Chapter Ten
They came with the lengthening shadows of dusk. They came silently, singly, in pairs and groups, to meet and stand motionless in the garden, waiting for instruction.
Philip gently disengaged himself from the arms of the sleeping girl. Lucy breathed easily and steadily, not stirring as he left her side and stood gazing down at her still form for a long time; a time of unashamed emotion, for his eyes glistened with tenderness as they eagerly recorded every detail, every line and curve, every mark and blemish that, strangely, only seemed to enhance her attraction. For the first time in his life all his thoughts, all his senses, his very being, was concentrated on a person who only gave him pleasure and an overwhelming sense of belonging. For the restlessness within him was stilled, as if the force inside that had kept him seeking all these years had, at last, found a home.
He slipped from the room and went down into the study. He was sipping a drink and reflecting on the incredible, deciding on the immediate future. How Lucy must be made safe. She must go to the antique shop as soon as she awakened. She would be safe with Angel, and he would be free from any distractions. The window was suddenly shattered by a stone hurled from outside. And the subdued murmurings drifted into the room.
He was on his feet in an instant, the glass hurled from him, and he cursed his foolishness. He had been caught off-guard, unprepared. He had relaxed. And while he wallowed in the pleasure of new experience, the world outside had crept silently to within striking distance. He rushed from the room and into the hall, to be brought to an abrupt halt. There, standing in the open doorway, was a small man dressed in large clothes. His chubby, pleasant face beamed at him happily.
“Good evening,” Cranling said cheerfully. “I've come to see you about a little matter of murder. Yours, actually,” And he giggled Softly to himself.
The sound of breaking glass jerked Lucy from her sleep. She dressed and opened the door cautiously. Downstairs Philip faced the hateful figure of Doctor Cranling. She was afraid to leave the safety of her room, but there was only one place where she would feel safe now, one place that she wanted to be. She ran swiftly down the stairs to be by his side.
“Ah, here is your little lady friend.” Cranling smiled welcomely at her as she gripped Philip's arm. “I am glad that you've joined us. my poppet. I hadn't forgotten you. Oh dear me, no. I have brought some little playmates for you. They're outside, waiting.”
“Stay upstairs,” Philip said curtly, not taking his eyes from the little man dressed in gray.
Lucy did not answer. She, too, was staring at Cranling, now jigging excitedly from foot to foot.
“We came to have a party,” he cried joyously, “but we decided to hold a wake instead.” He stopped and looked at them mournfully.
“How can we have a wake without a deceased?” he asked plaintively. “You appreciate I my predicament. I have promised those poor people outside, so poor that they haven't got one dead body between them, I have promised them a wake; a good, old fashioned death feast. So now I need a lifeless body.” He smiled at them happily. “I'm sure you two will oblige me, won't you?”
He began to jig about again, clumsily hopping, treading on trouser bottoms hanging over his shoes. “Look,” he laughed, “I'm dancing on your graves.”
“But, no. No, no. This will not do. It won't do at all.” He shook his head firmly and his gray bowler hat tipped low over his left ear, exposing an expanse of pink, bald scalp. “I can see that you two think that this is a very dull evening in prospect. Why, the lady has not even bothered to dress properly: I'm afraid your mourners aren't going to be very pleased with you, my poppet. But I'll leave them to show their own disapproval, while we men discuss other matters."”
He clapped his hands together and smiled pleasantly.
Philip remained silent; tense and waiting, he went through a mental routine perfected over many years, bringing himself to full alertness.
Lucy gazed horrified at the door opened wide to the dark night. She remembered vividly the condition they had found Frank Walters and she shuddered at the memory. Who, or what, would come through that door?
And a shadow moved stealthily along the landing to the stairs.
No one came through the door. Cranling clapped again, and there was a tiny frown on his jovial features. Still the doorway gaped emptily, filled only with the darkness pressing in from outside. And there came the sound of confusion, of babbling voices, a shout, a cry of fear.
“It seems that they have found their own amusement, the little dears,” Cranling consented thoughtfully. Then his face brightened. “But no matter, I have someone else for you to meet."
As he spoke, Lucy felt herself literally thrown from her feet, to crash in a heap at the foot of the stairs.
And the cat froze on the stairs, pressing itself low and motionless, staring intently.
With a shriek that echoed horribly in the enclosed space, the great night bird winged into the hall.
Cranling closed