its fan-shaped arches were lighted by two drops, one at either end. The farther one lit the passage to the cellar where he had lost her before. She was out of sight now. He came into the passage, running, and found it empty. At the far end the cellar door was ajar. He flung it wide, and saw only darkness within.
Rachel was gone, as if her dream, dissolving, had taken her with it.
CHAPTER XI
JEREMY WENT BACK TO the library and finished Mannisterâs speech. His brain felt particularly clear and active. He boiled the original glue down to a solid mass of fact and epigram which would take, in Mannisterâs best manner, exactly ten minutes to deliver. He even rehearsed it. Two strides to the left and a hortatory hand upraised. Rolling periods. A step back. A frowning silence. Quotation number one. ⦠And so through to the end. It took just ten minutes, and it would certainly add to Mannisterâs reputation.
He put the speech in a drawer, went over to the bookcase, and uncovered the safe. It was locked all right now. For a moment he had wondered whether there was something amiss with the lockâhe might have found the door ajar and dreamt the rest. He frowned quickly. He might have dreamt the whole thing from start to finishâonly he hadnât. It wasnât as easy as all that.
Still frowning, he took out his handkerchief and wiped the safe door carefully. Metal holds fingerprints very clearly. There was no need for there to be any finger-prints. Probably no one would look for them, but if they did look, there was no need for there to be anything for them to find. He wiped the door carefully, and when he had closed the book-shelf over it, he wiped the shelf which Rachel had touched. After which he put out the lights in the library and the hall and let himself out of the house.
He was glad to get back to his own room. He sat down on the edge of his bed and took off his shoes. From the narrow mantelpiece a fluffy baby owl modelled in blue-green clay watched him with its immense stare. Even after he had got into bed and put out the light he had the feeling of it staring in the dark. It seemed to be asking questions which no one could answerâall as solemn as a childâs game.
Jeremy lay on his back with his hands behind his head and asked some questions of his own.
Rachel. ⦠Where did she come from, and who was she? Those cellars were a lot older than the house, and much bigger than that sized house had any right to. He suspected an older, larger house spreading round the corner. When it was pulled down, the cellars were left, two or more houses built over them, dividing walls built up. There must be a way through from the cellar where he had lost her to the cellar next door. He must find out about the history of the site, and he must find out who lived next door. Jardine might be able to help him about the siteâhe was the sort of bookwormish fellow who did know that sort of thingâand the directory would tell him who lived next door. Next door would be round the corner in Tilt StreetâNo. 1 Tilt Street. It would be quite easy to find out who lived there.
She must have come into the cellar of Mannisterâs house from the cellar of No. 1 Tilt Street. How she had come, he had not been able to discover. There must certainly be a door. When he had lost her the first time, he had had nothing but a small electric torch, and it isnât easy to find a secret door when you canât light up much more than an inch of wall at a time. To-night he had been even more at a disadvantage, since he had not even had a torch and the nearest light was too far away to do more than show him just how dark the cellar was. On Monday morning he would get a really good electric lamp, and on Monday night he might think about another spot of burglary.
So much for how.
Why had she come? How did she know his name? That she was walking in her sleep was certain. At what prompting had she risen from
Rachel was gone, as if her dream, dissolving, had taken her with it.
CHAPTER XI
JEREMY WENT BACK TO the library and finished Mannisterâs speech. His brain felt particularly clear and active. He boiled the original glue down to a solid mass of fact and epigram which would take, in Mannisterâs best manner, exactly ten minutes to deliver. He even rehearsed it. Two strides to the left and a hortatory hand upraised. Rolling periods. A step back. A frowning silence. Quotation number one. ⦠And so through to the end. It took just ten minutes, and it would certainly add to Mannisterâs reputation.
He put the speech in a drawer, went over to the bookcase, and uncovered the safe. It was locked all right now. For a moment he had wondered whether there was something amiss with the lockâhe might have found the door ajar and dreamt the rest. He frowned quickly. He might have dreamt the whole thing from start to finishâonly he hadnât. It wasnât as easy as all that.
Still frowning, he took out his handkerchief and wiped the safe door carefully. Metal holds fingerprints very clearly. There was no need for there to be any finger-prints. Probably no one would look for them, but if they did look, there was no need for there to be anything for them to find. He wiped the door carefully, and when he had closed the book-shelf over it, he wiped the shelf which Rachel had touched. After which he put out the lights in the library and the hall and let himself out of the house.
He was glad to get back to his own room. He sat down on the edge of his bed and took off his shoes. From the narrow mantelpiece a fluffy baby owl modelled in blue-green clay watched him with its immense stare. Even after he had got into bed and put out the light he had the feeling of it staring in the dark. It seemed to be asking questions which no one could answerâall as solemn as a childâs game.
Jeremy lay on his back with his hands behind his head and asked some questions of his own.
Rachel. ⦠Where did she come from, and who was she? Those cellars were a lot older than the house, and much bigger than that sized house had any right to. He suspected an older, larger house spreading round the corner. When it was pulled down, the cellars were left, two or more houses built over them, dividing walls built up. There must be a way through from the cellar where he had lost her to the cellar next door. He must find out about the history of the site, and he must find out who lived next door. Jardine might be able to help him about the siteâhe was the sort of bookwormish fellow who did know that sort of thingâand the directory would tell him who lived next door. Next door would be round the corner in Tilt StreetâNo. 1 Tilt Street. It would be quite easy to find out who lived there.
She must have come into the cellar of Mannisterâs house from the cellar of No. 1 Tilt Street. How she had come, he had not been able to discover. There must certainly be a door. When he had lost her the first time, he had had nothing but a small electric torch, and it isnât easy to find a secret door when you canât light up much more than an inch of wall at a time. To-night he had been even more at a disadvantage, since he had not even had a torch and the nearest light was too far away to do more than show him just how dark the cellar was. On Monday morning he would get a really good electric lamp, and on Monday night he might think about another spot of burglary.
So much for how.
Why had she come? How did she know his name? That she was walking in her sleep was certain. At what prompting had she risen from
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