Driving back to his own rooms, he found, however, that it was not Flavelle Bruton who held his thoughts, but Moncrieff, the subject of his next canvas.
The telephone rang as he closed his own front door behind him. "Yes. Santley speaking," he said into it.
"At last!" came in Goodenough's voice. "I've been trying every half-hour to ring you up. Look here, can I drop in for a word with you? You're off to-morrow morning, aren't you?"
"Yes. Come round by all means."
Santley took but little sleep as a rule. But Goodenough did not stop long. He looked very disturbed as he came in.
"I had a talk with Mrs. Phillimore this afternoon," he began. "She said that she had spoken to you. She wants me to get Ann away from Beechcroft. Wouldn't give any reason, any reason which was a reason...Then about half an hour ago she rang up and said she could now tell me what was wrong at Beechcroft, it was the drains! Now what do you suppose she meant by that? All she said this afternoon was that she thought Ann should not stay down there. I tried to get Ann on the 'phone, of course, but couldn't. She had taken the children for a picnic. What's it all about?"
"The drains, I was told," Santley said firmly, and to that he stuck.
He had no intention of spreading tales about the young couple. As for Mrs. Phillimore's real fear, it was far too ghastly to speak of without some personal experience to back it up. But if she were right and the Major really was not always in his right mind, then it stood to reason that Ann Bladeshaw and the children too, ought not to be down there.
"I should get her away, I think," he said now. "Drains are dangerous things to be wrong in an old house. Did Mrs. Phillimore say anything about the twins?"
"Not a word. It's all extraordinary. So sudden! So vague! Precious disturbing!" and Goodenough looked genuinely disturbed. "I had an idea, when she spoke to me, that she was hinting at trouble between Lavinia and Moncrieff, but apparently I was wrong?" He looked at Santley, who shook his head as though he knew nothing of such an idea.
Goodenough, a year ago, had been very attentive to Lavinia. So much so that people had talked about it. But Lavinia, as Santley knew, was devoted to her husband. He would never forget the tone of her voice when she had told him that his own feeling for her was hopeless, that she was going to marry Harry Moncrieff. And he had seen only this evening that she had not changed...His last sight of her had been as she turned to Moncrieff again, with a look of almost infatuated devotion in her eyes. Mrs. Phillimore had said she was hypnotised. It was self-hypnosis in that case. Goodenough had transferred his affections, if they had ever been bestowed on Lavinia, to Ann Bladeshaw as soon as he met the gay, cheerful girl, and Lavinia very much encouraged the friendship between the two.
"I haven't any authority with Ann," Goodenough now said, "nor do I understand what Mrs. Phillimore is driving at...if the twins can stay there, why can't Ann? Just when I'm going down for a week-end. I'm dashed if I grasp the old lady's game..."
Goodenough looked vexed. And no wonder, Santley thought, it did sound inconsiderate...and incomprehensible...
"She spoke of having a talk to Ayres about the kids being there at all," Goodenough went on frowningly.
Ayres was Moncrieff's partner in some patents which the Major was putting on the market, and he was also co-trustee with Moncrieff for the twins.
"I rang him up just now, and he says he can't think what Mrs. Phillimore's getting at. That he knows of nothing wrong. He's going down there for these tableaux too. He ought to know...It's all uncommonly funny, if you ask me!"
Santley had not asked Goodenough, and did not want Goodenough to ask him any more questions. He suggested that as they were both going down to Beechcroft next week—
"I'm not going if Ann's not there!" Goodenough said to that.
"They're counting on you," Santley tried to soothe him down, and finally, after fuming a bit more and lighting cigarettes and flinging them half smoked into the hearth, Goodenough decided to have a talk with Ayres next morning, and get him to use his influence to have the twins and their governess stay where they were, at least until after the coming week.
CHAPTER III.
A VISIT TO BRUSSELS, AND A LOST BOX OF CHOCOLATES
NEXT morning, Santley was at the Victoria Air Terminus station when a hand touched his arm. It was Lavinia Moncrieff. She had a small package, obviously from a confectioners, dangling in her hand from a pink and silver ribbon. Across the top, also in pink and silver, was the name of a very smart sweet-shop.
"I wondered if you would be kind enough to take this to Brussels for me. You know the Hotel Adolphe Max? Yes, I thought you would be going there as you're flying over. Will you give this to the head porter? It's for his little daughter. See, I've written her name on it. She's learning English, and I promised her some English chocolates last time I was over there."
Santley saw the name Gudule Broukere in Lavinia's small writing, and below, "English sweets to help with English verbs." Privately, he thought that sending chocolates to Brussels was like taking coals to Newcastle, but he said he would take charge of the little box with pleasure.
"It's under a pound," she went on, "so even if you have to pay duty it won't be much. Let me know if you do, won't you?" She left him almost immediately with a charming smile and wave of her hand.
Santley put the box in the pocket of his summer overcoat, which he hung over the back of his seat in the air-liner. Then he got out some papers and looked at designs. He felt something twitch him as they were nearly in. He looked around. Two men were in the seat behind him, one was leaning forward, apparently trying to see something of the Belgian coast far below, the other appeared to be asleep. But he had drawn the end of Santley's coat over his knees and this was what had roused the artist from his study of an old Flemish border design.
Santley saw no reason why the man needed a rug, nor even so, why his coat should serve for one, and picking up the overcoat, he laid it folded beside him. But there was no box of sweets in the pocket. He sat around instantly, saw the box on the floor, made a long arm, and picked it up, looking indignantly at the sleeper who, apparently, was quite oblivious of it.
Santley was well known to the douaniers of the Brussels Aerodrome, and with a smile they waved the little box of chocolates aside as of no importance. Arrived at his hotel, after securing his rooms, he asked for Monsieur Broukere, the head porter, saying that he had a little box of sweets for his daughter sent her by an English lady.
He was told that the man had had an accident only this morning. A car had run him down in the Avenue outside, and he was now in the hospital of St. Jean Tenoode near by, with a broken arm. Santley decided to go to the hospital, which was only a few minutes' drive away, and hand him the box personally. Visitors' hour at the hospital for the private rooms was from four to five, he was told. It was now just past three. His head weaver would be at the hotel at five for the alterations and dye patterns...Santley thought that he could fill in a half-hour very nicely by a nap on his bed. He fell asleep almost instantly, and woke with a start to see his door gently closing. He had asked the chambermaid to call him at a quarter to four without fail. Probably some servant had strayed in, found a visitor in occupation, and retired. Santley watched the door being closed with elaborate caution. The hand that was drawing it shut was a man's hand, brown and muscular, with a nail on the first finger which had evidently been crushed many years ago and still showed as an oval of corrugated blue and purple.
Santley looked at his watch. He had been asleep only twenty minutes, but he felt refreshed, and getting