Part 46 (1/2)

CHAPTER x.x.xI

Hamel set down the lamp upon the table. He glanced at the little clock upon the dresser; it was a quarter past ten. The woman had observed his entrance, although it seemed in no way to have discomposed her.

”Do you know the time, Mrs. c.o.x?” he asked. ”You ought to have been home hours ago. What are you doing there?”

She rose to her feet. Her expression was one of dogged but patient humility.

”I started for home before nine o'clock, sir,” she told him, ”but it was worse than ever to-night. All the way along by the sea I seemed to hear their voices, so I came back. I came back to listen. I have been listening for an hour.”

Hamel looked at her with a frown upon his forehead.

”Mrs. c.o.x,” he said, ”I wish I could understand what it is that you have in your mind. Those are not real voices that you hear; you cannot believe that?”

”Not real voices,” she repeated, without the slightest expression in her tone.

”Of course not! And tell me what connection you find between these fancies of yours and that room? Why do you come and listen here?”

”I do not know,” she answered patiently.

”You must have some reason,” he persisted.

”I have no reason,” she a.s.sured him, ”only some day I shall see behind these doors. Afterwards, I shall hear the voices no more.”

She was busy tying a shawl around her head. Hamel watched her, still puzzled. He could not get rid of the idea that there was some method behind her madness.

”Tell me--I have found you listening here before. Have you ever heard anything suspicious?”

”I have heard nothing yet,” she admitted, ”nothing that counts.”

”Come,” he continued, ”couldn't we clear this matter up sensibly? Do you believe that there is anybody in there? Do you believe the place is being used in any way for a wrong purpose? If so, we will insist upon having the keys from Mr. Fentolin. He cannot refuse. The place is mine.”

”Mr. Fentolin would not give you the keys, sir,” she replied. ”If he did, it would be useless.”

”Would you like me to break the door in?” Hamel asked.

”You could not do it, sir,” she told him, ”not you nor anybody else. The door is thicker than my fist, of solid oak. It was a mechanic from New York who fitted the locks. I have heard it said in the village--Bill Hamas, the carpenter, declares that there are double doors. The workmen who were employed here were housed in a tent upon the beach and sent home the day they finished their job. They were never allowed in the village. They were foreigners, most of them. They came from n.o.body knows where, and when they had finished they disappeared. Why was that, sir?

What is there inside which Mr. Fentolin needs to guard so carefully?”

”Mr. Fentolin has invented something,” Hamel explained. ”He keeps the model in there. Inventors are very jealous of their work.”

She looked down upon the floor for a moment.

”I shall be here at seven o'clock in the morning, sir. I will give you your breakfast at the usual time.”

Hamel opened the door for her.

”Good night, Mrs. c.o.x,” he said. ”Would you like me to walk a little way with you? It's a lonely path to the village, and the dikes are full.”

”Thank you, no, sir,” she replied. ”It's a lonely way, right enough, but it isn't loneliness that frightens me. I am less afraid out with the winds and the darkness than under this roof. If I lose my way and wander all night upon the marsh, I'll be safer out there than you, sir.”

She pa.s.sed away, and Hamel watched her disappear into the darkness. Then he dragged out a bowl of tobacco and filled a pipe. Although he was half ashamed of himself, he strolled back once more into the kitchen, and, drawing up a stool, he sat down just where he had discovered Hannah c.o.x, sat still and listened. No sound of any sort reached him. He sat there for ten minutes. Then he scrambled to his feet.