Some Must Watch, Ethel Lina White [crime books to read txt] 📗
- Author: Ethel Lina White
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concentrate on Helen’s tale of Miss Warren’s door-handle, for she kept
repeating every point, in the form of a question.
“Oates will want some supper,” was her only comment. Helen took the
hint, and picked up a tray.
“I’ll help you get it,” she said. “Get up.”
Placing her hands under Mrs. Oates’ armpits, she gave a strong hoist.
But the woman only slipped back again.
“You must let me take it easy for a bit longer,” she advised. “Remember,
I’ve a half-bottle inside me. I’ll soon be all right.”
“All right,” said Helen. “I’ll carry on, alone.”
It struck her that it might be a valuable test of her own will-power, to
go, alone, into the larder. As she opened the scullery door, and snapped
on the switch, every corner of its clean bareness was revealed by the
yellow glow. Outside, in the passage, she could hear the loose window
banging against its shutter.
The sound was distinctly nerve-racking, for it gave the impression that
someone was determined to force an entry. The passage, too, looked a
gloomy tunnel, in the dim light. Around the bend, stretched the dark
labyrinth of Murder Lane.
Helen knew that she must keep her imagination strictly controlled. She
must not think of the horror which had actually taken place within these
walls, or wonder if the girl still lingered somewhere in the atmosphere,
the dust, or the stones.
Reminding herself that she had policed this stretch herself, and
searched thoroughly every potential hiding-place, she entered the
larder.
Besides a side of’ bacon and string of onions, its shelves held so many
tins and bottles that Helen’s curiosity took charge of the situation.
The Summit laid in a heavy store of preserved provisions, so that it was
difficult to make a choice.
Her eye was greedier than her stomach, as she piled her tray with
tongue, sardines, dainties in aspic, and pots of savory paste.
Balancing it on her hip, she switched off the light at the same time as
she kicked open the scullery door. Instantly, there was a loud rattle,
as a tin tray crashed down on the stone flags.
Helen frowned thoughtfully, for she did not like the repetition of the
trick. Suddenly she was rent with a suspicion which was vaguely
alarming. Mrs. Oates could not hear her when she walked soundlessly in
bedroom shoes, so she had placed these tins in order to have some
warning of her approach.
If it were true, she had something to hide. She was not playing the
game. In spite of her load, Helen crashed recklessly into the kitchen.
Mrs. Oates was still in her chair, her back turned to wards Helen, while
Nurse Barker stood over her, with folded arms.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Larder,” explained Helen. “Getting some supper for Mr. Oates. We
thought we could all do with a snack, just to pass the time. Could you?”
Nurse Barker nodded, while a peculiar smile flickered round her lips,
causing Helen to rush into nervous explanations.
“I thought.Mrs. Oates and I would have ours, down here, and I’d carry
up yours into your dressingroom. Will that suit you? And what kind of
sandwiches would you like?”
“Ask Mrs. Oates which she would prefer,” said Nurse Barker. “I thought
you undertook her responsibility.”
Filled with foreboding, Helen slammed down her tray, and rushed around
to Mrs. Oates. But, before she could reach her, the woman stretched her
arms upon the table, and laid her head on them. “What’s the matter?”
cried Helen. “Are you ill?” Mrs. Oates opened one eye, with difficulty.
“I’m that sleepy,” she said, “I—I—”
As her voice died away, Helen shook her shoulder. “Wake up” she cried.
“Don’t leave me. You promised.”
A gleam of smothered recollection fought with the guilt in Mrs. Oates’
eyes, and then died out.
“Someone’s—got—me,” she said. “I’m doped.”
Dropping her head again on her arms, she closed her lids and began to
breathe heavily.
With a horrible sense of helplessness, Helen watched her sink into
stupefied slumber. Nurse Barker stood by, licking her lips, as though
savoring the humor of the situation. Presently Helen broke the silence.
“Can we do anything?”,
“Why not offer her a drink?” asked Nurse Barker derisively. “Stimulant
might revive her.”
Helen recognized the advice for a jeer. There was no doubt in her mind
as to the cause of the catastrophe. Just as burglars drug a watch-dog,
as prelude to robbery, someone had taken advantage of her absence to
tamper with Mrs. Oates.
Afraid to tax Nurse Barker with the offence—even while she was sure of
her guilt—she tried to keep her suspicion from her face and voice.
“What’s the matter with her?”
Nurse Barker gave a scornful bark.
“Don’t be a fool,” she said. “It’s obvious. She’s drunk as a lord.”
A SUPPER-PARTY
In spite of her shock, Nurse Barker’s words were almost a relief to
Helen. Like an explosion inside her head, hey shot away the foul cobwebs
of suspicion.
No treachery had been at work. There was only a land slide of Mrs.
Oates’ good intentions before the pressure of temptation.
“How could she get at the brandy?” she asked. “I’m sure she was not in a
condition to climb on the dresser.” Nurse Barker kicked forward a
substantial foot-stool, mounted it, stretched out her arm, and removed
the bottle from the top shelf.
“You forget everyone is not a midget like yourself,” she said. “Mrs.
Oates is not so tall as I am, but she has a reach like a gorilla.”
Helen bit her lip as she realized how easily she had been duped.
“You must think me a gull,” she said. “But I counted on her promise. All
the same, she’s not touched the brandy. The bottle’s still half full.”
Sniffing scornfully, Nurse Barker uncorked the bottle, smelt the cork,
and then shook out a few drops on the back of her hand.
“Water,” she remarked. Helen looked reproachfully down at Mrs. Oates,
sunken deep in hot and steamy sleep.
“What shall we do with her?” she asked helplessly.
“Leave her where she is.”
“But can’t I put a bandage soaked in vinegar-and-water round her head?”
persisted Helen. “She seems so hot and uncomfortable.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” snapped Nurse Barker. “She has let us down, and we’ve no time for her. She’s nothing but
lumber. Get supper. I’ve had no dinner, and I’m sinking. Bring the tray
up to my room. We’ll have it there.”
Although the words promised a new partnership, Helen felt like a fag to
a new bully.
“What would you like?” she asked eagerly.
“Cold meat, potatoes, pickles, cheese. Don’t stop to cut sandwiches.
Make a strong pot of tea. Remember, we’ve got to keep awake.”
“You don’t really think there’s any danger?” asked Helen apprehensively.
Nurse Barker looked at her fixedly.
“I’m in luck to be saddled with you. You’re a fool and a fool is twice
as dangerous as a knave. Can you do elementary arithmetic?”
“Of course.”
“Well, then, there were nine persons in the house at dinner-time. Now
there are only two. How many have gone?”
“Seven,” gasped Helen, horrified by the shrinkage.
Nurse Barker licked her lips with gloomy relish.
“And do you realize what it means?” she asked. “It means he’s getting
very close to you.”
Although Helen was sure that Nurse Barker was playing on her fear, her
heart sank as the woman went out of the room. In spite of her malevolent
nature, she was some sort of company. One catastrophe after another had
so weakened her resistance that she felt terrified at being alone in the
basement. Every bang on the passage window was duplicated by a knock at
her heart. Although, down below, the roar of the storm was muted, the
garden was nearer. She remembered how the bushes had writhed, like
knotted fingers tapping the glass, and how the tentacles of the
undergrowth had swayed in mimicry of subaqueous life.
“It’s trying to get in,” she thought. “Suppose there is some secret
entrance I overlooked. Anyone could hide between the two staircases and
in all the empty rooms.”
Her one wish was to get upstairs as soon as possible. Although she had
time to cut her sandwiches, while she waited for the kettle to boil, her
appetite for dainties had deserted her.
She hastily prepared her supper-tray, and then returned to her
sitting-room to watch the kettle. As she did so, her thoughts jerked
disconnectedly, like the limping music of an old barrel-organ.
“I believe Miss Warren was grateful to be locked in… The accident
couldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been so careless. She quoted that bit
about actions and character, Just to tell me it was my fault… So,
between us, we’re responsible for that part of it… And no one
else.” Although she was comforted by her logic, she shied at the
question it raised. Was there some unseen link in the chain, which had
precipitated—or influenced—this interplay of character?
She, with her impulsive carelessness—Miss Warren, with her
selfishness—and Mrs. Oates, with her craving–had each acted as an
independent agent—true to its own type. Yet the board was re-arranged
as though they had been pawns, used in someone’s game; whatever the
impulse of their moves, they were now placed to suit the unseen player.
The kettle coughed out a gust of steam and the lid rose, with a spill of
water. Helen made the tea hurriedly and crabbed up the stairs, shooting
nervous glances over her shoulder. At the top she kicked the door behind
her.
There were no snores from the bed when she passed through the dim blue
room, doing her utmost to subdue the rattle of the china. Inside the,
dressingroom Nurse Barker Was lighting a new cigarette from her old
stub. She broke into a complaint as Helen put down the tray.
“I’ve nearly broken my fingers trying to turn that key.” She nodded
towards the second door. “Disgusting, putting me in a room next to a
man’s bedroom, With a connecting-door.”
“It used to be a dressingroom,” explained Helen. “Besides, the
Professor is not like that. He won’t pay you a visit tonight.”
She turned away to hide her grin. Besides amusing her, the incident had
raised her spirits, for it had laid Mrs. Oates’ hare as dead as stone.
The last vestige of her suspicion faded, as she realized that Nurse
Barker’s fingers lacked the requisite strength of a thug.
“Shall we open the door, so that you can hear Lady Warren call you?” she
asked.’
“She won’t,” grunted Nurse Barker. “I’ve fixed her.”
“D’you mean you’ve doped her, like—like babies?”
“Well, why not? That’s all she is—an old baby.” “But—it seems rather
drastic.”
Nurse Barker merely grunted, as she poured out a cup of tea, to which
she added several drops of brandy. Helen watched her, in astonishment,
as she piled her plate with cold potatoes an thick slices of cold meat,
smothered with pickles.
“Enough for a man,” she thought, as she followed the clearance of the
meal with wide-eyed interest.
The spirit improved Nurse Barker’s temper for she held out the bottle,
in invitation.
“Like a drop in your tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“You’ll need it before you’re much older. That guy has tasted blood. You
saw how Mrs. Oates couldn’t keep off the bottle after she’d
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