Footsteps in the Dark Read Free Page B

failed. Dinner was served in the square dining-room at the side of the house, and though the undrawn curtains let in the soft evening light, Cclia had placed shaded candles on the table, so that the room had a warm, inviting appearance. By common consent there was no more talk of ghosts or skeletons. They went back to the library after dinner, and while Mrs. Bosanquet proceeded to lay out a complicated Naticaue, the others sat down to the Bridge-table. Even when a stutter somewhere in the wainscoting startled them all it did not need the men's assurances to convince the girls that the place was rat-ridden.
    "I know," said Celia, gathering up her cards. "Mrs. Bowers is going to set a trap."
    "I am not fond of rats," remarked her aunt. "Mice I don't mind at all. Poor little things. Ah, if that had been a red queen I might have brought it out. I once stayed in a farmhouse where they used to run about in the lofts over our heads like a pack of terriers."
    Margaret, who was Dummy, got up from the table and went over to the window. The moon had risen, and now bathed the whole garden in silver light. She gave an exclamation: "Oh, look how beautiful! I wish we could see the chapel from here." She stepped out on to the terrace, and stood leaning her hands on the low parapet. The night was very still and cloudless, and the trees threw shadows like pools of darkness. The shrubbery hid the ruins of the chapel from sight.
    "You can see it from your bedroom, I should think," called Peter. "Come on in: we're two down, all due to your reckless bidding."
    She came in reluctantly and took her place at the table. "It seems a pity to be playing bridge on a night like this. Does anyone feel inclined to wander up to the chapel with me?"
    "Don't all speak at once," Charles advised them unnecessarily.
    "Personally," said Celia, "I'm going to bed after this rubber. We'll all go some other night."
    Half an hour later only the two men remained downstairs. Charles went over to the windows,. and shut and bolted them. "Think it's necessary to make a tour of the back premises?" he asked, yawning.
    "Lord, no! Bowers'll have taken precious good care to see that it's all locked up. I'll go and put the chain on the front door." Peter went out, and Charles bolted the last window, and turned to put out the big oil-lamp that hung on chains from the ceiling. The moonlight shone in at the uncurtained window, and as Charles turned towards the door he heard what sounded like the rustling of a skirt against the wall behind him. He looked quickly over his shoulder. There was no one but himself in the room, but he could have sworn that he heard faint footsteps.
    Peter's voice called from the hall. "Coming, Chas?"
    "Just a moment." Charles felt in his pocket for matches and presently struck one, and walked forward so that its tiny light showed up the shadowed corner of the room.
    Peter appeared in the doorway, candle in hand. "What's up? Lost something?"
    The match burned out. "No, I thought I heard something - a rat," Charles said.

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    Chapter Two

    The Vicar and his wife came to call at the Priory two days later. Mrs. Pennythorne wore pince-nez and white kid gloves, and she told Celia that there was little society in the neighbourhood. There were the Mastermans, at the Manor House, but they never called on anyone, and there was Mr. Titmarsh, at Crossways, but he was so very odd in his habits that Mrs. Pennythorne could hardly recommend him as an acquaintance. Further questioning elicited the explanation that the oddness of Mr. Titmarsh's habits was due to his hobby, which was collecting moths. Mrs. Pennythorne said that his manners were sadly brusque, and he wandered about at night, presumably in search of specimens for his collection. Then there was Dr Roote, and his wife, and although Mrs. Pennythorne was loth to speak ill of anyone really she ought to warn Celia that it was all too certain that the doctor drank. Finally there was Colonel Ackerley, at the White