Derek Capel hastened up the drive. Somewhere an owl hooted dismally, and the sound tore at the man’s nerves. To him the house that sheltered Eleanor Appleby seemed a place of queer dread tonight, yet it lured him on, drew him unresistingly as if on a cord.
He rang the front-door bell, and was almost glad to see the bulky figure of Professor Appleby coming himself to answer it.
They kept up an appearance of neighbourly friendship, though Derek Capel was sensible of a latent suspicion, mingled with cunning amusement, in Professor Appleby’s eyes at times as he regarded him. The professor seemed delighted to cast Derek Capel and Eleanor together as much as possible, though he was always there to watch them. The younger man had no doubt but that Professor Appleby guessed his secret, and took a malicious enjoyment in taunting him.
Himself, Derek Capel, cherished a flaring hatred for the scientist. It was a hatred that almost frightened him by its violence. He conceived that even if Professor Appleby had not married Eleanor, they were born for mutual dislike. The astonishing part was that he dissembled his real feelings with a cunning that was alien to him. He pretended to a hearty good-fellowship with his neighbour.
… And all the time in his heart there was that bitter hatred that went hungry for revenge.
Professor Appleby’s white shirt front gleamed at him as the door opened. The great white face with its peculiarly bright eyes dropped the monocle, the eyebrows lifted in surprise, and the lips twitched with their hateful smile.
‘Why, it’s Capel! Come to give us a look-up on his midnight tear through the country.’
‘Frightfully sorry if I’m worrying you,’ said Derek Capel hastily. ‘I saw the light in your windows, so I thought I’d look in and see whether you were up. Fact is I’ve been carrying this book you wanted about with me in the car, and it’s just occurred to me.’
He held out the book, and his host immediately pounced on it. He turned over its binding, and in a new tone of cordiality invited his midnight guest into the study.
For a moment Professor Appleby was a different man. He was genuinely pleased with the volume Derek Capel had brought him, and he turned its leaves with the delicacy and care of the true bibliophile. It was a rare old volume.
All at once, however, Professor Appleby looked across at his visitor with hooded eyes.
‘But Eleanor would be charmed to see you,’ he said, with a vague note of mockery. ‘I believe she has retired to her room, but I am sure not yet to bed. We will ring and see whether she is disposed to grace our company with her presence.’
And with that twitching smile on his lips he crossed to the bell-push.
Vera, the house parlourmaid, answered the ring, her eyes red from crying. She scowled at her master’s urbane request, but vanished without a word. And in a few minutes Eleanor Appleby entered the study.
She came forward, smiling through her fear, and put out a cool little hand to Derek, looking entirely adorable and desirable in her gown of cream ninon and lace. The sight of her set Derek Capel afire, and in his smile and greeting as he took her hand there was a wealth of significance which did not escape the basilisk eyes of Professor Appleby.
Eleanor’s heart beat quicker with fear as she looked at her husband. Nothing escaped him. He was smiling now with that twitching of his lips as he looked down at the book, and there was something about his pretence at preoccupation that was very sinister.
‘Here it is,’ he said suddenly, in his slightly shrill voice. And his interest in the book was now very real. ‘It is, as I suspected, made up to my own formula. A poison that leaves no trace. I have it there,’ he went on in some excitement, pointing to the chemical cabinet. ‘You see!—In that little blue bottle! I have not experimented with it yet, but I am almost assured that it will prove to be what I claim.’
Involuntarily Eleanor Portal and Derek Capel exchanged glances.
Impelled by a fascination she could not understand or resist, Eleanor crossed to the medicine chest and reached out a delicate hand for the little blue-black bottle labelled ‘Poison,’ which stood there, and at which the professor had pointed.
Revulsion and attraction were pulling different ways with her. She had a shuddering impulse to throw up her arm across her forehead, to shield her gaze from that impish black bottle. And yet another thought came into her brain. If the worst came to the worst it would be—useful!
Professor Appleby was watching the play of emotion on her face closely, and suddenly as she was about to take the bottle he shot out an arm and grasped her wrist.
‘I don’t think,’ he said curtly, ‘that we’ll allow you to try any experiments with that bottle. They might have unfortunate results.’
She dropped her gaze, trembling violently.
Professor Appleby was, indeed, in one of his queer moods tonight, and electric tension hung in the air. But he was all urbanity as he turned once more to Derek Capel.
‘You must have a spot of something, old fellow, after your drive. What is it to be? Whisky, eh?’
‘Just a finger,’ agreed Derek nonchalantly.
But directly the professor’s back was turned to go for the drinks, Derek’s dark, handsome eyes sought and met Eleanor’s. He asked questions barely in a whisper. What happened? Had he ill-treated her? How could he help?
Impulsively Derek’s hand went out and found that of the woman he loved. She did not resist. Indeed, she clung to it. She was scarcely conscious of what she did; only knew that her heart was breaking with sorrow—and that Derek Capel was a very dear and old friend.
It was then, as they stood intimately near to one another, that Professor Appleby glanced in the mirror hanging against the wall—a mirror that reflected them both. A terrible savagery fleeted across his features, and there was a flash like summer lightning in his eyes.
He had suspected it. But the actual proof roused the raging beast in him.
He turned, and like a hawk from the wrist of the hunter, struck across the room, and seized his wife’s wrist in a grip of iron. She cried out at the pain of his grip, but he was brutally savage now, his thick underlip protruding as he thrust her towards the door.
‘Another lover, eh?’ he hissed as he pushed her past the curtains. ‘I’ll attend to him. Get up to your room.’
He watched her as she staggered rather than walked up the staircase, her slim shoulders shaking. At length, moistening his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, he strode back to the study.
Derek Capel was still there, standing near the shaded lamp. His arms were folded, and he appeared to be quite dispassionate. Professor Appleby, a monstrous glowering figure, came forward to the desk, and peered at him for a long moment as a mastiff might peer at a pup.
Derek Capel, faintly amused, returned his glance steadily and disdainfully.
At last Professor Appleby took up his wine glass, but paused to make remark.
‘Generally I would feel inclined to snap a man’s spine if he paid too much attention to my wife. But in this case it’s Eleanor who will pay.’ He rocked back on his heels with a tinny cackle. ‘You fool, Capel, you love her—but she’s mine. And tonight she’ll pay—pay—pay!’
Derek Capel snapped open his cigarette case, and lit one of the white tubes with a hand that was a trifle unsteady. The blue smoke streamed from his nostrils as he silently consumed the cigarette. He evidently badly needed the sedative. But he would not touch the whisky that had been poured out for him.
At last with his upper lip lifting in what was almost a silent snarl, he reached for his coat and hat, and slung the former over his arm, strolling towards the door. On the threshold he turned. ‘You cur, Appleby,’ he said, very quietly and contemptuously. ‘You cur! You’re not fit to have the care of a woman. I feel that you’re vile—one of the vilest things God made. Be very careful that it is not you who