Voices in a Haunted Room

“That I don’t know, Madam.”

“All right. Thank you very much.”

I hurried back to Jonathan. As I mounted my horse I said: “He’s been ... and he’s gone.”

“That could mean he is trying to get to France. You stay behind. Make sure you hold Grafter till I return.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

He was off and I was beside him.

I shouted: “How will you find him? He could be anywhere along the coast.”

“We’ll go where you found him.”

“It’s a lonely spot.”

“Isn’t there a dilapidated boathouse somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“It is possible that he has anticipated an urgent flight. I wonder what was in that boathouse?”

“Nobody ever goes there. It will be washed out to sea one of these days. It only needs a gale to break it up.”

“But it would serve to keep a boat in readiness.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Dear Claudine, my way of life leads me to believe everything is possible.”

“If he is not there ... what then?”

“I shall go along the coast. He’s got to be stopped getting away. They will all be alerted. Unless my theory is correct and he has a boat in readiness, he is not going to find it very easy to get out of England.”

“There are many coves and bays along the coast which are isolated.”

“He’ll need a boat and that will be difficult.” We were off again and it was only when we were forced to slow down that we could talk.

I could smell the sea now, hear the melancholy cry of the gulls. We had galloped down to the bay. This was the spot where Evie and Dolly had called me to their aid when they found Alberic.

We went down to the sandy beach.

I stared. A little boat was a short distance out at sea bobbing on the waves.

“Alberic,” I shouted.

He was battling with the oars, desperately trying to fight the sea. He could not possibly hope to cross the Channel in such a boat, could he? Perhaps it was just possible and he was a desperate man.

Jonathan stood there watching. He was looking helplessly about him, There was no one in sight, no vessel which could take us after the fugitive.

We had come so far; we were in sight of our prey and the wind was helping to carry him out of our reach.

Alberic had now shipped his oars and was letting the wind act for him. For a few seconds we stood there staring at the little craft bobbing about on the waves, every second being carried farther away from the English coast.

I was close to Jonathan and the explosion nearly knocked me off my feet.

I was looking out to sea. As far as I could discern, Alberic was slumped over the side of the boat. It turned over suddenly and Alberic was in the sea. Jonathan lifted his gun and fired again. I saw the reddish tint on the water all round the boat.

Jonathan stood still watching. It seemed a very long time that we stood there. The waves were tossing the boat about as though it were light as air. It was being carried out to sea. I watched it go farther and farther away.

There was no sign of Alberic.

I turned to Jonathan. I had a great impulse to run away, to be alone, to overcome this terrible emotion which beset me. I had never seen a man kill another before.

Alberic is dead, I kept thinking. Jonathan killed him. Death is awesome; even the deaths of those one does not know affect one. And this is someone with whom I have laughed and joked ... someone merry, and happy and good-natured. It had shattered my peace to see him killed by a man with whom I had shared the utmost intimacy.

Jonathan breathed with satisfaction.

I said: “You killed him. You killed Alberic.”

“That was lucky. Half an hour later and I should have been too late.”

“But we knew him. Aunt Sophie was fond of him ... and now he is dead.”

He took me by the shoulders and shook me. “Stop it,” he said. “You’re getting hysterical.

He’s dead, yes, and rightly so. How many people do you think might die if he were allowed to continue with his work? Your own grandmother was murdered by his kind.

Thank God we found out what he really was.”

“You ... you’re quite callous ...”

“When it comes to his sort, yes. I have no more compunction in killing him than I would a snake.”

I put my hands to my face and felt the tears there.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be a fool, Claudine. We were out to catch him ... and we’ve caught him.”

I looked at him in horror and I said: “But it was because of me ... don’t you see?

It was I who saw him. It was I who told ... and because of that he’s dead. I killed him, in a way.”

“Congratulate yourself. One more little spy eliminated. You did good work, Claudine.”

“I ... killed him. I have committed adultery and now ... murder.”

He burst out laughing. It did not occur to me that he, too, was overwrought. He had just killed a man, a man whom we had all known, and he had ridden full speed from London in pursuit of that man. I had glimpsed the ruthlessness of him, which I had always known was there, but I had never seen it put to such practice as I had in the last half hour.