“Good. Now, everybody focus and listen to my voice. Let the caress of the mundane world sink away.” Melanie’s voice took on a sing-song quality. “Let us become tranquil, quiet and at peace. I can feel the bond between us growing, and the positive energies of our fellowship are flowing, flowing, down from the top of our heads, through our shoulders as they relax and now through our arms, our hands, our fingertips. The energy is flowing, flowing into me, rising me up, moving me towards contact with the Other Side.”

  A curious throbbing sound, more of a feeling rather than an actual sound, was reverberating in the room. Wallace could feel it in his chest.

  “Now, as we all relax and grow ever more peaceful, I must send out my spirit to find the one who will be my guide. Wait now. Soon…”

  A male voice, sounding as if it were coming from far, far away, began to speak. At first it was no more than a whisper, barely audible, but it grew in volume. It seemed to be emanating from behind Melanie.

  “Who calls?”

  Wallace could only just make out the two words. Louder and louder, as if the speaker were walking closer.

  “Who calls me from my sleep? My rest in the tents of the ancestors?”

  Sylvia’s hand tightened on Wallace’s.

  “Who summons me from the hunting grounds? From the campfires of my people? Who rouses me and forces me close to the world of the living?”

  “It is I, my friend,” said Melanie. “The Wise Woman of the Lost Tribes.” Her voice was quivering with intensity.

  “Why do you call me to this place, Wise Woman? A place where there is such pain and suffering. Why?”

  “Red Cloud, my brave Indian brother, we call upon your help. We seek a path to the truth. Will you help us, oh mighty medicine man? Will you come to our aid?” Melanie’s voice rose in pitch and volume.

  Henry grunted. He tore his hand from Wallace’s grasp and pulled the tie from his neck. His mouth was wide open, and he was panting.

  “Do not break the circle!” Melanie was almost shouting now.

  Henry grabbed for Wallace’s hand and gripped it hard.

  Melanie got to her feet, still holding the hands of Henry and Dunlop. “A spirit draws near. A pale and deadly spirit! Oh, Red Cloud. Red Cloud, stand by me and protect me with your shield. OH!” Melanie stiffened. “It is he, it is Michael. He stands behind you!” One hand shot out and pointed at Wallace. “The Defiler!” She threw up her arms, and the air was suddenly full of white dust.

  “Watch out!” Dunlop threw himself across Sylvia and they both fell back on the floor.

  Wallace sprang out of his chair, but Henry clutched his hand with a grip of iron.

  “The Defiler!” Melanie shouted again, thrusting her hands into her hair as she twisted and turned.

  Wallace hauled his hand free and ran around Henry towards Melanie.

  There was a sharp crack of a pistol being fired. Something tugged at Wallace’s jacket. He roared and charged, not at Melanie but at the space immediately behind her.

  A dark shape, wrapped in cloth, rose up. Wallace grabbed it, and got a handful of cloth.

  Dunlop was back on his feet. “The game’s up, Melanie. We know your game!” He came at her.

  Melanie struck at Wallace with both fists. She hammered into his right shoulder, throwing him off balance.

  Wallace shouted. “Don’t let him get away again!”

  “I’ve got him!” Dunlop ran for the figure, but it lurched over to the French windows and hauled them open. Wallace pulled away from Melanie, took three steps forward, and launched himself in a rugby tackle. He gripped the man around the legs and brought him down with a crash.

  Dunlop dropped on the figure, grabbing his arm and forcing him to the ground.

  The figure shouted. “Merde!” He twisted and almost got to his feet. Wallace cracked him in the jaw with his fist.

  Melanie pushed the table over and made for the door.

  Sylvia grabbed at her, but Melanie didn’t hesitate. She slammed her forearm into Sylvia’s face and threw her back.

  “No!” Sylvia shouted at Melanie as she rushed out of the dining room door. “No, Melanie. It’s not that easy.” She got to her feet, and her dress ripped, sending a shower of jet beads in every direction.

  She ran out after Melanie, but the hall was empty. There was no-one on the stairs, no sign of her at the door, and every other door in the hall was closed. “Where the hell…?”

  Wallace emerged from the library. “We’ve got him. Where is…?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sylvia. “She ran out here, but then she just… vanished.”

  47

  The Interrogation

  The man in the chair slumped forward, tears streaming down his face.

  “Stop whining!” said Inspector Dunlop.

  Wallace strode into the library. “It might be hard to believe, but Melanie has managed to do a disappearing act.”

  “What? But she ran out to the hall. Surely—”

  “Sylvia was hot on her heels. All the doors shut. No sign of her.”

  “That is impossible.” Dunlop turned to the man in the chair. “He’s not going anywhere. I’ve put him in handcuffs and all the fight seems to have gone out of him. He had this on his person…” He held up a wallet. “A couple of pounds, a single train ticket from Waverley Station, and nothing else.”

  Someone had righted the table. Henry sat at the far end, slumped over.

  “How is he?” said Wallace.

  “I really don’t know. We’d better get some help for him. I think he drank the water. God knows what was in it. Some foul concoction, no doubt.”

  Sylvia stormed into the room, her colour up and her face alive with anger. “Am I to understand…” She glared at Dunlop then turned her eyes on Wallace. “That you two knew that Melanie was planning to poison all of us?” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Well…” Wallace hesitated.

  “You knew! You damned well knew, and you were prepared to sit there and let me drink that… that witch’s brew!”

  Wallace backed away a little. “I did warn you…”

  “At the very last damned minute. I could easily have missed it. The room was dark, if you recall?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Bright.” Dunlop moved over to her. “There wasn’t any opportunity to speak to you before things started. I told Wallace that I had concerns about Mrs Arnott.”

  “Oh, did you? And what, pray tell, were your concerns?”

  “This afternoon, I learned that Melanie had spent two years working with a friend from the Psychic Pioneers. A man called Eric Pickering, who ran a herbalist shop and dealt in certain drugs.”

  “Oh my God.” Sylvia clapped her hands to her face. “Are you telling me…?”

  “She still has access to Pickering’s shop, and so it would have been simple enough for her to use his resources to concoct the poison, in a location we did not know.”

  Sylvia walked away, her hands still over her face.

  “Of course we don’t have any direct evidence at the moment.” Dunlop looked over to Wallace for help. “Pickering’s shop is being searched, but we needed to expose her tricks and get her on the back foot. We knew she’d try something this evening. We just weren’t ready for the scale of her malice.”

  Wallace laughed and shook his head. “I’ve been barking up the wrong tree in this matter from the start, and the truth is, you had her dead to rights.”

  Sylvia glared at him. “If that is a poor attempt to win my approval…”

  “No, really. I remember the first time I met Melanie. You told me how much you disliked and distrusted her. I should have listened. You rarely get the character of a person wrong. I should have remembered that and taken a hard look at her.”

  “I’m glad you have some sense, and I hope you will better remember my uncanny perception of character in future. She was getting ready to lay the blame on you, by the looks of things. Although how she imagined… was that it? Was the witch’s brew supposed to make us all imagine that Wallace was the guilty party?”

  Wallace bent and retrieved a glass from the floor. He held it up. “I suspect she was counting on whatever was in the water to render us all at least susceptible, if not actually unconscious.”

  “To what end?”

  “The notes.” Wallace gave a wry smile. “Sorry, Inspector. Didn’t have time to fill you in. Sylvia found a pile of notes that someone had made while they were listening in to conversations between Henry and Mr Bright.”

  “Notes about what?”

  “Notes about tanks.”

  “Tanks?”

  Sylvia nodded to the man in the chair. “And who is he?”

  Dunlop shook his head. “I don’t understand. Tanks?”

  “Michael was working on the development of a new kind of tank. A light, fast reconnaissance vehicle with heavy weaponry.”

  “Good God.”

  “I know it seems far-fetched, but he seemed to believe in the idea. Unfortunately, the War Office was not convinced.” Wallace looked at their prisoner. “But someone was sufficiently convinced to be interested in the conversations between Michael and Henry Arnott.”

  Dunlop sat down and rubbed at his face. “If Melanie was behind this, surely she could have got the information out of Henry without going to all this trouble?”

  Wallace looked around, then headed over to the French windows. “I’m not sure. Perhaps old Henry here was a stickler for keeping things secure, and wouldn’t let Melanie close to any of his secrets. So she came up with a plan to get information straight from the horse’s mouth.” He peered outside; it was pitch black. He pulled the heavy curtains closed. “At any rate, someone was eavesdropping on the conversations they had in Michael’s office, and from what I could tell, there were detailed discussions about engines and tracks and armour plating and so on. All of it was noted down in great detail, and with diagrams.”

  Dunlop got up and crossed to their prisoner. “I take it you found these notes, Mrs Bright?”

  She nodded. “Hidden at the bottom of a secret staircase, would you believe? Accessed by a concealed door in the library.”

  “I see. Pity this wasn’t shared with me sooner. So you think Melanie was out to retrieve these notes?”

  Wallace came back to the table. “Yes. With police all over the place and everyone under observation, I think she planned to render us all insensible, like her poor husband here…” Henry Arnott was now draped on the table, snoring. “Then she could take the opportunity to search for the notes, with the hope of retrieving them for her associate.” He waved a hand at the prisoner.

  “Mrs Arnott’s accomplice.” Dunlop placed his hand on the back of the man’s chair. “I believe he is French. Certainly, he swore in French while we were struggling.”

  “How did he get into the house? Oh…” Sylvia shook her head. “Of course. Melanie let him in at some point. But why on earth would…” She turned towards Wallace. “That gun! You said it was French.”

  Wallace bent down, picked up an object from the floor, and held it up for them to see. It was a small dark pistol.

  He set it down on the table. “A Ruby.”

  Sylvia walked over to it. “It looks so small.” She frowned, and looked from Wallace to Dunlop. “Why on earth would the French be spying on English weapon plans, though? Surely we are supposed to be close allies, are we not?”

  Dunlop winced. “You say that, Mrs Bright. But it’s not that straightforward.”

  “Let’s not jump to any conclusions.” Wallace nodded at the prisoner. “This fellow might be French, but that doesn’t mean he’s working for them. He could be working for anyone prepared to pay for information.”

  Sylvia reached out a hand to the gun, but Wallace stopped her. “Careful.”

  “I have fired a pistol before, as you well know.”

  “Best not to let Inspector Dunlop hear you say that.”

  Dunlop grinned. “Bit late, old man.”

  Wallace gestured to the gun. “A lot of these were rather badly put together. Decent enough gun when it was properly made, but late on in the war, the French began to churn them out. The quality suffered in the process and they became quite unreliable. Inclined to go off unexpectedly. I knew more than one French officer who picked up a nasty leg wound from shoving the thing in a pocket without due care and attention.”

  “Oh dear.” The gun was a dark bronze in colour, with a milled wooden stock. “Neat little thing all the same…” Sylvia turned away. “So, Melanie let this fellow in, and hid him in the corner behind a chair while we were all being set up for the seance. But…” She walked over to the French windows “But when were these opened? I thought John Wells put a metal plate over them to keep them shut.”

  Wallace joined her. “He did. I checked his work myself. He cut a plate, drilled it and set four bolts through the metal and the door. It would have taken a while to remove them.” He knelt and searched around the floor.

  Dunlop came over. “No sign of the metal plate or the bolts. It must have been removed earlier.”

  Wallace got up, looking grim. “Where is John, anyway? Surely he would have heard the noise? And Hannah?”

  All three of them looked around.

  The house seemed quiet.

  “John had the keys to the gun room. He took them after Thomas was shot.” Sylvia moved towards the door; Wallace grabbed her arm. “Hold on. We need to be sure what we are facing.” He turned to the prisoner. “Alors toi. Quel est ton nom?”

  The man sneered. “Don’t have a clue what you mean.” His voice was thin and high-pitched.

  “I think you do. But no matter. What’s your name?”

  “I shall have you all arrested. You assaulted me, threatened me, and even put me in handcuffs. It is… outrageous.” He glared at Wallace.

  The man had a fine beard, trimmed along the jawline, and a thin moustache; his hair was dark, his complexion sallow. He looked to be in his twenties.

  “And the gun?” Dunlop picked it up from the table and took out the magazine. With flicks of his thumb against the casings of bullets, he counted the ammunition out into his hand. “Six bullets.” He looked over at Wallace. “Can you remember what these things hold?”

  “Usually the clip takes nine bullets.”

  “Thought so. One fired in here just now, and two fired the other night. One that missed, and the other in Thomas’s leg. That makes up the whole clip. I should think a charge of ‘attempted murder’ would do for that. But then there is the matter of the murder of Michael Bright.”

  The man grimaced and tried to get to his feet. Wallace put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. “All right. Here’s how it is. You and Melanie were working together. She’s run off and left you high and dry, so you are going to be charged with murder and hanged.”

  His face went pale. He looked from Wallace to Dunlop. “You can’t do that. I didn’t harm Mr Bright. That was all her doing.”

  “You mean Melanie Arnott?”

  “Yes. She’s crazy. A mad woman, out of control… Vieille femme damnée.”

  “She was only supposed to render him unconscious.” Wallace leaned close. “That’s it, isn’t it? She was supposed to knock him out long enough…” He straightened up and went over to Dunlop. “We are in great danger. They planned to kidnap Michael. They have men in the area who were supposed to take him. If Melanie has got out of the house, she could well have found them and called for help. They could be here at any moment.”

  Dunlop slotted the bullets back into the clip. “We need to get to the gun room.”

  “I did say that some time ago.” Sylvia walked over to the doorway and looked out. “No sign of anyone out there at the moment.”

  The main hall chandelier was on, providing a warm amber glow. There were a few shadows, but the area was well lit. A lamp on a newel post set on the second landing glowed bright, along with a couple more in wall brackets on the upper floor.

  “Hang on…” Sylvia reached over and turned off the main light in the library. “Douse that lamp, Wallace. No point in making ourselves targets.”

  He went over and blew out the flame.

  The library was now back in darkness, with only the limited light from the fireplace casting a ruddy glow.

  Dunlop slid the clip back into the gun. “What I’d do right now for a decent Lee-Enfield.” He moved over to Sylvia and stood at the other side of the door. “Stay back from the opening. Use the upright of the door as cover, Mrs Bright. Better be safe than sorry.”

  “Thank you, Inspector. I’m not a complete idiot.” She moved back a little, making certain she was positioned behind the wooden frame of the door.

  Dunlop bent down and peered up at the staircase. “Can’t see any movement. Do you think Melanie went up the stairs?”

  Sylvia frowned. “No. Those steps creak like the devil. If she had gone up, I’d have heard her. Still, can’t work out for the life of me where she went.”

  Wallace joined them at the door. “I’m going to look for John Wells. Maybe you’d better stay here and keep our prisoner covered, and watch the door to the gun room.”

  Dunlop grunted. “Can you see the door, Sylvia? It’s not visible from this side.”

  “Just. The far edge of it, at least. But there’s not much light over there. It’s mostly in shadow.”

  Wallace put an arm round Sylvia. “If anyone goes in or comes out you’ll see them.”

  “All very well and good.” She looked at him. “But what exactly do we do if that happens?”

  “If someone goes in,” said Dunlop, “I’ll go in after them. If someone comes out…” He shrugged. “All depends. If they come out armed, I’d be inclined to run like hell.”

  “Shoot them,” said Wallace. “I mean it. Shoot them. This is not the time to be hesitant. If they come out armed, they mean to do harm.”

  Dunlop shook his head. “If you are going after John Wells, you should take the gun.”

  Wallace stepped out into the hall and looked around. There was no sight or sound of anyone. “You are keeping the gun, Dunlop.” He headed off towards the door at the far end of the hall, moving quickly and quietly.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27