She broke off, and turning abruptly away she walked quickly back over the rocks towards the Hotel.
Turning a corner of the cliff she came across Nevile. He was lying full length peering into a rock pool. He looked up and grinned.
“Hullo, Audrey.”
“Hullo, Nevile.”
“I’m watching a crab. Awfully active little beggar. Look, there he is.”
She knelt down and stared where he pointed.
“See him?”
“Yes.”
“Have a cigarette?”
She accepted one and he lighted it for her. After a moment or two, during which she did not look at him, he said, nervously:
“I say, Audrey?”
“Yes.”
“It’s all right, isn’t it? I mean—between us.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“I mean—we’re friends and all that.”
“Oh yes—yes, of course.”
“I do want us to be friends.”
He looked at her anxiously. She gave him a nervous smile.
He said conversationally:
“It’s been a jolly day, hasn’t it? Weather good and all that?”
“Oh yes—yes.”
“Quite hot really for September.”
There was a pause.
“Audrey—”
She got up.
“Your wife wants you. She’s waving to you.”
“Who—oh, Kay.”
“I said your wife.”
He scrambled to his feet and stood looking at her.
He said in a very low voice:
“You’re my wife, Audrey….”
She turned away. Nevile ran down on to the beach and across the sand to join Kay.
IX
On their arrival back at Gull’s Point, Hurstall came out into the hall and spoke to Mary.
“Would you go up at once to her ladyship, Miss? She is feeling very upset and wanted to see you as soon as you got in.”
Mary hurried up the stairs. She found Lady Tressilian looking white and shaken.
“Dear Mary, I’m so glad you have come. I am feeling most distressed. Poor Mr. Treves is dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, isn’t it terrible? So sudden. Apparently he didn’t even get undressed last night. He must have collapsed as soon as he got home.”
“Oh dear, I am sorry.”
“One knows, of course, that he was delicate. A weak heart. I hope nothing happened while he was here to overstrain it? There was nothing indigestible for dinner?”
“I don’t think so—no, I am sure there wasn’t. He seemed quite well and in good spirits.”
“I am really very distressed. I wish, Mary, that you would go to the Balmoral Court and make a few inquiries of Mrs. Rogers. Ask her if there is anything we can do. And then the funeral. For Matthew’s sake I would like to do anything we could. These things are so awkward at a Hotel.”
Mary spoke firmly.
“Dear Camilla, you really must not worry. This has been a shock to you.”
“Indeed it has.”
“I will go to the Balmoral Court at once and then come back and tell you all about things.”
“Thank you, Mary dear, you are always so practical and understanding.”
“Please try and rest now. A shock of this kind is so bad for you.”
Mary Aldin left the room and came downstairs. Entering the drawing room she exclaimed: “Old Mr. Treves is dead. He died last night after returning home.”
“Poor old boy,” exclaimed Nevile. “What was it?”
“Heart apparently. He collapsed as soon as he got in.”
Thomas Royde said thoughtfully:
“I wonder if the stairs did him in.”
“Stairs?” Mary looked at him inquiringly.
“Yes. When Latimer and I left him he was just starting up. We told him to take it slow.”
Mary exclaimed:
“But how very foolish of him not to take the lift.”
“The lift was out of order.”
“Oh, I see. How very unfortunate. Poor old man.”
She added: “I’m going round there now. Camilla wants to know if there is anything we can do.”
Thomas said: “I’ll come with you.”
They walked together down the road and round the corner to the Balmoral Court. Mary remarked:
“I wonder if he has any relatives who ought to be notified?”
“He didn’t mention anyone.”
“No, and people usually do. They say ‘my niece,’ or ‘my cousin.’”
“Was he married?”
“I believe not.”
They entered the open door of the Balmoral Court.
Mrs. Rogers, the proprietress, was talking to a tall middle-aged man, who raised a friendly hand in greeting to Mary.
“Good afternoon, Miss Aldin.”
“Good afternoon, Dr. Lazenby. This is Mr. Royde. We came round with a message from Lady Tressilian to know if there is anything we can do.”
“That’s very kind of you, Miss Aldin,” said the Hotel proprietress. “Come into my room, won’t you?”
They all went into the small comfortable sitting room and Dr. Lazenby said:
“Mr. Treves was dining at your place last night, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“How did he seem? Did he show any signs of distress?”
“No, he seemed very well and cheerful.”
The doctor nodded.
“Yes, that’s the worst of these heart cases. The end is nearly always sudden. I had a look at his prescriptions upstairs and it seems quite clear that he was in a very precarious state of health. I shall communicate with his London doctor, of course.”
“He was very careful of himself always,” said Mrs. Rogers. “And I’m sure he had every care here we could give him.”
“I’m sure of that, Mrs. Rogers,” said the doctor tactfully. “It was just some tiny additional strain, no doubt.”
“Such as walking upstairs,” suggested Mary.
“Yes, that might do it. In fact almost certainly would—that is, if he ever walked up those three flights—but surely he never did anything of that kind?”
“Oh no,” said Mrs. Rogers. “He always used the lift. Always. He was most particular.”
“I mean,” said Mary, “that with the lift being out of order last night—”
Mrs. Rogers was staring at her in surprise.
“But the lift wasn’t out of order at all yesterday, Miss Aldin.”
Thomas Royde coughed.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I came home with Mr. Treves last night. There was a placard on the lift saying ‘Out of order.’”
Mrs. Rogers stared.
“Well, that’s an odd thing. I’d have declared there was nothing wrong with the lift—in fact I’m sure there wasn’t. I’d have heard about it if there was. We haven’t had anything go wrong with the lift (touching wood) since—oh, not for a good eighteen months. Very reliable it is.”
“Perhaps,” suggested the doctor, “some porter or hall boy put that notice up when he was off duty?”
“It’s an automatic lift, doctor, it doesn’t need anyone to work it.”
“Ah yes, so it is. I was forgetting.”
“I’ll have a word with Joe,” said Mrs. Rogers. She bustled out of the room calling, “Joe—Joe.”
Dr. Lazenby looked curiously at Thomas.
“Excuse me, you’re quite sure, Mr.—er—”
“Royde,” put in Mary.
“Quite sure,” said Thomas.
Mrs. Rogers came back with the porter. Joe was emphatic that nothing whatever had been wrong with the lift on the preceding night. There was such a placard as Thomas had described—but it was tucked away under the desk and hadn’t been used for over a year.
They all looked at each other and agreed it was a most mysterious thing. The doctor suggested some practical joke on the part of one of the Hotel visitors, and p
erforce they left it at that.