your deal."

"Here's your bad penny back again. Duchess," a voice announced jovially. "I've arranged my business to take the rest of the week off. How's that for efficiency?"

Greg Merton! Linda stared at him incredulously. Greg Merton feeling terribly pleased with himself. Grand chance she had now of meeting Annie by the big pine as the church bells chimed eleven.

XX

WOULD Madam Steele never call it a day, Linda wondered feverishly? Why of all nights should she select this one to stay downstairs beyond her usual hour, which was ten? Every tick of the clock made the rendezvous with Annie more difficult. As if Greg Merton's sudden appearance hadn't complicated it enough.

He stood back to the fire, smiling, smoking, while the minutes were racing, racing, racing toward eleven o'clock.

"By the way. Duchess, how's the maid who had the sudden attack of migraine?" he inquired. His eyes above the light he was holding to a cigarette flashed from his aunt to Linda. The look sent her heart zooming to her throat. Was it because of a guilty conscience that she had sensed suspicion in that glance? He had warned her not to "muscle in." Why worry? She wasn't sure that Annie's "Cline" was the man he had been asked to look for, was she?

"She served at dinner tonight. She had pUed on rouge. I presume she thought I wouldn't notice. She knows I won't keep a maid who can't do her work. Good night, Gregory. I'm going to my room."

"Isn't it part of your secretary's duty to entertain your guests. Duchess? Tell her to stay here and talk to me."

Linda held her breath waiting for the answer. Suppose Madam Steele said "Stay"—she never would get away to Annie.

"HmpI If you aren't interesting enough to keep her, why should I interfere? She's a free agent after I go to my room. Good night, again, Gregory."

When with Madam Steele she reached the top of the curved stairs, Linda looked down.

"Good night, Mr. Merton." Her voice was low, amused and cloyingly sweet.

He didn't answer. Just stood in the hall looking up, hands thrust into the pockets of his blue-serge coat. Had he noticed 104

her eagerness to leave the library? He had an uncanny way of sensing what was in the wind.

In her room she hastily pulled on warm socks, fastened overshoes, wound a green-and-white-striped scarf about her head, zipped her ski suit and thrust an electric torch into the pocket of her trousers. She glanced at the clock. Only ten minutes in which to reach the big pine. She ran to the window.

The snow had stopped. Gorgeous moon. Full. Luminous. A lump of bluish silver hammered flat against indigo velvet. Its light had put out the lesser stars but red Mars and Jupiter retained their brilliancy. A blue moon. Wasn't it supposed to be a good omen? Not this time. Better for her errand had the sky been overcast.

She picked up the bag which held her first-aid kit. She had considered taking the revolver which Madam Steele insisted she should keep in the drawer of the bedside table, had decided against it. She hated the thing, never had loaded it. If there were a possibility that she would need a gun she wouldn't go to the game house. That settled that.

She opened her door. Listened. Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Only the tall clock in the hall, the sharp crack of a burning log in the fireplace broke the silence. She stole down the stairs. Suppose Greg Merton appeared at the library door? What would she say? He was in the room—she could hear voices. Lucky he was talking with someone. He couldn't possibly hear her. She made her cautious way across the flagged floor to the hall. The walls seemed weirdly sibilant. Were they whispering that this was old stuff, that they had seen a girl stealing out many, many times before?

She gently closed the side door behind her. She was out of the house and Mr. Gregory Merton was in the library. Hooray! If she were seen now, it would be presumed that she was a maid sneaking out for a rendezvous.

Even in a good cause it was a strange and lonely feeling to turn one's back on warmth and security, she discovered, as she plodded on. Once out of sight of the house she hurried. No path to guide her, not even Annie's footprints. This expedition would have been thrilling if she could have told Greg about it, if they had set out together. Why had he watched her so closely in the library after dinner? Had he—.

She stepped into a hole. A thousand stars rocketed. The fall shattered her introspection. "Serves you right," she accused herself and struggled up. "Keep your mind on your feet instead of on a man named Merton, Brainless."

She wasted a few precious minutes hunting for her bag. Found it open. Groped for the scattered contents. Replaced them. Clutched the handle tight. Proceeded cautiously. Bells.

How they shortened time with their fifteen-minute chimes. She counted the solemn strokes. Eleven. She was late.

Snow whitened stumps, boulders and holes with lavish impartiality. The walk which, in the fall, had been a pleasant stroll over pine needles and fallen leaves had become a way as full of pitfalls as an old-time tin Lizzie with dents. The sudden, clear snap of frost had the startling effect of a popgun. The evergreens rustled with whispers.

The tall pine! At last! She stopped a moment to draw a deep breath of the sparkling air. How still the world was. Almost as light as day. Time was ticking on like a metronome. The temperature was dropping fast; her scarf was coated with frost where her breath had frozen. She stood in the shadow of the great pine. Annie had not arrived. Had she been unable to steal out? It must be five minutes after eleven.

The grotesque shape of the game house crouched a short distance away. Back and forth she paced, wondering what she would do if she found that the man's wound was a gunshot, wondering if he had entered The Castle to steal the jewels. That last didn't seem plausible. Madam Steele had been right. What could a man accomplish alone? Perhaps he hadn't been alone. Perhaps he was only the tip-off man. Perhaps—the chimes again. Had she been under this tree ten minutes? She had been a little late. Distraught with anxiety Annie might have gone ahead. That was a thought. She'd follow and be quick about it.

Scrunch! Scrunch! Did her feet have to make such a racket? She might as well have brought a brass band to announce her arrival. Unless his sweetheart had prepared him for her coming, "Cline," if guilty, would make a des^ perate effort to escape. Then what?

Was that a fire behind the game house just to make things harder? Fire! No. It was the aurora putting on a theatrical show. Waving green streamers of light, stabbing with scarlet spears, washing the dark sky with shimmering violet and rose. Still as a snow maiden she watched it glow and fade. In the gorgeousness of that heavenly spectacle this affair of Annie's seemed of small importance.

She shook off the spell of beauty and went on, her heart thumping like an Indian war drum. The maid's affair might seem negligible to her but it might mean danger to Madam Steele.

Close to a window of the game house she stood motionless as an inactive bank account. The curtain was tightly drawn. Not a splinter of hght visible. She listened. Voices? No. Only the swish of snow-laden branches above her head.

Why linger here as if she were afraid to be seen? She 106

had come on an errand of mercy. Why should she gumshoe round as if she were a G-man or a racket-buster on the trail of his quarry?

She scrunched to the entrance door. Touched it. It swung open slowly, in uncanny invitation. She swallowed her heart which was now beating an alarm in her throat.

"Annie! Annie!" Her voice trailed into a hoarse whisper.

Scuttling? Mice? Rats? Steady. Suppose it were? What harm could they do? All her life she had heard the expression "buckled on courage." As a child she had taken it Uterally, had pictured courage as a sort of material harness. Well, here it went, over her head. Would it work a magic spell? Make her invulnerable to fear?

She flashed the light of her torch along the wall. The game house was wired for electricity. Nothing so outdated as an oil lamp or candles would be relied on for a building on Madam Steele's estate. She pressed a button. The large room blazed with light. With a bang which shattered the stillness the door shut behind her.

Step by lagging step, she reached the middle of the floor. Pivoted like a dummy model in a fashion-shop window. Tennis racquets, croquet mallets, a shabby green cardigan, an eyeshade in an open closet. No one here— Her heart froze. Something long. Something limp. Something stretched on cushions! Something covered with an automobile rug! What was that on the floor of the bay window?

Her breath stopped. Her feet took root. She clenched her teeth. She couldn't quit. She wouldn't. She must move. She must speak. She owed it to her employer to find out what this gruesome thing was.

She tiptoed toward it. Silly! Why tiptoe? She had made noise enough entering to rouse the dead. She shivered. That last word hadn't helped. The tip of a boot stuck out from under the rug.

"What are you doing here?" The voice she had geared to a clarion call emerged a whisper. Shaken as it was, its effect was instantaneous. The rug was thrown back. A man sat up.

"For the love of Mike!"

"Skid! S—Skid! I don't believe it! I'm seeing things! I just don't believe it."

She dropped to the floor and went off into gales of laughter, laughter punctuated by sobs. Grant gripped her shoulder, shook her.

"Snap out of it, Linda, or you'll have hysterics."

"Your eyes are so—so funny! They 1—look like mar— marbles. B— Big b—brown glassies. I—I—I—^never had hys —hysterics in my 1—life."