"Yes. The man who originally owned this house. He shot himself, you
know. Oh! very well, Tom dear, I won't speak of it unless you like.
It was a great shock for Tom, of course, because he was here when it
happened. So were you, weren't you, Sir Richard?"
"Yes, Lady Laura."
An old grandfather clock in the corner groaned, wheezed, snorted
asthmatically, and then struck twelve.
"Happy New Year," grunted Evesham perfunctorily.
Lady Laura wound up her knitting with some deliberation. "Well, we've
seen the New Year in," she observed, and added, looking toward Mrs.
Portal, "What do you think, my dear?"
Eleanor Portal rose quickly to her feet. "Bed, by all means," she said
lightly.
_She's very pale_, thought Mr. Satterthwaite, as he too rose, and began
busying himself with candlesticks. _She's not usually as pale as that._
He lighted her candle and handed it to her with a funny little
old-fashioned bow. She took it from him with a word of acknowledgment,
and went slowly up the stairs.
Suddenly a very odd impulse swept over Mr. Satterthwaite. He wanted to
go after her--to reassure her--he had the strangest feeling that she
was in danger of some kind. The impulse died down, and he felt ashamed.
_He_ was getting nervy too.
She hadn't looked at her husband as she went up the stairs, but now she
turned her head over her shoulder and gave him a long, searching glance
which had a queer intensity in it. It affected Mr. Satterthwaite very
oddly.
He found himself saying good night to his hostess in quite a flustered
manner.
"I'm sure I hope it _will_ be a happy New Year," Lady Laura was saying.
"But the political situation seems to me to be fraught with grave
uncertainty."
"I'm sure it is," said Mr. Satterthwaite earnestly. "I'm sure it is."
"I only hope," continued Lady Laura, without the least change of
manner, "that it will be a dark man who first crosses the threshold.
You know that superstition, I suppose, Mr. Satterthwaite? No? You
surprise me. To bring luck to the house it must be a dark man who first
steps over the door step on New Year's Day. Dear me, I hope I shan't
find anything _very_ unpleasant in my bed. I never trust the children.
They have such very high spirits."
Shaking her head in sad foreboding, Lady Laura moved majestically up
the staircase.
With the departure of the women, chairs were pulled in closer round the
blazing logs on the big open hearth.
"Say when," said Evesham, hospitably, as he held up the whisky decanter.
When everybody had said when, the talk reverted to the subject which
had been tabooed before.
"You knew Derek Capel, didn't you, Satterthwaite?" asked Conway.
"Slightly--yes."
"And you, Portal?"
"No, I never met him."
So fiercely and defensively did he say it that Mr. Satterthwaite looked
up in surprise.
"I always hate it when Laura brings up the subject," said Evesham
slowly. "After the tragedy, you know, this place was sold to a big
manufacturer fellow. He cleared out after a year--didn't suit him or
something. A lot of tommyrot was talked about the place being haunted,
of course, and it gave the house a bad name. Then, when Laura got me to
stand for West Kidleby, of course it meant living up in these parts,
and it wasn't so easy to find a suitable house. Royston was going
cheap, and--well, in the end I bought it. Ghosts are all tommyrot,
but all the same one doesn't exactly care to be reminded that you're
living in a house where one of your own friends shot himself. Poor old
Derek--we shall never know why he did it."
"He won't be the first or the last fellow who's shot himself without
being able to give a reason," said Alec Portal heavily.
He rose and poured himself out another drink, splashing the whisky in
with a liberal hand.
_There's something very wrong with him_, said Mr. Satterthwaite, to
himself. _Very wrong indeed. I wish I knew what it was all about._
"Gad!" said Conway. "Listen to the wind. It's a wild night."
"A good night for ghosts to walk," said Portal with a reckless laugh.
"All the devils in hell are abroad tonight."
"According to Lady Laura, even the blackest of them would bring us
luck," observed Conway, with a laugh. "Hark to that!"
The wind rose in another terrific wail, and as it died away there came
three loud knocks on the big nailed doorway.
Everyone started.
"Who on earth can that be at this time of night?" cried Evesham.
They stared at each other.
"I will open it," said Evesham. "The servants have gone to bed."
He strode across to the door, fumbled a little over the heavy bars, and
finally flung it open. An icy blast of wind came sweeping into the hall.
Framed in the doorway stood a man's figure, tall and slender. To Mr.
Satterthwaite, watching, he appeared, by some curious effect of the
stained glass above the door, to be dressed in every color of the
rainbow. Then, as he stepped forward, he showed himself to be a thin
dark man.
"I must really apologize for this intrusion," said the stranger, in
a pleasant, level voice. "But my car broke down. Nothing much, my
chauffeur is putting it to rights, but it will take half an hour or so,
and it is so confoundedly cold outside--"
He broke off, and Evesham took up the thread quickly.
"I should think it was. Come in and have a drink. We can't give you any
assistance about the car, can we?"
"No, thanks. My man knows what to do. By the way, my name is
Quin--Harley Quin."
"Sit down, Mr. Quin," said Evesham. "Sir Richard Conway, Mr.
Satterthwaite, Mr. Portal. My name is Evesham."
Mr. Quin acknowledged the introductions, and dropped into the chair
that Evesham had hospitably pulled forward. As he sat, some effect of
the firelight threw a bar of shadow across his face which gave almost
the impression of a mask.