The Hound of Death - Agatha Christie [64]
We examined it closely. He looked at me and I nodded.
‘Cat’s claws,’ he said, drawing in his breath sharply. ‘Unmistakable.’ His eyes went from the chair to the closed door. ‘That’s the person who is menaced. Lady Carmichael!’
I slept no more that night. Things had come to a pass where something must be done. As far as I knew there was only one person who had the key to the situation. I suspected Lady Carmichael of knowing more than she chose to tell.
She was deathly pale when she came down the next morning, and only toyed with the food on her plate. I was sure that only an iron determination kept her from breaking down. After breakfast I requested a few words with her. I went straight to the point.
‘Lady Carmichael,’ I said. ‘I have reason to believe that you are in very grave danger.’
‘Indeed?’ She braved it out with wonderful unconcern.
‘There is in this house,’ I continued, ‘A Thing–a Presence–that is obviously hostile to you.’
‘What nonsense,’ she murmured scornfully. ‘As if I believed in any rubbish of that kind.’
‘The chair outside your door,’ I remarked drily, ‘was ripped to ribbons last night.’
‘Indeed?’ With raised eyebrows she pretended surprise, but I saw that I had told her nothing she did not know. ‘Some stupid practical joke, I suppose.’
‘It was not that,’ I replied with some feeling. ‘And I want you to tell me–for your own sake–’ I paused.
‘Tell you what?’ she queried.
‘Anything that can throw light on the matter,’ I said gravely.
She laughed.
‘I know nothing,’ she said. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
And no warnings of danger could induce her to relax the statement. Yet I was convinced that she did know a great deal more than any of us, and held some clue to the affair of which we were absolutely ignorant. But I saw that it was quite impossible to make her speak.
I determined, however, to take every precaution that I could, convinced as I was that she was menaced by a very real and immediate danger. Before she went to her room the following night Settle and I made a thorough examination of it. We had agreed that we would take it in turns to watch the passage.
I took the first watch, which passed without incident, and at three o’clock Settle relieved me. I was tired after my sleepless night the day before, and dropped off at once. And I had a very curious dream.
I dreamed that the grey cat was sitting at the foot of my bed and that its eyes were fixed on mine with a curious pleading. Then, with the ease of dreams, I knew that the creature wanted me to follow it. I did so, and it led me down the great staircase and right to the opposite wing of the house to a room which was obviously the library.
It paused there at one side of the room and raised its front paws till they rested on one of the lower shelves of books, while it gazed at me once more with that same moving look of appeal.
Then–cat and library faded, and I awoke to find that morning had come.
Settle’s watch had passed without incident, but he was keenly interested to hear of my dream. At my request he took me to the library, which coincided in every particular with my vision of it. I could even point out the exact spot where the animal had given me that last sad look.
We both stood there in silent perplexity. Suddenly an idea occurred to me, and I stooped to read the title of the book in that exact place. I noticed that there was a gap in the line.
‘Some book has been taken out of here,’ I said to Settle.
He stooped also to the shelf.
‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘There’s a nail at the back here that has torn off a fragment of the missing volume.’
He detached the little scrap of paper with care. It was not more than an inch square–but on it were printed two significant words: ‘The cat…’
‘This thing gives me the creeps,’ said Settle. ‘It’s simply horribly uncanny.’
‘I’d give anything to know,’ I said, ‘what book it is that is missing from here. Do you think there is any way of finding out?’
‘May be a catalogue somewhere. Perhaps Lady Carmichael–’
I shook my head.
‘Lady Carmichael will tell you nothing.’
‘You think so?’
‘I