Death And The Dancing Footman ra-11 Read online

  “Shut up, Nicholas.” That was Chloris Wynne.

  “My dear fellow,” Jonathan made a series of little dabs at Mandrake, “you must come up at once. My coat. Take my coat. Ah, yours too, William, that’s better. Help him up, now. A hot toddy and a blazing fire, eh Hart? There never was anything more unfortunate. Come now.”

  Mandrake was suddenly torn by a violent retching. “Disgusting,” he thought, “disgusting!”

  “That will be better,” said a voice. Dr. Hart’s! “We should get him up quickly. Can you walk, Mr. Mandrake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your arm across my shoulders. So. Come, now.”

  “I’ll just get into my clothes,” said Nicholas.

  “Perhaps, Mr. Compline, as you are in bathing dress, you will be good enough to retrieve my cape.”

  “Sorry, I can’t swim.”

  “We’ll fish it out somehow,” said Chloris. “Take Mr. Mandrake in.”

  Jonathan, William and Dr. Hart took him back. Over the embankment, up the terrace steps, through a mess of footprints left by the others. The heavy boot on his club-foot dragged and hit against snow and sodden turf. Halfway up he was sick again. Jonathan ran ahead and, when at last they reached the house, could be heard shouting out orders to the servants. “Hot-water bottles. All you can find. His bath— quickly. Brandy, Caper. The fire in his room. What are you doing, all of you! God bless my soul, Mrs. Pouting, here’s Mr. Mandrake, half-drowned.”

  If only his teeth would stop chattering he would enjoy being in bed, watching flames mount in the fireplace, feeling the toddy set up a little system of warmth inside him. The hot bath had thawed his body, the hot bottles lay snug against his legs. Jonathan again held the glass to his lips.

  “What happened?” asked Mandrake.

  “After you fell, you mean? Nick looked out from the window of his dressing-room. He saw you and ran out. He can’t swim, you know, but he snatched up the inflated pelican — there are several in the pavilion — and threw it into the pool. By that time I fancy William and Hart were there. They arrived before Miss Wynne and myself. It appears that William had stripped off his overcoat and was going after you when you seized the improvised lifebuoy. When we arrived your arms were wreathed about its neck and you were fighting your way to the side. My dear Aubrey, I can’t tell you how distressed I am. Another sip, now, do.”

  “Jonathan, somebody came behind me and thrust me forward.”

  “But, my dear fellow—”

  “I tell you they did. I can still feel the impact of their hands. I did not slip. Good God, Jonathan, I’m not romancing! I tell you I was deliberately thrown into that water.”

  “Nicholas saw nobody,” said Jonathan uncomfortably. He primmed his lips and gave a little cough.

  “When did he look out?” Mandrake said. “I know he saw me when I first got there. But afterwards?”

  “Well — the first thing he saw was your cape — Dr. Hart’s cape, unhappily — on the surface of the water.”

  “Exactly. Whoever pushed me in had by that time hidden himself. He had only to dodge over the embankment and duck down.”

  “But we should have seen him,” said Jonathan.

  “Hart and William Compline were already there when you arrived?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Did they go down together to the pond?”

  “I — no, I think not. Hart left by the front door and came by the other path, past the pavilion. William came by the west door.‘’

  “Which of them arrived first? Thank God I’ve stopped chattering.”

  “I don’t know. I persuaded Hart to go out. I managed to calm him down after that most unfortunate passage with Nicholas at breakfast. I don’t quite know how I managed it, but I did. I suggested he should go out for a — for a sort of breather, do you know — and I suppose he followed the path to the pavilion and was arrested by Nicholas’ shout for help. I myself heard Nicholas as I went to the west door. I overtook Miss Wynne, who was already on the terrace. When I reached the edge of the terrace, Hart and the two Complines were all by the pond. My dear Aubrey, I shall tire you if I go on at this rate. Finish your drink and try to go to sleep.”

  “I don’t in the least want to go to sleep, Jonathan. Somebody has just tried to drown me and I do not find the experience conducive to slumber.”

  “No?” murmured Jonathan unhappily.

  “No. And don’t, I implore you, look as though I was mentally unhinged.”

  “Well, you have had a shock. You may even have a slight fever. I don’t want to alarm you—”

  “If you try to fob me off, I shall certainly run a frightful temperature. At the moment I assure you I am perfectly normal, and I tell you, Jonathan, somebody tried to drown me in your loathsome pond. I confess I should like to know who it was.”

  “A thoughtless piece of foolery, perhaps,” mumbled Jonathan. Mandrake suddenly pointed a trembling finger at the mound in the bed-clothes made by his left foot.

  “Does anyone but a moron play that sort of prank on a cripple?” he asked savagely.

  “Oh, my dear fellow, I know, but—”

  “Madame Lisse!” Mandrake cried. “She was to watch from her window. She must have seen.”

  “You can’t see that end of the pool from her window,” said Jonathan, quickly. “It’s hidden by the yew tree on the terrace.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I do know. Yesterday, when I did her flowers, I noticed. I assure you.”

  Mandrake looked at him. “Then whoever did it,” he said, “must have also known that she could not see him. Or else—”

  There was a tap on the door.

  “Come in,” cried Jonathan in a loud voice. “Come in.”

  It was Nicholas Compline. “Look here,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind my butting in. I had to see Jonathan. Are you all right?”

  “Thanks to you,” said Mandrake, “I believe I am.”

  “Look here, I’m damn’ sorry I laughed.”

  “It was infuriating, but I can’t quarrel with you. As we say in the provinces, you quite literally gave me the bird. Not the first time I have been so honoured, but certainly the first time I have welcomed it with both arms.”

  “Jonathan,” said Nicholas, “you realize the significance of this business?”

  “The significance, Nick?”

  “It was done deliberately.”

  “Just what I’ve been trying to tell Jonathan, Compline. My God, I was literally hurled into that water. I’m sorry to dwell on a tiresome subject, but somebody tried to drown me.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “What!”

  “They tried to drown me.”

  “Here,” shouted Mandrake, “what the hell d’you mean?”

  “Jonathan,” said Nicholas, “we’d better tell him about me and Hart.”

  “Oh, that,” said Mandrake. “I know all about that.”

  “May I ask how?”

  “Need we go into it?”

  “My dear Nick,” began Jonathan in a great hurry, “Mandrake noticed all was not well between you. The scene at the dinner table. The game of Charter. He asked me if I — if I—”

  “Well, never mind,” Nicholas interrupted impatiently. “You know he’s been threatening me? All right. Now, let me tell you that as I went down to the pond I glanced up at the front of the house. You know the window on the first floor above the front door?”

  “Yes,” said Jonathan.

  “All right. He was watching me through that window.”

  “But, my dear Nick—”

  “He was watching me. He saw me go down wearing that cape. He didn’t see Mandrake go down wearing the other cape, because Mandrake went out at the west door. Don’t interrupt me, Jonathan, this is serious. When Mandrake was shoved overboard, he was standing up to his hocks in snow on the kerb of the pool, with that embankment hiding his legs from anybody that came up from behind. You had the hood pulled over your head, I suppos
e, Mandrake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes. Well, it was Hart shoved you overboard, and Hart thought he was doing me in, by God.”

  “But Nick, we must keep our heads and not rush impetuously into conclusions—”

  “See here,” said Nicholas, always to Mandrake. “Had anybody in this party reason to wish you any harm?”

  “I’d never met one of them in my life before. Except Jonathan, of course.”

  “And I can assure you, my dear Aubrey, that I entertain only the kindest—”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then!” said Nicholas.

  “I believe you’re right,” cried Mandrake.

  The door opened and Dr. Hart came in.

  Nicholas, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, sprang up and walked out of the room. Jonathan uttered a series of little consolatory noises and moved to the window. Hart went to the bed and laid his fingers on Mandrake’s wrist.

  “You are better?” he said. “That is right. It will be well to remain in bed to-day, perhaps. There has been a little shock.” He looked placidly at Mandrake and repeated: “Just a little shock.”

  “Yes,” said Mandrake. Hart turned to Jonathan. “If I might speak to you, Mr. Royal.”

  “To me?” Jonathan gave a little start. “Yes, of course. Here?”

  “I was about to suggest — somewhere else. But perhaps… I remember, Mr. Mandrake, that as we brought you to the house, you declared repeatedly that you had been deliberately pushed into this swimming-pool.”

  Mandrake looked at the large pale face, surely more pale than ever since its owner began to speak, and thought: “This may be the face of a potential murderer.” Aloud, he said: “I am quite convinced of it.”

  “Then perhaps it would be well to set your mind at ease on this matter. No attempt was made wittingly upon you, Mr. Mandrake.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It was a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Good God!”said Jonathan with violence. Dr. Hart tapped the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other. “The person who made this attack,” he said, “believed that he was making it upon me.”

  Mandrake’s first reaction to this announcement was a hysterical impulse to burst out laughing. He looked at Jonathan, who stood with his back to the light, and wondered if he only imagined that an expression of mingled relief and astonishment had appeared for a moment on his host’s face. Then he heard his voice, pedantic and high-pitched as usual.

  “But my dear Dr. Hart,” Jonathan said, “what can have put such a strange notion into your head?”

  “The fact that there is, among your guests, a man who wishes most ardently for my death.”

  “Surely not,” said Jonathan, making a little purse of his lips.

  “Surely, yes. I had not intended to go so far. I merely wished to reassure Mr. Mandrake. Perhaps if we withdrew?”

  “For pity’s sake,” Mandrake ejaculated, “don’t withdraw. I’m all right. I want to get this thing straight. After all,” he added peevishly, “it was me in the pond.”

  “True,” said Jonathan.

  “And I think I should tell you, Dr. Hart, that as I came down the steps, Compline saw me through the pavilion window and waved. He must have recognized me.”

  “It was snowing very heavily. Your face, no doubt, was in shadow, hidden by the hood of my cape.”

  “I hope you got your cape,” said Jonathan anxiously.

  “Thank you, yes. There must be a considerable amount of weed in your pond. It is to me quite evident, Mandrake, that Compline mistook you for myself. He came out of the pavilion and ran quickly up behind you, giving you a sharp thrust on the shoulder-blades.”

  “It was a sharp thrust on the shoulder-blades. But you forget that there is one thing about me that is quite distinctive.” Mandrake spoke rapidly with an air of jeering at himself. “I am lame. I wear a heavy boot. I use a stick. You can’t mistake a man with a club-foot, Dr. Hart.”

  “Your foot was hidden. One does not walk evenly in snow and I assure you that while I, as a medical man, would not make such a mistake, Compline, glancing out through heavy sheets of falling snow, might easily do so.”

  “I don’t agree with you. And didn’t Compline see you looking from an upper window as he went to the pond? He could hardly imagine you would spirit yourself down there as quickly as that.”

  “Why not? I could have done so. A matter of a few moments. In actual fact I did go down a few minutes later. Mr, Royal saw me leave.”

  “Is it altogether wise to stress that point, do you think?”

  “I do not understand you, Mr. Mandrake.”

  Jonathan began to talk very quickly, stuttering a little and making sharp gestures with both hands.

  “And, my dear Hart, even if, as you suggest, anyone could mistake Mandrake for yourself; even supposing, and I cannot suppose it, that anyone could entertain the idea of thrusting you into that water, surely, surely it would be preposterous to suggest that it was with any — any — ah — murderous intent. Can you not swim, my dear doctor?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Very well, then. I myself cannot help thinking that Mandrake is mistaken, that a sudden gust of wind caught him—”

  “No, Jonathan.”

  “—or that at the worst it was a stupid and dangerous practical joke.”

  “A joke!” shouted Dr. Hart. “A JOKE!” Mandrake suppressed a nervous giggle. Hart stared sombrely at him, and then turned to Jonathan. “And yet I do not know,” he said heavily. “Perhaps with an Englishman it is possible. Perhaps he did not mean to kill me. Perhaps he wished to make me a foolish figure, shivering, dripping stagnant water, my teeth chattering — Yes, I can accept that possibility. He recognized the Tyrolese cape and thought—”

  “Wait a moment,” Mandrake interrupted, “before we go any further I must put you right about the cape. It is impossible that Nicholas Compline should have thought you were inside your own Tyrolese cape.”

  “And why?”

  “Because he himself gave it to me to wear to the pond.”

  Dr. Hart was silent. He looked from Mandrake to Jonathan, and those little dents appeared in his nostrils. “You are protecting him,” he said.

  “I assure you I am speaking the truth.”

  “There is one explanation that seems to have occurred to nobody.” Jonathan raised his hands to his spectacles and adjusted them slightly. “I myself wear a Tyrolese cape, your own gift, my dear Hart, and a delightful one. Is it not at least possible that somebody may have thought it would be amusing to watch me flounder in my own ornamental pool?”

  “But who the hell?” Mandrake objected.

  “It might be argued,” said Jonathan, smiling modestly, “almost every member of my house-party.”

  When they had left him alone, Mandrake surrendered himself to a curious state of being, engendered by exhaustion, brandy, speculation, and drowsiness. His thoughts floated in a kind of hinterland between sleep and wakefulness. At times they were sharply defined, at times nebulous and disconnected, but always they circled about the events leading to his plunge into the swimming-pool. At last he dozed off into a fitful sleep from which he was roused, as it seemed, by a single clear inspiration. “I must see William Compline,” he heard himself say. “Must see William Compline.” He was staring at the ridge of snow that had begun to mount from the sill up the window-pane, when his door moved slightly and Chloris Wynne’s beautifully groomed head appeared in the opening.

  “Come in.”

  “I thought you might be asleep. I called to enquire.”

  “The report is favourable. Sit down and have a cigarette. I haven’t the remotest idea of the time.”

  “Nearly lunch-time.”

  “Really? What are you all doing?”

  “I’ve known house-parties go with a greater swing. Nicholas is sulking by the radio in the smoking-room. Lady Hersey and Mr. Royal seem to be having a quarrel next door in the libr
ary, and when I tried the boudoir on the other side of the smoking-room I ran into Dr. Hart and Madame Lisse, both quite green in the face and obviously at the peak of an argument. My ex-future-mother-in-law has developed a bad cold and I have had a snorter of a row with William.”

  “Here!” said Mandrake. “What is all this?”

  “I ticked him off for harping on about the bet with Nicholas, and then he said some pretty offensive things about Nicholas and me, and I said he was insane, and he huffed and puffed and broke off our engagement. I don’t know why I tell you all this, unless it’s to get in first with the news bulletin.”

  “It’s all very exciting, of course, but I consider the human interest really centres about me.”

  “Because you fell in the pool?”

  “Because I was pushed in.”

  “That’s what we’re quarreling about, actually. So many people seem to think it was all a mistake.”

  “The fact remains, I was pushed in.”

  “Oh, they’ve stopped saying it was an accident. But each of the men seems to think you were mistaken for him.”

  “Does William think that?”

  “No. William confines himself to saying he wishes it had been Nicholas. He’s made Nicholas pay him the ten pounds.”

  “I suppose,” said Mandrake, “you didn’t push me in?”

  “No, honestly I didn’t. When I got to the top of the steps William and Nicholas and Dr. Hart were all down by the pool, screaming instructions to you. I got a frightful shock. I thought you were Mr. Royal drowning in his own baroque waters.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Oh, because of the cloak, I suppose. It was floating about like a large water-lily leaf, and I said to myself: ‘Crikey, that’s Jonathan Royal.’ ”

  Mandrake sat up in bed and bent his most austere gaze upon Miss Wynne. “How did you feel,” he asked, “when you knew it was I?”

  “Well, when Mr. Royal came up behind me, I knew it was thee, if that’s the right grammar. And then I saw you clinging to that bathing bird and your hair was over your face like seaweed and your tie was round at the back of your neck, and so on and—” her voice quivered slightly, “and I was terribly sorry,” she said.

  “No doubt I was a ludicrous figure. Look here, from what you tell me it seems that you were the last to arrive.”