“I’m really all right again, thanks. I shan’t worry a bit now. Things are quite different—and I can wait for the Kestrel.”
Chapter IX
For almost a week, Friocksheim had been under strain. First had come the sultry spell, days of oppressive heat which set sensitive nerves on edge and brought a certain lassitude to even the most active of the guests. The storm, though it cleared the physical atmosphere, had coincided with the creation of a fresh tension. A cloud of suspicion, heavier than the cumulus in the sky, had settled down upon the house; and as the days passed without any sign of its dispersion, its influence showed more and more clearly among the house-party. Even Douglas Fairmile’s normal high spirits were unable to resist it entirely.
“Something will have to be done about this business, Conway,” he complained, as they sat smoking in the Corinthian’s Room in the afternoon. “It’s gone on for three days now, and everyone’s feeling it more or less. We’re all getting off our feed, metaphorically of course.”
Conway Westenhanger nodded without taking his eyes from the tapestry on the wall. He seemed to be studying it closely; but in reality Diana’s hunting hardly impinged on his attention. Like Douglas, he was feeling the strain, although personally he was free from any suspicion.
“Unrestful atmosphere, right enough,” he commented, shortly.
Douglas made a gesture of impotent irritation.
“Everything’s at sixes and sevens,” he went on. “Even old Rollo—decent bird—is getting too much for me. If the talk drifts round towards the root of the trouble, he just smiles that far-away smile of his—as if he was thinking about something else entirely—and one almost expects him to tell us again that it’s all right, that the damned thing will turn up again in due course, and that we needn’t worry over it. Politeness carried to that pitch is enervating, Conway. That’s a fact.”
“I feel the same myself. But somehow, he’s almost beginning to make me believe he really means it. A kind of hypnotic suggestion, I suppose. It’s impressive, whether you like it or not, to see a man take a loss like that so quietly. I couldn’t do it.”
“Nor I. But he’ll have the lot of us in the jumps if this goes on. I’m not a suspicious oaf like Freddie, but it irks me all the same. It’s not so much that there’s a thief among us that bothers me. We’ve mixed with all these people before—bar Wraxall. What really puts my nerves on edge is that I don’t know which of ’em’s the thief, I want to see the rest of us cleared.”