“Yes?”
“Twitch the curtains so that they are about an inch apart. Then get back quickly.”
She did this without a sound. Derrick lay still, his eyes closed. He knew that a narrow rib of light was streaming out over the sodden lawn and that the one who hid there could view the strange scene inside. Then silence fell. The tick of the clock sounded heavy and fateful. Shadows danced on the oaken walls, as they had danced two years before, and the flicker of fire cast an intermittent glow on Millicent’s face as it looked down from its gilded frame. From a near-by covert came the soft hooting of a barn-owl.
A faint whisper from the outer world reached Derrick, lying motionless with the blood pounding in his temples. It was that of movement, not sound; the merest fraction of movement, and transmitted by the most delicate waves of air. His senses, tuned to the utmost pitch, caught this, though it was no more than the suggestion that the atmosphere had been displaced not far off. Close to him some one had changed position. That was all he knew, and by the quality of this sensation he also guessed that the change had been made stealthily.
In the midst of this, and while the air seemed to transmit a steady singing monotone, came a sharp knock at the front door. He held his breath for the click of the latch, presently catching Burke’s voice, deep and husky. Followed a sound of heavy feet, and Perkins’s tap at the study door. She waited a moment; Derrick felt a slight draft and knew she was in the room with the two men behind her.
From Martin came a strange, throaty cry, and from the woman a choking gasp. Derrick’s hair prickled, and all power seemed to leave him. Again the gasp. Then flying feet crossed the floor with inconceivable swiftness, and Perkins flung herself beside his chair. He felt the grip of frenzied arms on his shoulders and heard tones of unutterable anguish.
“Master, master, what is it? Speak to me, speak to me! You’re not dead! I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know I did it. I was asleep; don’t you understand? And when I woke your blood was on my hands. Speak to me, master; for God’s sake, speak!”
For an instant Derrick was unable to move. Perkins crouched on the floor beside him, her body shaking, her face buried in her arms. Another cry from Martin, and he plunged, dragging Burke with him. He put his one free hand on the woman’s head.
“Don’t you go on like that, lass. It’s only a plant. You didn’t do it. I’ll swear you didn’t.”
Perkins staggered to her feet. Her eyes were glazed. She stared wildly up at Martin, then at the sergeant as though she did not see him, then at the French window. The curtains had parted, and in the gap crouched the tense figure of Blunt, poised for a spring. At this last, her features became distorted. All the suffering of the damned crowded into them. With a motion of incredible swiftness, she grasped the creese and plunged it into her heart. Simultaneously Blunt darted forward.