It appeared that two or three people were gathered by the winch that works the drawbridge and were having great glee in their endeavours. Rusty metal shrilled, a little cloud of laughter burst upward, and the huge bridge descended. There came a thump when the platform settled into place. Then amid a new little cloud of laughter, the winch set to work again, and the bridge commenced to rise.
My attention was diverted by something at my feet, the merest trifle lying at the base of one of the merlons: a twisted strand which might have been part of a piece of light rope. It was about the length of my finger-joint, far from fresh, one end newly abraded, the other decayed. It was, as I said, a trifle, but it was curious. I could not think then, nor can I now, how it got there; and certainly the fresh abrasion was not more than a couple of days old. I had a notion of showing it to Crofts for an opinion, but when I considered what the energetic response of our much-tried host might be when asked to account for a fragment of half-rotten rope, I changed my mind. But I tucked away the strand for future reference.
One last look up and down the empty lawn, and I slipped back into my room.
I recalled my shaving, which now must be rapid if I were to be ready in time for the reading of the play. A few preliminary preparations made, I ran into an unprecedented number of mishaps.
I seemed to have an unsteady fit. Soames had not yet come with the hot water, and I was in a hurry; my watch said a quarter to five. I made a beginning, however, ridding myself of my coat and shirt and addressing myself to the oak chest whereinto I had transferred my things from my bag during the ten-minute interval before luncheon. But at once I realized the unsuitability of sixteenth-century appointments for purposes of personal convenience, for the upper drawer was jammed or stuck. I hauled, jerked, and jogged sidewise. Suddenly, bang! came out the drawer, but the handle had parted from it, and I, handle in hand, staggered back, crash! into a stool in the corner of the room. When I separated myself from the stool, and we were both on our legs again, I recollected that I had tossed my shaving utensils into the drawer of the writing-table, as being readier to hand.
Then indeed I had a brainstorm, an eagerness for haste being added to my disquiet of mind. Soames might be there with the water at any moment, and I not ready. Clutching razor and strop, I looked in vain for a proper place to attach the strop; my dissatisfaction with the old room as a place for personal embellishment was not diminished at all when I finally chose one of the curlicues of the candle-bracket on the north wall for a hook. Like the similar one in the armoury, this was very old, and like the bureau drawer, it seemed malevolent to thwart me. Holding the strop firmly while my razor executed loops and pirouettes, I was aghast a moment later, so suddenly did the fastening of the bracket give way under the strength of my hold upon the strop. Squeak! went the old, damp-rotted iron, the candle-holder on its pivot drooped crazily, and I was staring at the thin red cut beside the finger-nail where the razor-edge had nicked me. This capped the climax.
It was comedy, no doubt. For me, nevertheless, it was a bad half-minute. I smashed the bracket back to uprightness; one blow sufficed, since there had been no fissure in the metal itself. But my finger could not be cured so cavalierly. And shaving now was out of the question before five o’clock! Of such trivialities are wrought either contentment or black spirits.
I chucked away strop and razor and went to the door, wondering what had become of Soames, and shaking off the drops of fresh blood from the index-finger of my left hand.
I heard someone coming up the stairs, and at the same time a peculiar sound of rending rose from the Hall beneath the threshold where I stood, followed by the loud slam of a door.
I said to myself, “There must be someone in the Hall now,” but the next instant thought, and all else, was reft from me.