Nine Coaches Waiting

Inside the room there was no sound.

I pushed the door open softly, took three steps into the room, and stopped short.

There were several men in the room, but I only saw two of them.

Raoul de Valmy was standing with his back to the door, staring down at his father.

For once Léon de Valmy was not in his wheel-chair. He had fallen forward and out of it onto the floor. His body lay clumsily, pulled a little crooked by whatever harness he wore under his clothes. His head was turned to one side, his cheek against the carpet. His face was smooth, wiped clean of every line and shadow; beauty and evil had emptied themselves from it together. Now there was nothing there at all.

From where I was you could hardly see the blackened hole in the temple.

I would have fallen where I stood but that William’s arms came round me from behind and swept me up

and out of the silent room.

NINTH COACH

Chapter 21

Look you, the stars shine still.

John Webster: The Duchess of Malfi.

… Warmth, and the sound of liquid, and the smell of azaleas… And someone was patting my hand. But there was no music, and the voice that said my name was not Florimond's. Nor was Raoul there waiting to sweep me out onto the terrace and under the moon…

William said: "Here, Linda, drink this." The liquid burned sourly on my tongue and made me gasp. I opened my eyes.

I was in the small salon, lying on the sofa before the fire. Someone had made this up recently. Tongues of pale flame licked round the new logs. I stared at them dazedly. I had never fainted before, and the memory of the roaring dizziness frightened me and I put an unsteady hand up to my eyes. The salon still swam round me, too bright and a little out of focus.

"Finish it," urged William.

I obeyed him meekly. It was detestable stuff, whatever it was, but it ran into my body warm and potent, so that in a few moments more my eyes and fingers and even my brain were mine again. And my memory.

"How d'you feel now?" asked William.

I said drearily: "Oh, fine. Just fine. I'm sorry, William. That wasn't a very useful thing to do."

He took the glass from my hand and put it on the mantelpiece. Then he sat down on the sofa beside me. "Nothing we've done tonight has been so terribly useful, has it?"

I found myself staring at him in a kind of daze. Of course.

It was nothing to him. I said, dragging the words up from the depths: "Have they… taken him away yet?"

"Not yet"

"William. I've got to… see him. Just for a moment. I've got to."

I heard stupefaction in his voice. "But my dear Linda-"

"When will he go?"

"I've no idea, the police are still busy. The ambulance is waiting."

I gave a little gasp and turned my head sharply. "Ambulance? Is he hurt? What's happened?" I sat up and gripped his arm. The bright roaring mist was there again. Dimly through it I saw William's eyes, puzzled and a little shocked. Dimly I heard him say: "But Linda. Didn't you realise? I thought you knew. He's dead."

My grip must have been savaging his sleeve. His hand came up to cover mine, quietly. "He shot himself," said William, "some time before Raoul and you and I got here."

"Oh," I said, in a silly high voice, "Léon. Léon shot himself. The ambulance is for Léon."

"Why-who else?"

I heard myself give a cracked breathless little laugh. "Who indeed?" I said, and burst into tears.

It was hard luck on William. And for a shy British amateur, he was certainly doing very well. He produced some more of that filthy drink, and patted my hand some more too, and put a large comforting arm round me.

"I thought you'd grasped the situation," he was saying. "I thought it was just the shock of seeing, er, Monsewer Léon that made you faint… The butler chap was telling me all about it just now when he brought the drink for you. I thought you heard. I'd no idea you were right out."

"I-I wasn't really. I heard you talking. But I didn't take it in. It was like voices in a dream… coming and going."

The arm tightened momentarily. "You poor kid. Better now?"

I nodded. "Go on, tell me. What did Seddon say?"

"Is that his name? Thank God he's English! Well, he told me he'd gone in to look at the library fire soon after eleven, and found him dead on the floor, the way you saw him. Nobody heard the shot. He called the police and the doctor straight away, and then the Villa Mireille, but got no answer there."

"That would be before Philippe and I got into the house."

"Oh? They tried again later, twice. I suppose the first time was while you were telephoning me, and then they finally got Monsewer Hippolyte. That would be the call that came through as we left the house. Hippolyte's on his way up. He'll be here before long."

"If he knows how to drive the jeep."

"Oh, murder," said William. "I never thought of that."

I said: "Are they sure it was suicide?"

"Oh, quite. The gun was in his hand, and there's a letter."

"A letter? Léon de Valmy left a letter?"

"Yes. The police have it. Seddon didn't read it, but from what the police asked him he pretty well gathered what it said. It admitted the first two attempts to murder Philippe, involving Bernard, but nobody else. He states categorically that neither Raoul nor Madame de Valmy knew anything about them. He never mentions this last affair of the poison-I suppose that would almost certainly involve his wife. He simply says that Bernard must have let something out to you about the two early attempts, and you got in a panic and bolted with Philippe. I think that's about the lot. You've certainly nothing to worry about."

"No." I was silent for a moment. "Well, I shan't volunteer anything else unless they ask me. I don't somehow want to pile anything more onto Madame de Valmy, whatever she did. He's dead, you see. She's got that to go on living with. Fu

"That's not why," said William. "When Bernard found you both gone and Raoul on the trail he must have realised that Léon de Valmy's bolt was shot and that there'd never be a future and a fortune for him the way he'd been promised. He moved onto the wi

"Blackmail?"

"Yes. It's in the letter. He threatened to turn informer. If you ask me, that's what tipped Léon de Valmy's scales towards suicide in the end. I mean, there's no end to blackmail, is there?"

I said slowly: "You're probably right. I was wondering what had made him kill himself instead of waiting to see what Raoul and Hippolyte would do. After all, it was still all in the family. But when one thinks about it… Even if Raoul and Hippolyte and I had agreed to hush the whole thing up for Philippe's sake and the sake of the family-what was there left for Léon de Valmy? Hippolyte would be able to put any sort of pressure on that he liked, and he might have insisted on Léon's leaving Valmy. Even if Léon was allowed to stay, Hippolyte would start sitting down tight on the money-bags, and presumably Raoul would be in a position to stop Léon milking Bellevigne any more… And in any case Léon would have had to get out in five years' time. And we all-even Philippe-knew what he'd done and what he was… And then, finally, the wretched tool Bernard started to blackmail him. Yes, one can see a desperate moment for Léon, and no future. Certainly he wasn't the kind of man to submit to blackmail; he'd literally die sooner, I'm sure of it. It only surprises me that he didn't kill Bernard first, but I suppose Bernard would be on guard against that, and he did have certain physical advantages. What did happen to Bernard anyway? Did Léon kill him?"