mr. ember was spending a busy sunday. as he stood in the empty laboratory, realising molloy’s defection and all that it involved, there was no change in his impassive face. the web of his plan was broken. like some accurate machine his brain picked up the loose ravelled threads and wove them into a new combination.
molloy himself was no loss. his place could be filled a dozen times over. as to any harm that he could do, unless he had gone straight to the police, he could be reached—reached and silenced. and ember knew his molloy. he would not go straight to the police. if he meant to sell them, he would set about it with a certain regard for appearances. there would be pourparlers, some dexterous method of approach which would save his face and leave him an emergency exit. ember checked over in his mind the four or five places to which molloy might have retreated. then there was the money. that they must have; but molloy, once found, could be scared into giving it up.
ember let his eyes travel around the laboratory. the lists lay upon the bench where jane had put them not five minutes before. he frowned and picked them up, stared at them, and frowned more deeply still. they had been folded and refolded, doubled into a small package since he had last handled them. who had done it? the sheets had been smooth from the typewriter when he gave them to molloy. they had been handled and creased, with the creases that come from tight folding. had molloy meant to take them with him, and then at the last moment been afraid? it looked like it. he turned over the pages, counting them. suddenly his eyes fixed, his fingers tightened their hold. there was a fresh smudge of ink on the top of the fifth page—a smudge so fresh that the blue ink had not yet turned black. that meant two things: molloy had copied the lists before he left, and he had only been gone an hour or two—that at the outside, probably less.
in the moment that passed before ember laid the papers down, mr. molloy received his death sentence as duly and irrevocably as if it had been pronounced by an assize judge in scarlet and ermine, white wig and black cap.
ember gave just a little nod, opened a safe that stood in the corner, pushed the papers into it, and pocketed the key.
it was a little later that he found the first spot of candle grease. it was half-way up one of the side passages, on the spot where jane had been standing when he and molloy entered the laboratory the evening before. he looked at it for a long time very thoughtfully before he took his torch and proceeded to a systematic search of the passages.
he found no living person, but came upon dropped wax in three more places, at the edge of the well, by the headland exit, and half-way down the steps to the beach. he came slowly back along the main passage, and stood for some time with his light focused on the sand which he had spread at the foot of the stair. there was no footmark upon it, but he was prepared to swear that it was not as he had left it. he had scattered the sand loosely, and it was pressed down and too smooth. he thought that it had been smoothed by a hand passing over it. he mounted the first two steps. the thread of cotton which he had fastened across the stairway was still there. he bent beneath it, came to the top, and threw his light full upon the back of the panelled door. the second piece of cotton was gone.
he flashed the ray upon the floor once—twice. the third time he found what he was looking for, a fine black thread lying across the threshold. it ran out of sight under the door. some one had gone out that way since mr. ember had come in. who? not molloy—impossible that it could have been molloy.
ember passed through the panel, closed it behind him, and walked slowly and meditatively along the corridor to the library, still pursuing his train of thought. molloy would have blundered through that first piece of cotton without ever feeling it at all, just as molloy’s foot in its heavy boot would have been unaware of the sand. if it was a woman who had passed—now who would have used a candle in the passages? not raymond. she had more than one electric torch which she used constantly for night work. but renata, the little soft-spoken stupid mouse of a thing, if she had a fancy to go spying, she’d take a candle; yes, and let it gutter too.
mr. ember’s instinct for danger had always reacted to this question of renata molloy. over and over again there had been the tremor, the response, the warning prick. an extreme regret that he had not arranged for a convenient accident to overtake renata possessed jeffrey ember. the omission, he decided, should be rectified with as little delay as possible. he locked the library door and went to the telephone.
it took him half an hour to get the number that he wanted, but he betrayed no impatience. when at last a man’s voice came to him, along the wire, he inquired in the bavarian dialect, “is that you, number five?” the voice said, “yes,” whereupon ember gave a password and waited until he had received the countersign. he then began to issue orders, using an unhurried voice. every now and then he shivered a little in the early morning cold, and shrugged his coat higher about his ears.
“you are promoted. you go up to four and come on to the council. i will notify you of the next meeting. number three is a traitor. he left here last night with copies of lists containing names of all agents. it is believed that it is his design to sell us. he has secreted a large sum of money, the property of the council. before he is eliminated he must be made to hand this over. take down the following addresses; he may be at any one of them. put six and seven on to finding and dealing with him immediately.” he read out the addresses, and paused whilst they were repeated. he then continued speaking:
“i shall require the motor-boat off withstead cove at nightfall. yes, to-night, and without fail. a change of base is imperative. proceed first to ...”—he gave another address—“and communicate also with ten. if belcovitch has arrived tell him that he is promoted to three, and bring him with you. the council can then meet, as number one is here.”
a very slight gleam of something hard to define broke for a moment the dull impassivity of ember’s voice as he pronounced the last words. then he added:
“repeat my instructions.”
he listened attentively whilst the voice reproduced his own words. then he said:
“that is all. we shall meet to-night,” and rang off.
he had breakfast alone with jane, and ate it with a good appetite. he talked very pleasantly too. jane wondered why every succeeding moment left her more afraid. she had been up all night, of course. it must be that, yes, of course, it must be that. she faltered in the middle of some inane sentence and stopped. ember’s eyes were fixed on her with an entire lack of expression, yet behind those blank windows she felt that there were strange guests. it was like looking at the windows of a haunted house, quite blank and empty, and yet at any moment out of them might look some unimaginable horror.
270
“you seem a little tired this morning, miss renata,” said ember gently. “why didn’t you follow lady heritage’s example and have your breakfast upstairs? you don’t look to me as if you had had much sleep. you haven’t been walking in your sleep again by any chance, have you?”
jane clenched her foot in renata’s baggy shoe.
“oh, i hope i haven’t,” she said. “i don’t always know when i’ve been doing it. what made you think of it?”
“it just crossed my mind,” said ember. “it’s a very dangerous habit, miss renata.”
jane pushed her chair back and rose.
“i’m going into the garden,” she said; “this room is too hot for anything. it’s like....” a little devil suddenly commandeered her tongue. she reached the door, opened it, and flung over her shoulder:
“it’s like the snake house at the zoo, mr. ember.”
she ran straight out into the garden after that, and stayed there. she had the feeling that it was safer to be in the open. she wanted to keep away from walls, and doors, and passages. she saw no one all the morning, and came back to lunch with her nerve steadier. as soon as lunch was over, she went out again. the hour in the house had brought her fears back with reinforcements. she began to count the hours before henry could arrive. it was only half-past two, and perhaps he would not come till midnight.
the thought of the dark hours after sunset was like a black cloud coming nearer and nearer. if she could hide, if she could only get away and hide until henry came. she felt as if it was quite beyond her to go back into the house and sit for hour after hour, perhaps alone with jeffrey ember, his blank eyes watching her, or to endure raymond heritage’s presence, and, looking at her, remember the line in molloy’s letter: “renata followed number one.” it was raymond she had followed. she had told molloy that she had followed raymond. then raymond, beyond doubt or cavil, was the number one of that horrible council. she could not bear it. she thought of raymond’s voice breaking when she said “anthony,” and she could not bear it. if she could only get away and hide until henry came.
she went into the walled garden and walked up and down. perhaps anthony luttrell would come to her as he had come once before. presently she came to the tool-shed, stopped for a moment hesitating on the threshold, and then went in. there was a way into the passages from here; she was quite sure of it. if she could find the spring, she believed that she would be able to reach the cross-passage where she had run into henry. she did not believe that ember used it. why should he, since it would be of no use to his schemes? if she could get into the passage and hide there, she need not go back to the house. she could wait there for henry and catch him as he passed. she would be able to warn him too, and it came to her with startling suddenness that he stood very much in need of warning; so much had come to light in the forty-eight hours since he left.
it took jane an hour to find the spring. she might not have found it then, but for the chance that made her slip and throw all her weight upon one place just under the wide potting-shelf. there was a creak, and one of the boards gave a little. she found a trap-door and steps beneath it.
there were some old sacks in the shed. jane took one of them, climbed down the steps, and shut the trap-door again. she felt her way down to the level, spread the sack on the second step, and sat down. she felt utterly forlorn and weary.
