The Black Tower (24 page)

Wilfred opened his eyes and stared into space as if patiently dissociating himself from this dual interrogation.

“Hanging on a nail on the keyboard in the business room. It was Michael's key, the one I brought back here after his death.”

“And everyone knows where it's hung?”

“I imagine so. All the keys are kept there and the one to the tower is distinctive.”

“How many people at Toynton Grange knew that you planned to be in the tower this afternoon?”

“All of them. I told them my plans after prayers. I always do. People have to know where to find me in an emergency. Everyone was there except Maggie and Millicent. But what you're suggesting is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” asked Dalgliesh.

Before he could move, Julius, who was nearer the door, had slipped out. They waited in silence. It was another two minutes before he returned. He said with grim satisfaction:

“The business room is empty and the key isn't there. That means whoever took it hasn't yet had a chance to put it back. Incidentally, I called in on Dot on my way back. She's lurking in her surgical hell sterilizing enough equipment for a major operation. It's like confronting a harpy through a hiss of steam. Anyway, she claims with bad grace
that she was in the business room continually from 2 p.m. until about five minutes before we got back. She can't remember whether the tower key was on the keyboard. She didn't notice it. I'm afraid I've made her suspicious, Wilfred, but it seemed important to establish some facts.”

Dalgliesh thought that the facts could have been established without direct questioning. But it was too late now to initiate more discreet enquiries and in any case he had neither the heart nor stomach to undertake them. Certainly, he had no wish to pit the claims of orthodox detection against Julius's enthusiastic amateurism. But he asked:

“Did Miss Moxon say whether anyone had come into the business room while she was there? They may have made an attempt to replace the key.”

“According to her, the place was—untypically—like a railway station. Henry wheeled himself in shortly after two, and then went out again. No explanation. Millicent dropped in about half an hour ago looking, so she said, for you, Wilfred. Dennis arrived a few minutes later to look up an unspecified telephone number. Maggie arrived just before we did. Again, no explanation. She didn't stay, but she did ask Dot whether she'd seen Eric. The only safe deduction from all this is that Henry couldn't have been on the headland at the material time. But then, we know he wasn't. Whoever started that fire had the use of a pair of very sound legs.”

His own, or someone else's, thought Dalgliesh.

He spoke again directly to the quiet figure on the bed.

“Did you see anyone when you were in the tower, either before or after the fire started?”

Wilfred paused before replying.

“I think so.”

Seeing Julius's face, he went on quickly:

“I'm sure I did, but only very briefly. When the fire
started I was sitting at the southern window, the one overlooking the sea. I smelt smoke and went down into the middle chamber. I opened the door to the base of the tower and saw the hay smouldering and a sudden tongue of flame. I could have got out then, but I panicked. I'm terrified of fire. It isn't a rational fear. It goes well beyond that. I suppose you'd call it a phobia. Anyway, I scrambled ignominiously back into the top room and began running from window to window looking hopelessly for help. It was then I saw—unless it was an hallucination—a figure in a brown habit slipping between that clump of boulders to the southwest.”

Julius said:

“From which he could escape unrecognized by you either to the road or down the cliffs to the beach. That's if he were agile enough for the cliff path. What sort of figure, a man or a woman?”

“Just a figure. I only had a glimpse. I shouted but the wind was against me and he obviously didn't hear. I never thought of it being a woman.”

“Well, think now. The hood was up, I suppose?”

“Yes. Yes it was.”

“And on a warm afternoon! Think it out for yourself, Wilfred. Incidentally, there are three brown habits hanging in the business room. I felt in the pockets for the key. That's why I noticed. Three habits. How many have you altogether?”

“Eight of the lightweight summer ones. They're always kept hanging in the business room. Mine has rather different buttons, but otherwise we have them in common. We're not really particular which one we take.”

“You're wearing yours; presumably Dennis and Philby are wearing theirs. That means two are missing.”

“Eric may be wearing one, he does occasionally. And
Helen sometimes slips into one if the day is chilly. I seem to remember that one is in the sewing room being mended. And I think one was missing just before Michael died, but I can't be sure. It may have turned up again. We don't really keep a check on them.”

Julius said:

“So it's practically impossible to know whether one is missing. I suppose what we ought to be doing, Dalgliesh, is to check up on them now. If she hasn't had a chance to replace the key, presumably she's still got the habit.”

Dalgliesh said:

“We've no proof that it was a woman. And why hang on to the habit? It could be discarded anywhere in Toynton Grange without suspicion.”

Anstey propped himself up and said with sudden strength:

“No, Julius, I forbid it! I won't have people questioned and cross-examined. It was an accident.”

Julius, who seemed to be relishing his role of chief inquisitor, said:

“All right. It was an accident. You forgot to lock the door. You knocked out your pipe before it was dead and started the fire smouldering. The figure you saw was just someone from Toynton Grange taking an innocent stroll on the headland, somewhat overclad for the time of year and so immersed in the beauty of nature that he, or she, neither heard your shout, smelt the fire nor noticed the smoke. What happened then?”

“You mean, after I saw the figure? Nothing. I realized of course that I couldn't get out of the windows and I climbed down again into the middle room. I opened the door to the bottom of the tower. The last thing I remember was a great billow of choking smoke and a sheet of flame. The smoke was suffocating me. The flames seemed to be searing
my eyes. I hadn't even time to shut the door again before I was overcome. I suppose I should have kept both doors shut and sat tight. But it isn't easy to make sensible decisions in a state of panic.”

Dalgliesh asked:

“How many people here knew that you are abnormally afraid of fire?”

“Most of them suspect, I should think. They may not know just how obsessive and personal a fear it is, but they do know that fire worries me. I insist on all the patients sleeping on the ground floor. I've always worried about the sick room, and I was reluctant to let Henry have an upper room. But someone has to sleep in the main part of the house, and we must have the sick room close to the clinical room and the nurses' bedrooms in case there's an emergency at night. It's sensible and prudent to fear fire in a place like this. But prudence has nothing to do with the terror I feel at the sight of smoke and flame.”

He put one hand up to his eyes and they saw that he had begun to tremble. Julius looked down at the shaking figure with almost clinical interest.

Dalgliesh said:

“I'll get Miss Moxon.”

He had hardly turned to the door when Anstey shot out a protesting hand. They saw that the trembling had stopped. He said, looking at Julius:

“You do believe that the work I'm doing here is worthwhile?”

Dalgliesh wondered if only he had noticed a fraction of a second's pause before Julius replied evenly:

“Of course.”

“You're not just saying that to comfort me, you believe it?”

“I wouldn't say it otherwise.”

“Of course not, forgive me. And you agree that the work is more important than the man?”

“That's more difficult. I could argue that the work is the man.”

“Not here. This place is established now. It could go on without me if it had to.”

“Of course it could, if it's adequately endowed, and if the local authorities continue to send contractual patients. But it won't have to go on without you if you act sensibly instead of like the reluctant hero of a third-rate TV drama. It doesn't suit you, Wilfred.”

“I'm trying to be sensible and I'm not being brave. I haven't much physical courage you know. It's the virtue I most regret. You two have it—no, don't argue. I know, and I envy you for it. But I don't really need courage for this situation. You see, I can't believe that someone is really trying to kill me.” He turned to Dalgliesh.

“You explain, Adam. You must see what I'm getting at.”

Dalgliesh said carefully:

“It could be argued that neither of the two attempts were serious. The frayed climbing rope? It's hardly a very certain method, and most people here must know that you wouldn't start a climb without checking your equipment and that you certainly wouldn't climb alone. This afternoon's little charade? You would probably have been safe enough if you'd closed both the doors and stayed in the top room; uncomfortably hot probably, but in no real danger. The fire would have burnt itself out in time. It was opening the middle door and gasping in a lungful of smoke which nearly did for you.”

Julius said:

“But suppose the grass had burnt fiercely and the flames had caught the wood floor of the first storey? The whole of the middle of the tower would have gone up in a matter of
seconds; the fire must have reached the top room. If it had, nothing could have saved you.” He turned to Dalgliesh:

“Isn't that true?”

“Probably. That's why you ought to tell the police. A practical joker who takes risks like that has to be taken seriously. And the next time there mightn't be someone handy to rescue you.”

“I don't think there will be a next time. I think I know who's responsible. I'm not really quite as foolish as I seem. I'll take care, I promise. I have a feeling that the person responsible won't be here with us much longer.”

Julius said:

“You're not immortal, Wilfred.”

“I know that, too, and I could be wrong. So I think it's time I spoke to the Ridgewell Trust. The Colonel is overseas, visiting his homes in India, but he's due back on the 18th. The trustees would like my answer by the end of October. It's a question of tying-up capital for future developments. I wouldn't hand over to them without a majority agreement from the family. I propose to hold a family council. But, if someone is really trying to frighten me into breaking my vow, then I'll see that my work here is made indestructible, whether I'm alive or dead.”

Julius said:

“If you hand the whole property over to the Ridgewell Trust, it isn't going to please Millicent.”

Wilfred's face set into a mask of obstinacy. Dalgliesh was interested to see how the features changed. The gentle eyes became stern and glazed as if unwilling to see, the mouth set into an uncompromising line. And yet the whole expression was one of petulant weakness.

“Millicent sold out to me perfectly willingly and at a fair
valuation. She can't reasonably complain. If I'm driven out of here, the work goes on. What happens to me isn't important.”

He smiled at Julius.

“You aren't a believer, I know, so I'll find another authority for you. How about Shakespeare? ‘Be absolute for death, and life and death shall thereby be the sweeter.'”

Julius Court's eyes briefly met Dalgliesh's over Wilfred's head. The message simultaneously passed was simultaneously understood. Julius had some difficulty in controlling his mouth. At last he said dryly:

“Dalgliesh is supposed to be convalescent. He's already practically passed out with the exertion of saving you. I may look healthy enough but I need my strength for the pursuit of my own personal pleasures. So if you are determined to hand over to the Ridgewell Trust by the end of the month, try being absolute for life, at least for the next three weeks, there's a good chap.”

When they were outside the room Dalgliesh asked:

“Do you believe he's in real danger?”

“I don't know. It was probably a closer thing this afternoon than someone intended.” He added with affectionate scorn:

“Silly old pseud! Absolute for death! I thought we were about to move on to
Hamlet
and be reminded that the readiness is all. One thing is certain though, isn't it? He isn't putting on a show of courage. Either he doesn't believe that someone at Toynton Grange has it in for him, or he thinks he knows his enemy and is confident that he can deal with
him, or her. Or, of course, he started the fire himself. Wait until I've had this hand bandaged and then come in for a drink. You look as if you need it.”

But there were things Dalgliesh had to do. He left Julius, volubly apprehensive, to the mercies of Dorothy Moxon and walked back to Hope Cottage to collect his torch. He was thirsty, but there was no time for anything but cold water from the kitchen tap. He had left the cottage windows open but the little sitting-room, insulated by thick stone walls, was as warm and stuffy as on the day he had arrived. As he closed the door, Father Baddeley's cassock swung against it and he caught again the musty, faintly ecclesiastical smell. The crochet chair back and arm covers were sleekly in place uncrumpled by Father Baddeley's head and hands. Something of his personality still lingered here, although already Dalgliesh felt its presence less strongly. But there was no communication. If he wanted Father Baddeley's counsel he would have to seek it in paths familiar but unaccustomed and to which he no longer felt that he had any right of way.

He was ridiculously tired. The cool, rather harsh-tasting water only brought him to a clearer realization of just how tired. The thought of the narrow bed upstairs, of throwing himself down upon its hardness, was almost irresistible. It was ridiculous that so comparatively little exertion could so exhaust him. And it seemed to have become insufferably hot. He drew a hand over his brow and felt the sweat, clammy cold on his fingers. Obviously he had a temperature. He had, after all, been warned by the hospital that the fever might recur. He felt a surge of anger against his doctors, against Wilfred Anstey, against himself.