Gradually his calm returned. She could go for weeks without food, at least four, but only three days without water. That would be a fitting end to her. She had hurt him, so he would hurt her. The third day her tongue would swell, she would suffer agonies before dying. He wouldn’t have to kill her as he had Arabella. He’d let her die, all by herself.

  That was nicer. That way there would be no nightmares. He wouldn’t see her die. He’d never come here again, nor would anyone else, and her bones would moulder and lie there for all time. It was a scheduled monument—you weren’t allowed to do anything to it. God bless bureaucracy, he suddenly decided, his good humor returning.

  As she stirred and opened her eyes, he spoke.

  “You’ll be quite safe here. I’ll come back for a chat later. First, I have work to do.”

  He snuffed the candles and left them and the matches near the stone steps. By the light of the torch he pushed open the trap door, and climbed up while she watched sickly, unable to cry out even had there been any point in doing so. He closed the trap, let himself out into the central well, and strode back to the house briskly. Her car was parked near the gatehouse. He glanced at his watch. There was lots of time for what he had to do. Lots of time. His own cleverness never ceased to dazzle him. This time her disappearance would carry its own explanation! Nobody would waste five minutes looking for her; least of all the overworked police who had important matters to deal with.

  In the dungeon, Tracey lay all but paralyzed with discomfort, cold—and fear.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They breakfasted very late, and when Maurice eventually came down, looking fresh and fit, Sybella asked solicitiously,

  “How is Tracey? Did she sleep well?”

  “Tracey? No, she went out early in her car, about half past six I think.”

  There was a sudden clatter as Gravina dropped a spoon.

  “Hasn’t she come back yet?” Sybella asked.

  “No, I’ve just looked. She must have gone for a long drive.”

  “How very peculiar,” Gravina said suspiciously. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, my dear aunt. She came to me, woke me, said she couldn’t sleep and was going for a drive and would be back at breakfast time. I offered to go, but she insisted on going alone. She’s a big girl. She’s all right She’s bound to come home soon.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Gravina said flatly.

  “My dear aunt, you’re over-wrought. I think you need more rest”

  “What rubbish. I’ve never been better. Who ever heard of anyone going for a drive in the dark, a few hours after a late party?”

  “People do the most peculiar things, particularly people with insomnia. I must admit I’ve wondered about her, recently. She seems to have had something on her mind. But there’s no use starting at shadows. If she’d been in an accident, we’d have heard.”

  Gravina opened her mouth and shut it again. Sybella was obviously upset

  “I do wish she wouldn’t do things like that,” she complained. “It’s worrying.”

  “You surely don’t think she’s run off again, do you?” Maurice laughed pleasantly. “Why, she’s been perfectly happy, and look how she shone at the dance last night! She’s probably driven too far and stopped for breakfast somewhere on the way. She’ll turn up all right.”

  There was nothing either of them could say to this.

  He set off for a walk with the dogs.in the middle of the morning, saying he’d be back by one-thirty for lunch. Once out of sight, he doubled back through the bushes, tied the dogs up by the wooden bridge and returned to the dungeon under the old tower.

  Tracey, who had dozed fitfully and had spent a fearsome night, was almost glad when she heard noises overhead and then saw the trap door open. He came down, lit the candles and beamed at her.

  “Good morning, my dear. Sorry about breakfast, but you girls like to take care of your figures, don’t you? I’m sorry it’s so uncomfortable for you, but you’ll get used to it, and it isn’t for long. You’ll soon be dead.”

  “Maurice, don’t be ridiculous,” she croaked. “Untie me. I shan’t tell anyone.”

  “You certainly won’t,” he agreed. “Of that I’m sure. However I can’t possibly let you go. I was busy last night. I drove your car over to the disused gravel pit a mile down the road, and left it there. It won’t be noticed for a couple of days, in all likelihood. Just by where it is parked, there are tire tracks of another car, which parked there waiting for you, and in which you drove off, presumably. You’ve not merely run away, but you’ve run off with someone.” He laughed. “They’ll probably give Shakespear an uncomfortable time of it, for a bit. Don’t you think that’s clever?”

  He bent down over her, grinning now.

  “I have to think of so many little things, but I’m quite good at it. Perhaps you didn’t notice, but I slipped off for half an hour last night after the buffet. I borrowed a guest’s car from the drive, and drove it to the gravel pit and then brought it back. So there are recent tracks from the road to the pit, made shortly before your car was abandoned there. Neat, eh?”

  “Is that what you did to Arabella?” she asked.

  “That was rather a neat operation, I thought. I’ve never been able to tell anyone about it, but there’s no harm in telling you. Arabella was just like you; promiscuous, interested in other men. Eventually she had an affair with one, became pregnant, and decided to leave me, to live with him, and try to get a divorce. She stupidly told me about it—though I never found out who the man was. Well, I couldn’t allow that, could I? I’d have had to give her the divorce to avoid a scandal in court, and meantime she’d be living openly with someone else!”

  He chuckled.

  “When she drove off for Hereford I was waiting at the gatehouse and asked for a lift. Said there was something wrong with my car. The stupid girl gave me one, and even remarked on how well I was behaving about it all. I had a wrench in my coat pocket; I got her to pull up by the roadside, and then I hit her as hard as I could. I drove back, parked the car inside the gates, and dropped her inside a drain cover near the gatehouse. Of course I had to hit her a bit more till she was dead—it was messy, but it was all done on the spur of the moment. I’d intended bringing her here, but there wasn’t time then. Anyway, that was all there was to it. I drove the car into Ross, parked it, and walked off. I took a bus most of the way back, and walked the last part. Nobody ever noticed me. Nobody knew she was running away or anything. They thought she simply took her car into Ross and disappeared. That’s what the police said. A runaway wife who was never traced. It’s very easy, if you don’t panic.”

  He sighed.

  “Of course I couldn’t possibly let you use the gatehouse when you were talking about making pottery, could I? Although the manhole cover is cemented in place now.”

  Tracey remembered the cement and shovel in the gatehouse kitchen and her blood ran colder.

  “Yes, she loved that gatehouse; she did it all up, and like a fool I encouraged her. It was her private place to read, write letters, think in. Needless to say, though I didn’t realize it, it was where she met her lover—and now she is there forever. Poetic, I think.”

  “They’re bound to catch you.”

  “Why? Nobody’s going to open that cover without my permission. She’s been a bare skeleton for years. There are no smells. The drains aren’t blocked, you know. I make sure they are kept clear. How can I be discovered?”

  He glanced at his watch and stood up, still smiling.

  “I must go. I shan’t be back.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?” she cried desperately.

  “Haven’t you guessed? Nothing at all. You’ll just stay here. You’ve been here almost half a day. When did you last have a drink? Anyway you can’t last more than another seventy-two hours. You’ll just die. When your car’s found, and they see the other car tracks, I’ll tell the police you were behaving peculiarly and that I suspect you were carrying on an affair with someone. They’ll remember how you ran off before and they’ll lose all interest in you.”

  “Maurice, please!” She began to beg, and tears rolled down her face. He stood looking at her with detached interest, then with a half smile turned his back on her frantic entreaties and went up the steps to freedom. The candles flickered in the gloom, reminding her that he wouldn’t be needing them again, because he was not coming back again.

  She began to sob and then to scream. Nothing could save her now, and she knew it. Only Maurice, and he was mad.

  Don finished his solitary breakfast and scowled at his watch. He was worried about Tracey. She had spoken of leaving about three in the morning, and the drive should take her about three and a half hours on deserted roads. He himself could do it in less, but he was familiar with the route. Allowing an hour on her departure, making it four, and even an hour extra on the drive, she should have been here by eight-thirty. In fact he had been waiting since six. It was now half past nine!

  He washed up and paced his sitting room until he made up his mind. He would give her till eleven and then he was driving to Renhope. He was not sure what he was going to do there; Maurice Aldrich certainly wouldn’t give him any sort of a welcome. In fact he might well get thrown off the premises. Still, he had to do something. He couldn’t just sit about idly when she was so long overdue.

  He was convinced that something had gone wrong, and although he had no idea what it might be, it filled him with nameless fears for her safety. Things must have gotten pretty bad if she had become sure that Maurice was insane. He could recall her telephone call clearly, and, like her, he had heard a mysterious little click on the line, as though a receiver was being replaced.

  Suppose, he thought, suppose Maurice had listened in? That was about the worst that could have happened. What would he do? What could he do? Even allowing for the fact that he was not exactly normal, and that a doctor thought he might become violent, he wasn’t going to get violent over that, surely? She’d gone away once before, and Maurice had been relatively calm about it all. He’d even thanked him for putting her up overnight.

  And now, even that became sinister. Had he been too calm? Had he quietly flipped his lid? But then, why wait all this time? His thoughts only confused him. He made coffee, let it get cold, stood at the windows watching for cars, rang the hotel along the road in case for any reason she’d gone directly there, and then got ready for, the trip. Shortly before eleven he drove off, burning up the roads. Luck was with him all the way. He did the journey in just under three hours, and coasted into Renhope village about ten minutes before Sunday’s closingtime.

  He parked and sauntered into the Red Lion. One or two people recognized him and nodded, and he looked all around before walking through to the public bar. Old Megs was sitting in a comer by herself, watching a couple of men playing darts. Don asked for a half pint of beer and walked over to her.

  “Hullo Mrs. Hunnicumb.”

  “Ha, it’s you, young feller. What’re you doing back here, then? You’m not painting at Christmas are you?”

  “No, no.” He sat down beside her. “Can I get you another drink?”

  “No you can’t. Well, what is it then?”

  “I just happened to be nearby and I thought I’d drop in. How are you?”

  “Same’s I always am, of course. Reckon I’ll get my telegram from the Queen when I’m a hundred.”

  “Seen Mrs. Aldrich at all?”

  Megs gave him a suspicious look. “She don’t come in here, not no more.”

  “I know, but I thought you might have met her outside.”

  “I stays home mostly. My grandson’s wife does the shopping.”

  “Then you haven’t seen her?”

  “Not what you might say recently.”

  He bit his lip. Old Megs was being cautious, and he couldn’t blame her. How much dare he tell her? It could be a false alarm. Tracey might have decided to postpone her departure for some perfectly ordinary reason, and not been able to telephone him because Maurice was hanging around.

  Well, he thought desperately, in for a penny, in for a pound. He took a deep breath.

  “Mrs. Aldrich was supposed to come to me this morning. She’d decided to run off again. I booked her into a hotel, and she was going to slip out in the middle of the night and have early breakfast with me before the hotel opened.”

  Meg’s eyes gleamed. “Ar, so she took my advice then.”

  “Your advice?”

  “Don’t you go saying nothing, but I said she’d be better off among her own kind. Reckon you’re fond of her, eh?”

  “Well, yes. But she didn’t turn up. She ought to have been with me by half past six, thereabouts. I waited till eleven and then thought I’d better drive up here. I can’t very well go to the manor. Aldrich doesn’t like me much.”

  “Doesn’t like anyone, ‘cept himself, that one. You could phone.”

  “Suppose he answers?”

  “Ask for Gravina, of course.” Megs said it as though she were talking to an idiot.

  “The queer aunt?”

  “Lord, don’t you start on that. Gravina’s not queer. Gravina knows everything, always has. Ask for Gravina and then ask her where young Mrs. Aldrich is.”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “Men don’t mostly think much,” Megs said complacently, picking up her shopping bag with its two bottles in it. “Exceptin’ about themselves, mebbe.”

  “Thanks, Meg. I’m worried.”

  “Well might you be if she’s gone amissing. Nice young lady, she is. They didn’t treat her right, hiding things from her. Don’t you go saying I said that, mind.”

  “Of course I won’t. I happen to know Maurice Aldrich is, well he’s mentally unbalanced. Mrs. AL drich has now discovered that for herself. She could be in danger.”

  “Insane, is he? He always was a funny boy. He played by himself, never with his brother.”

  “Brother?”

  “He had an elder brother who died. Maurice was always different Used to walk alone, play in that awful dungeon alone, disappear for hours he would.”

  “What dungeon?”

  “There used to be an old dungeon under the old tower. It was locked up when they found Maurice played there. I don’t suppose anyone even knows it exists,” she cackled. “That’s the sort of boy he was. Playing in a creepy crawly dark old hole like that, or going away by himself. He walked to Monmouth once, and back again, and had the family worried to death. He don’t think like other people does. But if you’re worried, you ask Gravina.”

  “I will. And thanks for suggesting it. I’d never have thought of it by myself. Sure there’s nothing I can get you?”

  “No thanks, young man. I just hopes you finds the young lady safely. You take her away from here. They’re a queer lot at the manor, these days, all but Gravina. Gravina’s all right. Gravina always was the bright one, but they never took no notice of her. I know.”

  He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or alarmed at her talk, but he drank up and drove into Clerehill for no reason except that he did not wish to be seen lingering in the village. There he called the manor from the public telephone and when Sybella answered, he asked if he could speak to Miss Aldrich. When asked who was calling, he did not hesitate for a second.

  “Mr. Hunnicumb,” he said briskly and waited.

  Maurice was in the music room having a drink before lunch, when Gravina walked in. He looked up irritably.

  “What do you want?” he asked rudely, sharply.

  “The truth,” she said quietly, closing the door. “Where is Tracey?”

  “I told you, she went out in her car. She’ll turn up.”

  “You’re lying, Maurice. I always could tell when you were lying.” She was quite certain of herself as she spoke. She had not felt like this for a long time; confident of her judgment, and at the same time involved in something. For too long she had kept to herself and let the others do the same. Tracey had said “Goodbye.” Tracey had decided to leave. Tracey most definitely would not tell Maurice of her intention. So what was this story about Tracey waking him up to say she was going out for a drive? Tracey couldn’t possibly be so rash.

  “You’re a stupid, suspieious old woman,” he sneered.

  “Am I. I don’t think so. I know you. I know what you did to Oliver.” She saw his sneering smile and knew that he wasn’t afraid of her. That surprised her a little. Even if her secret journal couldn’t prove anything, it could make life very uncomfortable for him.

  “My dear aunt, you are quite ga-ga. It often happens in old families. Everyone for miles around knows about you.”

  “I daresay you’ve spread the word,” she said coolly, “but you forget that a lot of people saw me last night.”

  His face changed a little. He hadn’t considered that.

  “So you have your lucid moments. What do you want with me, anyway?”

  “I want to know what you’ve done to Tracey. If it isn’t too late, let her go. Do you hear me?”

  “What am I? A jailer?”

  “Worse than that, I think. I don’t believe Tracey woke you at all. I don’t believe she went out for a drive.”

  “Her car’s gone.”

  “That doesn’t mean that she drove it.”

  “I wonder what you told Tracey when you and she had your cosy little get together in Oliver’s room, eh? I hope you weren’t letting your imagination run away with you. It would be unpleasant if Tracey had run off because you frightened her, wouldn’t it?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “All right.” He laughed again. “My advice to you, dearest aunt, is to keep out of my way. I’m no longer scared of you. Indeed I’m not sure I believe that tale about you having left a written record about seeing Oliver killed, nor do I think it could harm me after all these years. Sybella would deny it, for a start, and who can prove anything now? You see, dearest aunt,” he pointed out with suave menace, “if you were dead, the only witness—and an unsupported witness at that—would be gone. You might easily die in your sleep, an old lady like you, over seventy-five. Think about that.”

 

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