The Figure in the Dusk Read Free Page B

closed and the firelight softening – and then she heard a sound in the hall.
    She jumped up.
    â€œWilfred!”
    There was no answer. She went to the door and opened it, hurrying into the dark passage.
    â€œWilf—” she began, and her voice trailed off.
    The light from her room showed a man standing by the foot of the stairs, with the front door closed behind him. He had a gun in his gloved hand, a scarf over his face, a trilby hat pulled low over his eyes.
    â€œGood evening, Mrs. Arlen,” he said in a hard voice.
    She didn’t speak. The gun and the scarf made him a sinister figure. The gun, pointing at her breast, didn’t move. She found herself breathing hard.
    â€œWhat—what do you want?”
    â€œYou needn’t worry,” said the man. “I won’t hurt you if you do as you’re told. Where does Mr. Arlen keep his safe?”
    He spoke in a low-pitched voice, harsh and menacing; not natural. She couldn’t see his eyes clearly. He didn’t move.
    â€œWell, where does he?”
    â€œWhy—” she hesitated. “Why should I tell you?”
    â€œBecause I’m at the business end of the gun,” said the stranger. “And I’m in a hurry, Mrs. Arlen. I wouldn’t have worried you, but you’ve got good ears. Almost as if you were listening for someone!” That sounded like a sneer. “What about that safe?”
    â€œIt—it’s upstairs.”
    If she had the nerve, she could turn and rush into the morning-room and slam the door on him, then call the police. The man would have to run; certainly he couldn’t do her any harm. But she had come too far, she wouldn’t have time to get back before he could shoot, and – she believed he would shoot. She just stood there, praying that he would turn towards the stairs.
    â€œJust show me where,” he said.
    â€œI—”
    â€œYou argue too much, Mrs. Arlen. I wouldn’t object to shooting you. Then your children would be motherless, wouldn’t they? Poor kids!” He backed a few feet, so that there was room for her to pass between him and the stairs. “Lead the way, lady.”
    She found it hard to put one foot before the other, and it took an age to reach the stairs. She stared at him, but could see only a little of his cheeks and forehead. As she held on to the corner post and turned to mount the stairs he moved forward and pushed her shoulder.
    â€œDon’t waste time!”
    She made herself hurry up the stairs, and heard him following, although he moved softly. The gun would be pointing at her back. There was nowhere to give security on the gloomy, spacious landing. She was frightened now, almost at screaming point. She knew that if she screamed, he might shoot, and she must keep command of herself.
    And – a scream would wake Peter.
    Could she – fool him?
    â€œIf you give me any trouble,” the man said, “I’ll shoot you in the back.”
    She closed her eyes for a second, then led the way to the door of Wilfred’s study. She thrust it open and stepped forward into pitch darkness.
    â€œStop!”
    She stopped dead.
    â€œPut on the light,” the man ordered.
    She put on the light.
    â€œNow go into the middle of the room, and don’t turn round until I say so.”
    She took a long time to reach the middle of the small room, a study-cum-library – Wilfred’s ‘little den’. Books lined the wall, a big desk was in the window, there were two armchairs, light oak panelling.
    â€œGo to the safe,” the man ordered.
    It was in a corner, encased in an oak cabinet. She drew within a yard of it.
    â€œIt’s—locked,” she said.
    â€œOpen it,” he ordered, and something dropped on the floor just in front of her; Wilfred’s key case. She raised her hands, and half turned, in sudden realisation.
    â€œYou’ve got his—”
    The man stepped forward and