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It was 1943. Albert no longer required an alibi.
Chapter 11
A little earlier than this, whilst Elliot Wray and Albert Pearson were in the dining-room, James Paradine was still sitting at his writing-table in the study. It was three hours since he had flung his bomb into the family circle. If he felt either reaction or fatigue he did not show it. He had, on the contrary, the air of a man for whom the time has passed quickly and not without entertainment. As he sat there waiting for the clock to strike twelve and release him from the obligation to which he had pledged himself he appeared to be on good terms with himself and his surroundings. It is true that a frown drew his brows sharply together as his eyes dwelt for a passing moment upon a cardboard cylinder conspicuous on the left of the table, but quickly enough his look changed. The frown was gone, his rather sarcastic smile flashed out. His glance had passed to a small leather-covered diary on the farther side of the table. It lay open, face downwards, the bright blue cover making it conspicuous against the dark red leather of the desk. He reached across, picked it up, looked quizzically at the date exposed, February 1st, and let it drop again, closed this time, upon the blotting-pad. After which he appeared to lose himself for a time in pleasurable thought.
Presently he pushed back his chair, took a bunch of keys from his right-hand trouser pocket, and going over to the filing-cabinet on the left-hand side of the hearth, pulled it away from the wall and opened the safe which it served to conceal. What he took out was a number of old-fashioned cases in red leather with the initials C.P. stamped upon them in gold. The leather was faded and the gold was dim, but inside the diamonds shone very brightly indeed. The necklace which could be used as a tiara; the solitaire earrings; the rings-half-hoop, cluster, solitaire, marquise; the bracelets; the breast ornament; the brooches-they flashed as brilliantly after their twenty years in the dark as they had done when Clara Paradine had worn them to sit for the portrait above the mantelpiece.
He looked from the real jewels to the painted ones appraisingly. It was a good portrait, very like Clara, and the diamonds were very well done. They were good diamonds. He had paid a pretty pe
He put the cases back in the safe, locked them away, and pushed the cabinet against the wall. Then, with the keys in his hand, he came over to the hearth to look at the clock. Two minutes to twelve… Well, he supposed that no one would come knocking at the study door now. New Year’s Eve was almost gone. A singular evening, but not, he thought, ill spent.
He went over to the door as he had done earlier in the day and switched off the lights. Then, repeating what was obviously a habit, he passed between the heavy curtains which screened the bay and unlatched the door to the terrace. Looking out, he observed the change which had come over the landscape since he had stood there before di
As the last stroke of twelve died in the empty room, the black clouds opened and the rain came down.
Chapter 12
Half an hour later all the sounds in the house had ceased. The sound of footsteps going to and fro in the wing above the study, the noise of water ru
Phyllida had dreamed that she was walking in a garden and it was dusk. The air was full of the scent of roses, and she knew that Elliot was there. She could feel his arm about her, but she couldn’t see his face. Then a woman in a long black veil came out of the dusk and took him away. Phyllida couldn’t see her face either because of the veil, but she thought it was Maisie Dale. In her dream all the pride was melted out of her. She ran after them, calling for Elliot, but he wasn’t there, and the woman in the veil turned round and threw it back. And she wasn’t Maisie Dale, but Grace Paradine. And she said, “I’ll never let you go.”
Phyllida woke up with a sound in her ears like the sound of a cry. She didn’t know whether it was really a cry or not. She woke up in the dark, and she was frightened. A breathless sense of danger just escaped had followed her out of the dream.
She reached out her hand and switched on the bedside light. At once the charm and security of the room closed her in. The dream was gone. She blinked at the light and saw that the hands of the little chromium clock stood at just past twelve. This horrible year was gone. She was glad that there had been no need to sit up and see it go. Let it slink away and be forgotten, like a guest who has stayed too long and whom nobody regrets.
She put out the light again and began to think about seeing Elliot in the morning. This time there must be no risk of someone else between them. She thought, “I’ll ask him to come up to my sitting-room.” Deep down under the thought a little laughter stirred. Fu
It was Lane’s custom to enter Mr. Paradine’s room at half past seven precisely. The procedure never varied. Advancing a dozen steps, he put down the tray which he carried, after which he closed the open window, drew the curtains across it, and switched on the light. On the first morning of 1943 he observed his usual routine, but as he turned towards the bed he was surprised to find it empty.
His first impression was just that and no more- the bed was empty. But hurrying upon this came perturbation and dismay, because the bed had not been slept in. There were the covers neatly folded back, there the undented pillows, and the red and white striped pyjamas laid ready but unworn. He was so much startled that he found it necessary to verify what he saw by coming close up to the bed and touching it, after which he hastened to the bathroom, his mind full of the idea that Mr. Paradine might have had some sudden seizure. But in the bathroom everything was in order-too much in order-the bath-mat unruffled, the bath showing no watermark, toothbrush and toothpaste shut away.
In a state of considerable distress he proceeded to the study and approached the windows, passing between the curtains to the long door in the centre, and at once he began to be very much afraid, because the door was unlatched and stood ajar with a cold wind blowing in. It blew right in his face, cold and a little wet. It must have rained in the night. The smell of rain came in with the wind. He pushed the door wide and stood there looking out.