Before the end of the day I heard that Mrs. Saunders had disappeared, without any warning or any application for payment of her services, as soon as Sarah had been taken off to the lunatic asylum. She had spared us any pangs of self-reproach on her account, however, by taking with her Mrs. Rayner’s watch, and also the cook’s, which had been left in the rooms of their respective owners.
“She doesn’t expect to see Mr. Rayner again then,” I whispered to Mrs. Rayner, who came to my bedside to tell me the news, “or she would never dare to do that.”
And, persuaded by me, Mrs. Rayner, now relieved of any dread on Sarah’s account, returned to the front spare-room, which, however disagreeable the remembrance of Sarah’s mad attempt on her life might be, was at any rate healthier than the dungeon in the left wing. There was really nothing to keep the poor lady at the Alders now, as I told Laurence by letter that evening all that Gordon had said to me in the store-room, and the idea gained ground that Mr. Rayner had gone to America. But she insisted upon remaining until I was well enough to be moved, an event which I had myself retarded by rashly leaving my room three times since I had been told to keep to my bed.
Next day, which was Saturday, Laurence wrote to say that he had himself searched the store-room and Mr. Rayner’s study, but had found no trace of Gordon beyond a pair of handcuffs placed neatly in the middle of the store-room on the top of a pyramid of biscuit-tins and pickle-jars, with a sheet of paper saying that the late wearer begged to return them with thanks to the police, who might perhaps succeed in making them stay longer on the wrists of a simpler rogue than their obedient servant, F. Gordon.
Those days that I spent in bed were a miserable time for all of us. The suspense we were all in—never sure whether Mr. Rayner was in America or whether he might not be really close to us all the time. The bits of news brought us from hour to hour by the awe-stricken Jane—first that there was a large reward offered for his capture; then rumors, which always proved to be false, of his having been caught; then complaints of the number of people who came just to look at the outside of the house that the ugly stories were being told about! For the facts fell far short of the accounts which were freely circulated—of there being a cellar full of human bones, supposed to be the remains of Mr. Rayner’s victims, under the Alders; that the household consisted entirely of women whom he had married at one time or another; and so forth.
Meanwhile the fog still hung about the place, and Nap, the retriever, howled every night. When Monday came, I, anxious to be declared convalescent as soon as possible, and to be able to avail myself of Mrs. Manners’s invitation to stay at the Vicarage, persuaded Doctor Lowe to let me go downstairs. It was about twelve o’clock when I left my room, and I had made my way as far as the corridor below, when I became aware of an unusual commotion on the ground-floor, doors being opened and shut, the sobbing of a woman, excited whisperings between Jane and the cook, and then a heavy tramp, tramp of men’s feet through the hall and along the passage to Mr. Rayner’s study.
I went to the top of the back staircase, descended a few steps, and looked over. The gardener and Sam were carrying between them a door, on which something was lying covered by a sheet. The cook opened the study-door, and they took it in. A horrible dread filled my mind and kept me powerless for a few moments. Then I ran along the corridor, down the front staircase, and met little Haidee with awe on her childish face.
“Oh, Miss Christie,” she whispered, clutching my arm in terror, “they’ve found papa!”
Jane ran forward and caught me as I tottered in the child’s clasp. Before I had recovered sufficiently to go to Mrs. Rayner in the drawing-room, Laurence and Mrs. Manners arrived, having heard the ghastly news already. They took us over to the Vicarage at once, and I never entered the Alders again.
In the evening Laurence told me all about the discovery. The gardener, who had done little work for the last few days beyond keeping the gate locked and driving away with a whip the boys who would swarm over when they got a chance, “just to have a look at the place,” had been attracted that morning by the shrill cries of Mona, who, now more neglected than ever, spent all day in the garden in spite of the fog. He ran to the pond, where she was nearly always to be found, and whence her cries came, fearing she had fallen in. But he found her standing in the mud on the edge of it, screaming, “Come out, come out!” and clutching with a stick at an object in the water. It was the body of her father, entangled among the reeds.