For a moment he continued to hold her, then he removed his hand from her mouth, and said coolly, under his breath: "Sorry, but I couldn't let you give the alarm. Tell me quickly, what did you see?"
Irrationally, her fright had left her the instant she had recognised him. But her head whirled. What was he doing there? Was it possible that his had been the figure she had seen? And if so what had he done with his disguise?
His hand grasped her wrist, not roughly, but compellingly. "What did you see? You must tell me."
She looked at him, trying to read his face in the moonlight. "The Monk," she answered, in a low voice.
"Damnation!" Michael muttered. "Where?"
She pointed the way she had come, and as though by doing it she conjured up a presence, footsteps came to their ears.
Without ceremony Michael pulled her quickly into the shadow of the rhododendron bush. She glanced at him, and saw that his eyes were fixed on the bend in the avenue. A moment later a figure in a large ulster came into sight, peering about.
"Miss Fortescue!" called Mr. Ernest Titmarsh. "Miss Fortescue! Is there anything the matter? Tut, tut, I made sure I saw her!"
The grip on Margaret's wrist was removed; there was a movement beside her, she looked quickly round, and found that she was alone. As silently and as unexpectedly as he had appeared, Mr. Michael Strange had vanished.
Feeling utterly bewildered, and not a little shaken, Margaret stepped out into the moonlight, and waited for Mr. Titmarsh to come up with her. "I'm here," she said, with the calm of reaction.
He hurried up, butterfly net in hand. "Dear, dear, I did not at once perceive you. But what is the matter? I heard you call out, and saw you running. I do trust you did riot catch sight of me, and take me for a ghost?"
"Mr. Titmarsh, did you cross the avenue down there a moment ago?" she asked. "Going towards the chapel?"
"By no means," he answered. "I was pursuing an oakeggar just by that swampy patch of ground on the other side of the avenue. Surely you have not seen someone unauthorised prowling about the park?"
"Yes. That is - it was the Monk. I knew I couldn't be mistaken. That horrible cowl… ! I'm sorry, but really I feel rather groggy. Would you mind coming with me as far as the house?"
"My dear young lady! Of course, of course, but your eyes must have deceived you. Pray take my arm! Quite impossible, Miss Fortescue. I saw no monk, and surely I must have done so had there been one."
She shook her head. "You might not. There are so many bushes. I couldn't have been deceived. I saw it plainly."
"Nerves, my dear Miss Fortescue, nothing but nerves. You must not let yourself believe in these silly ghost-tales. Why, you are quite upset by it! This will not do at all! Now I will pull the bell, and in a moment you will be inside, and quite safe."
The bell clanged noisily in answer to Mr. Titmarsh's vigorous tug, and almost at once quick steps sounded within, and Peter himself opened the door. "That you, Margaret? I began to think you must have had a — good Lord, what's the matter?"
She grasped his coat weakly, and gave a small uncertain laugh. "Oh Peter, I've seen the Monk! For goodness sake let me sit down; I feel like a piece of chewed string."
Mr. Titmarsh clucked rather like an old hen. "I saw Miss Fortescue running up the avenue, and went at once to her assistance. I am afraid she is a little over-wrought: she seems to have caught sight of something which she took for the Monk. Possibly a shrub, or even, though I should be grieved indeed to think so, myself."
Peter slipped his arm round Margaret. "Come in, sir. Very good of you to escort her. Buck up, old lady: it's all right now." He half-led, half-carried her into the library, and put her down into the nearest chair. "Like a drink, Sis? Feeling all right?"
Celia sprang up. "Margaret! What's the matter, darling? Oh, good heavens, don't say you've seen it!"
The colour was coming back to Margaret's face. She sat up. "Sorry, all of you. No, I'm perfectly all right now, Peter. Truly. Yes, I have, Celia. The Monk. And I made a dash for the house, and - and then - Mr. Titmarsh came up."
"And I am much distressed to think that I may have been the innocent cause of your alarm," Mr. Titmarsh put in. "If I had not obtained permission from your good brother-in-law to pursue my search in his grounds, I should be even more distressed."
"No, it wasn't you," Margaret said. "It was a cowled monk, just as Aunt Lilian described." She looked round. "Where is Aunt Lilian?"
"She had a headache, and went up to bed early," Celia replied. "But darling, how awful for you! Oh, we can't stay any longer in this beastly, hateful house!
"But Margaret, where's the car?" Charles asked. "Why were you on foot?"
"I ditched it," said Margaret fatalistically.
"Oh!" said Charles. "I suppose it seemed to you to be the only thing to do, but - don't think I'm criticising - why?"
This had the effect of making her laugh, and a great deal of her self-possession was restored. "I didn't do it on purpose. I made a muck of the turn at the gates, and one of the back wheels skidded into the ditch. It'll have to be pulled out. So then I had to walk up to the house. And all this happened." She got up. "I say - do you mind if I don't talk about it any more to-night? I feel a bit queer still, and I think I'd like to go up to bed."
"Of course you shall," Celia said instantly. "Don't worry her with questions, you two. Come along, darling."
At the door Margaret looked back. "Oh, I got the revolvers. They're under the back seat. I thought I'd better tell you."
"Revolvers?" said Mr. Titmarsh blinking. "Dear me, sounds very bloodthirsty. Really I do not think I should advise you to use them, Mr. Malcolm. Tut, tut, there is no knowing whom you might not shoot by mistake."
"Well I can safely promise not to shoot you by mistake," said Charles.
However, this assurance did not relieve Mr. Titmarsh's alarms. He seemed genuinely perturbed, and tried once more to convince the two men that Margaret had been the victim of a hallucination. Neither of them attempted to argue the point, and at last, after refusing the offer of a drink, Mr. Titmarsh took his leave, and made off again down the avenue.
As he shot the bolts of the front door home, Peter looked at Charles. "I think this is where we talk to the District Inspector," he said. "I still don't believe that Titmarsh is the man we're after, but his presence in the grounds at just that moment is a little too significant to be brushed aside."
Charles nodded. "All right, we'll go over to Manfield to-morrow."
It was long before Margaret fell asleep that night. She had omitted any reference to Michael Strange in her account of what happened. Until she started to tell the others all about it she had meant to keep nothing back. And then somehow or other she had left that gap, and at once had been horrified at herself for not telling the whole truth. Only the moment the words "and then Mr. Titmarsh came up' had passed her lips, it had seemed impossible to add, "but before that Michael Strange appeared, and clapped his hand over my mouth." It would look so odd not to have told that first of all. She asked instead to be allowed to go to bed, with a vague idea of thinking the whole situation over. She now realised that it would be far more impossible to say at breakfast next day: "By the way I quite forgot to tell you that Michael Strange was there too."
But on one point her mind was made up. Unless he gave some explanation of his conduct he could not expect her to go on blindly trusting him. She would see him without fail next day, and demand to know what he was doing in the Priory grounds at that hour.
On this resolve she at last fell asleep. When she awoke next morning she did not feel quite as guilty as she had the night before. After all, she thought, if Strange refused to explain himself, it would not be too late to inform the others, and she had no doubt she would be able to think out some plausible reason for not having done so before.
To the questions that Charles and Peter put to her during breakfast she returned perfectly composed replies, but when she learned that they intended to put the matter now into the hands of the County Police she rather changed colour. If a police-inspector were to question her it would be very difficult to know how to answer him. Like most people who have never had any dealings with it she had a somewhat nervous dread of the Law, and a hazy idea that you got had up for not telling the police all you knew. However, it was no good meeting your troubles half-way, and the main thing now was to tackle Michael Strange.
Mrs. Bosanquet, in spite of her own terrifying experience, was quite annoyed to think that Margaret and not she had encountered the Monk. She told Margaret she had missed a great opportunity, and when Charles made a dry reference to the manner in which she had greeted the opportunity when it came to her, she said severely that there were some things that were better forgotten. She was happy in the possession of her planchette, and she proposed that they should have a sitting that very evening.
"In the evening?" Celia said. "Not for worlds! I might summon up enough courage to sit in daylight, but not after dark, thank you!"
"I doubt very much whether we should get any results by day," Mrs. Bosanquet said dubiously. "I know that for some reason or other which I never fathomed spirits seem to find it easier to manifest themselves in the dark."
"Look here!" said Peter, "are we expected to sit round in the dark like a lot of lunatics with our hands on that board?"
"Not, I trust, like a lot of lunatics," Mrs. Bosanquet said coldly.
"I won't do it," Celia announced. "I know what it'll be. Either Chas or Peter will start pushing just to frighten us."
"What I was really thinking of," said Charles meditatively, "was appearing in a false nose and some luminous paint. But I won't if you don't care for the idea."
"Charles," said Celia quite seriously, "unless you swear to me you won't play the fool I'll walk out of this house here and now."
"My dear child," Mrs. Bosanquet said reassuringly, "if you feel any alarm it would be much better if you didn't attempt to sit at all. And of course Charles is only making fun of you."
"But if you're all going to sit I shall have to," Celia said. "I couldn't stay by myself while you conjured up ghosts. I should die of fright."
"I have been told," remarked Mrs. Bosanquet, "though I must say I never experienced anything of the sort myself, that sometimes the spirits actually lift tables off their legs, and give one quite hard knocks to manifest their presence."
"In that case," said Charles, "you can count me out. I'm not going to sit and allow myself to be buffeted about in this or any other cause."
"I think," Mrs. Bosanquet replied, "that we are unlikely to get any results at all if you approach the subject in a spirit of levity."
When breakfast was over Charles and Peter went off to see what could be done about hauling the car out of the ditch. They had no sooner gone than Margaret announced her intention of cycling into the village to buy darning-silk. Celia seemed inclined to accompany her, but since she had promised to go for a sedate walk with Mrs. Bosanquet, she had to give up the idea. She wrote out a list of groceries to be ordered at the village store, and said that she and Mrs. Bosanquet might stroll to meet Margaret on her way home.
Margaret's first house of call was not the village store, but the Bell Inn. She inquired of the porter whether Mr. Strange was in, and while he went to find out, she sat down in the lounge, and watched two rather nondescript females collect their sketching paraphernalia preparatory to setting out. They eyed her with the usual faint air of hostility displayed to one another by most English people, and after ascertaining that they had not forgotten the sandwiches or the camp-stools, or the thermos, soon left her in sole possession of the lounge.
She had not long to wait before the door at one end of the lounge was opened, and Michael Strange came briskly into the room. He did not seem surprised to see her, but said without preamble: "I'm sorry to have been so long, Miss Fortescue: I was just finishing my breakfast. Won't you sit down?"
"I hope I didn't interrupt you," she said stiffly.
"Not at all. It's a disgraceful hour at which to be breakfasting in any case. But I had a very late night."
Margaret fairly gasped. Of all the cool, calm cheek! she thought. She remained standing, and looking him squarely in the face, said: "Mr. Strange, I think you must know why I've come to see you this morning."
The hint of a smile touched his mouth. "I can guess," he said. "I wish you hadn't seen me last night, but you did, and the mischief's done."
Her heart sank. "Then you are the Monk!" she cried sharply.
His brows seemed to snap together over the bridge of his nose. He looked quickly round, and said quietly: "Please don't raise your voice. You don't know who may be listening."
"I don't care," she said.
"But I do," he answered, and moved softly to the door and opened it.
She watched him look down the passage and go to the other door and open that too. "You probably have good reason to care," she shot at him.
"I have," he said imperturbably. He shut the door and came back into the room. "I wish youu would sit down," he said. "And just remember to keep your voice lowered." He pulled a chair forward, and reluctantly she did sit down. "Now then! I suppose if I say I am certainly not the Monk you won't believe me?"
"How can I?" she said. "I saw it last night, and it disappeared into the shadows on the same side of the avenue as you emerged from two minutes later."
He nodded. "It does look black, doesn't it? I don't think I'll waste time in trying to prove my innocence. What I do want to say is this: get out of the Priory, and get out quickly! Never mind why, but just go. I say this as one who - thinks a great deal of your safety. You saw something last night: if you stay you may see much more, and Marg - Miss Fortescue, believe me, I don't want you to run even the slightest chance of getting hurt or frightened."
He spoke with such evident sincerity that she found herself saying in a much friendlier tone: "Mr. Strange, can't you explain yourself? You must see that I can't possibly believe you when you won't - give me any reason for your conduct."
"I can't!" he said. His hand opened and shut. "You mustn't ask me, Miss Fortescue. I'd give anything to be able to take you into my confidence, but it's impossible. For one thing I - well, it's no good: I daren't tell you."
"Daren't?" she repeated. "You are afraid that I should give you away?"
He did not answer for a moment. Then he laid his hand on hers, and clasped it. "Look here, I've undertaken something, and come what may I must carry it through," he said. "When I took it on I didn't bargain for you, but I can't let you make any difference. Only I wish to God you'd clear out of the Priory!"
She withdrew her hand. "Then I am right in thinking that all along you've wanted to get us out of the house?"
"Yes, I have wanted to."
"Why?" she said directly.
"I've told you. It's not safe, and I can't be answerable for what may happen."
"It is not by any chance because our presence interferes with what you are doing?"
"It does interfere, but that is not why I'm so anxious you should go. Miss Fortescue, I don't think there's much I wouldn't do for you, but if you persist in remaining at the Priory I can't guarantee your safety. Do you understand? You'll be running a risk of — danger, and I can't stop it, and I might not be able to help you. And God knows if anything were to happen to you…' He broke off.
She found herself saying: "Well?"
He looked quickly towards her. "I think you must know what I - what I feel about you," he said.
Her eyes fell. "I only know that you don't trust me, though you expect me to trust you," she answered, almost inaudibly.
"It isn't that I don't trust you, but I can't tell you - Oh, damn it all, why did I ever take this on?" He got up abruptly, and began to pace up and down the room.
She watched him in silence for a moment. He was frowning, and when he frowned he did look rather sinister, she thought. "Have you considered that if - that if you think… Have you considered that you might give it up?" she said, stumbling badly.
"No!" he threw over his shoulder. "Not that it would be any good if I did."
There was another short silence. Margaret tried again. "Is what you're doing of such vital importance?" she asked.
"Yes, of vital importance." He came back to her side. "Margaret, if I were at liberty to take you into my confidence I would, but too much hangs on it. I can't do it. I know things look black: they are black, but will you believe that it's not what you think?"
"I don't know quite what to think," she said.
"You've seen me in some odd circumstances, you've seen me do things that look more than suspicious. I don't deny it, and I may have to do things that will seem far more suspicious. But I swear to you I've a good reason for all I do, even though I can't tell you what it is. Margaret, I've no right to ask you, as things are, but will you try and trust me a little longer? Will you trust me sufficiently to do as I beg of you, and leave the Priory till I've finished the job I've undertaken?"
She found it hard to meet his eyes, and felt a wave of colour rise in her cheeks. "Even though I - said yes, my brother and brother-in-law wouldn't go."
"If you can't persuade them they can take their chance," he said. "But will you go? You and your sister, and your aunt?"
She shook her head. "No, I can't do that. You couldn't expect me to go away and leave my brother in danger. And nothing would induce Celia to leave Charles."
He said impatiently: "Good God, haven't you had enough happen in that house to make you see the only thing to do is to clear out?"
At that she looked up. "What do you know about anything that has happened at the Priory?" she asked gravely.
He bit his lip. After a moment she said: "Were you responsible for - things that have happened?"
"I can't answer you, and I don't want to lie to you," he said curtly. "I can only tell you that from me you stand in no danger whatsoever. But I'm not the only one mixed up in this." He made a little gesture of despair. "It's no good going on like this. If you won't go, you won't. But I have warned you, and you can believe that I know what I'm talking about."
She began to twist the strap of her handbag round her finger. "I do believe that you - wouldn't hurt me, or any of us," she began.
He interrupted her. "Hurt you! My God, no! Can't you understand, Margaret? I - I love you!"
She bent her head still lower over the absorbing strap. "Please - you mustn't…!" she said inarticulately.
"I know I mustn't. But you don't know what it's like for me to see you here… I wish to God I'd met you under other circumstances!" He ran his fingers up through his crisp black hair. "And yet I don't know that I'd have had a better chance," he said despondently. "The whole thing seems hopeless, and it's no good for anyone in my - line of business - to think of a girl like you."
In a very muffled voice Margaret said: "If I - if I knew it was honest - I - I shouldn't care - what your line of business was." She tried to achieve a lighter note. "As long as it isn't keeping a butcher's shop, or - or anything like that," she added with a wavering smile.
He made a movement as though he would take her hand again, but checked it. "I've no right to speak at all till I can - clear up all this mess," he said. "But to know that you - well, one day I hope I shall be able to say all the things I want to say now. One thing I must ask you though: Will you trust me enough not to mention to anyone that you saw me in your grounds last night?"
All the reason she possessed told her to say "No," but something far stronger than reason made her say instead: "All right, I — I will."
"My God, you are a wonderful girl," he said unsteadily.
She got up. "I must go. But I'd like to warn you of something. I didn't tell my people that you were there last night. You guessed I hadn't, didn't you? But Peter and Charles have motored into Manfield to-day, to tell the County Police what has been happening at the Priory. And - I think they'll tell the inspector to keep an eye on you."
"Thank-you," he said. His smile flashed out. "Don't worry your head over me," he said. "The police aren't going to get me."
She held out her hand. "I should be - very sorry if they did," she said. "Good-bye."
He took her hand, looked at it for a moment as it lay in his, and then bent his head and kissed it.