Dog of Death By Agatha Christie

The Danger #2

“Ya, and several others.” Mrs. Thompson's yawn.

“I'm so tired. My energy is completely drained. That's what activities are like this. I'm glad everything went well. I was a bit afraid that just in case it was unsatisfactory, afraid that something unpleasant would happen. There's something weird in this room tonight.”

He turned to the side of his fat shoulder in turn, then shrugged uncomfortably.

“I feel uncomfortable,” he said.

“Some have suffered sudden death among you lately?”

“What do you mean... among us?”

“Close friends....close friends? There ain't? Well, if I want to be melodramatic, I feel like there's a death smelling in the air tonight. Aah, it's just my mind that doesn't make sense. Good night, Mrs. Trent. I'm glad you feel

satisfied.”

Then Mrs. Thompson who was wearing the dark red velvet dress walked out.

“I hope you are interested, Sir Alington,” Claire said slowly.

“A very interesting night, good mistress. Thank you so much for this opportunity. Let me say good night. You're all going to dance, aren't you?”

“What do you not come with us?”

“No, no. It has become my habit to sleep at half twelve. Good evening. Good night, Mrs. Eversleighs. Uh! Dermot, I have something to talk to you about. Can you come with me now? You can join the others at Graflon Galleries.”

“Sure, Uncle. I'll catch up with Trent.”

There wasn't much the uncle and niece talked about along the short drive to Harley Street. Sir Alington apologizes for having Dermot with him, and insists he only needs a few minutes to talk.

“Should I have the car waiting for you, son?” ask them when they come down.

“Oh, don't bother, Uncle. I'll take a taxi later.”

“Good. I don't want Charlson waiting too late if I don't have to. Good night, Charlson. Well, where do I put my keys?”

The car drove away, while Sir Alington stood on the steps in vain checking his pockets.

“Definitely left in the other coat,” he said finally.

“Can you please push the bell? I'm sure Johnson hasn't slept.” The quiet Johnson opened the door sixty seconds later.

“Misplaced key, Johnson,” Sir Alington explained.

“Please bring two glasses of whiskey and soda to the library, yes?”

“Good, Sir Alington.”

Sir Alington stepped into the library room and turned on the lights. He hinted at Dermot to close the door after entering.

“I won't be long. Dermots. There's something I want to tell you. Is this just my shadow, or do you have any special feelings for Mrs. Jack Trent?” Dermot's face flushed.

“Jack Trent is my best friend.”

“I'm sorry, but that doesn't answer my question at all. I'm sure you consider my views on divorce and such things to be too puritanical, but I must remind you that you're my only close relative and my heir “

“There will be no divorce,” said Dermot angrily.

“There is none, for reasons that may be more understandable to me than to you. I can't explain that excuse right now, but I want to warn you. Claire Trent isn't right for you.” Dermot looked at his uncle's eyes sharply.

“I understand.. and let me say that maybe I understand better than Uncle thought. I know the reason for Uncle's presence at dinner last.”

“O yes?” Sir Alington was obviously surprised.

“How can you know?”

“Think it's just a guess, sir. My words are correct no, that Uncle is present for reasons related to Uncle.” profession.

Sir Alington paced in the room.

“You're absolutely right, Dermot. But of course I can't tell you, although I think soon this secret will spread as well.” Dermot felt his heart jump.

“I mean Uncle, Uncle already... drawing conclusions?”

“Yes, there's madness in that family from the mother's side. A sad case.. very very very sad.”.

"I can't believe it, sir. I'm sure I didn't. For the public, there are very few signs

the visible.”

“And for the experts?”

“The evidence is clear. In such cases, the patient must be admitted to a mental hospital, as soon as possible.”

“Yes Lord!” Dermot gasp.

“But people can't be hurt like that just like that.”

“Dermot! Patients in mental hospitals only if their presence in the middle of the community can endanger the community.”

“This danger is very serious. Most likely he was homicidal munia. That's what happened in his mother's case.” Dermot looked away while groaning, then

put his face in both hands. Claire, the white and golden-haired Claire!

“In this circumstance,” Sir Alington continues casually.

”I feel obliged to warn you.”

“Claire,” murmur Dermot.

“Claire my poor.”

“Yes, indeed, we should all feel sorry for him.” Dermot raised his head.

“I can't believe.”

“What?”

“Say I'm not a reaya. Doctors can make mistakes. Everybody knows that. And they always pretentious when it comes to their field.”

“Dermot,” said Sir Alington angrily.

“Say I'm not a reaya. And if that's true, I don't care. I love Claire. If he wants to come with me, I'll take him away out of the reach of meddling doctors. I'll take care of him, take care of him, take care of him,

cover it with my love.”

“You can't do that. Are you crazy?”,

Dermot laughed mockingly.

“You will definitely assume so I'm sure.”

“Try to understand, Dermot.” Sir Alington's face was reddened by stifled anger.

“If you do that act, that shameful act, it's over. I will withdraw the allowance I currently give you, and I will make a new will, leaving my entire fortune to the various hospitals “

“Please do as Uncle pleases with the money,” Dermot said in a soft voice.

“I still must have the woman I love.”

“Women who..”

“Uncle dared to say one word of steel that vilified him, and for God's sake, I will kill Uncle!” shout Dermot.

The soft sound of the clink of the glass made them both turn their bodies. Burned by their argument earlier, the two did not hear Johnson step in with a tray of glasses. His face still did not show any expression, as a good servant would, but Dermot wondered how much he had been up to.

“That's it, Johnson,” Sir Alington said firmly. “You can go to sleep.”

“Thank you, Sir. Good night, Sir.” Johnson has resigned.

The two men looked at each other. The momentary interruption had eased their anger.

“Uncle,” says Dermot,

“shouldn't I have spoken rudely like that. I understand that from Uncle's point of view. Uncle is right. But I've loved Claire Trent for a long time. So far, I've never expressed my love for Claire, because Jack Trent is my best friend. But given the current situation, that fact doesn't matter anymore. It's wrong that Uncle thinks the money factor can make me change my mind. I don't think there's anything more to talk about between us. Good night.”

“Dermot..”.

“Really, there is no point in arguing further. Good night, Uncle Alington. I'm sorry, but how else.”

Dermot quickly walked out, closing the door behind him. The hallway was pitch-black. He passed by, opened the front door and went out into the street, slamming the door behind him.

A taxi had just dropped off a passenger at the house ahead of it, and Dermot stopped it, then set off for the Grafton Galleries.

At the door of the dance hall he stood for a moment. Confused, his head turned. Low-boistering jazz music. The women who smile. It felt like stepping into another world.

Was he dreaming? It was impossible that the unfriendly conversation with his uncle had actually taken place. Therehewas.

Claire stepped past, like a lily in a silvery-white dress that was tightly attached to her slender body. He smiled at Dermot, his face calm and peaceful.

It must be all a dream. People have stopped dancing. Claire was nearby, smiling at him. Like in a dream, he asked the woman to dance. Claire is in his arms. The loud music has returned. He felt Claire was a little carefree in his arms.

“Capek? Want to stop?”

“If you don't mind. Can we find a place to talk? I have something to tell you.”

This isn't a dream. Dermot flinched back to earth. Did he really think Claire's face was calm and peaceful? The face he saw was haunted by anxiety and fear. How much does Claire know?

Dermot found a quiet corner, and they sat side by side.

“Nah,” said, trying to display a relaxed attitude that he did not feel at all.

“You have something you want to tell me?”

“Ya.” Claire looked down, playing the tassel of her dress nervously. “But somewhat.. difficult.”

“Tell me, Claire.”

“Only this... I want you.. go first for a while.” Dermot. She did not expect Claire to say that.

“You want me to go? Why?”

“I'd better be honest, right? I. I know you're a good man, and you're my best friend. I want you to go because I. I've let myself like you.”.

“Claire.” His words made Dermot stunned.

“Please don't think I'm so arrogant that you can fall in love with me. I'm just.. I'm not too happy.. and.. oh! I'd rather you just go”

“Claire, don't you know that I love you already... have loved you very much... Since I first saw you?”.

“Since the beginning.”

“Oh!” yells.

“Why didn't you tell me? That time? When can I still be with you? Why tell me now, when it's too late? No, I must be crazy I don't know what I'm saying. I can't be with you.”

“Claire, what do you mean it's too late'? Is... is it because of my uncle? Because what does he know? Because of his opinion?”

Claire nodded without speaking. His face was soaked with tears.

“Listen. Claire, you don't have to believe any of that. Don't think. You'll come with me. We will go to the South Sea, to the islands that are green as jewels. You'll be happy there. And I'll keep you protected always.”

He embraced the woman and brought her close to him: he felt Claire tremble by her touch. But Claire snarled away from him.

“Oh, no. Don't you understand? I can't right now. It will be very bad as a result. Bad, bad. All this time I want to show a good attitude and now. now the consequences will be bad.”.

Dermot hesitated. I was confused by Claire's words. Claire looked at him with a pleading look.

“Please,” said.

“I want to be nice..”.

Without saying anything else Dermot stood up from his seat and left him. For a moment he felt very touched, as well as upset by what Claire said earlier. He took his hat and coat, and collided with Trent.

“Halo, Dermot, you come home fast.”

“Ya. I'm not interested in dancing tonight.”

“This evening is so bad,” said Trent gloomily.

“But you're definitely not as golden as I am right now.” All of a sudden, Dermot was afraid that Trent would want to pour out his heart to him. Don't make it, don't get it!

“Yeah, see you,” he said quickly.

“I want to go home.”

“Go home? What about the warning from the spirit earlier?”

“I'll risk Good night, Jack.” Flat Dermot is not far away. He walked home, feeling

it is necessary to breathe the cool night air to cool its hot brain.

He opened the door with his key and turned on the light in the bedroom. And instantly, for the second time that night, the feeling he called the Sign of Danger reappeared. The feeling was so strong that for a moment it could take the thought of Claire from his mind.

The danger! He's in danger. At this moment in the room he was in danger! In vain he tried to shake his fear.

Maybe the work was done half-heartedly. So far, the Danger Mark had given him a warning that allowed him to avoid calamity. Smiling at himself for his belief in superstition, he examined the entire flat carefully. There might be people coming in and hiding here. But his search has yielded nothing. His servant, Milson, was away, and the flat was completely empty. He returned to his bedroom and slowly removed the clothes of the land, frowning to himself. The feeling of being threatened the danger still remains sharp. He went to the drawer to pick up the handkerchief, and was stunned.

There was an unfamiliar bark in the middle of the drawer. A hard thing.

His fingers nervously and quickly grabbed the handkerchief and picked up the thing hidden underneath. It turns out a revolver.

It was with great astonishment that Dermot inspected the revolver closely. The pattern is a bit unusual, and not long ago one of the bullets was fired. Besides, there's no other clue.

Someone had put this revolver in it that afternoon. This thing wasn't there when he was dressed for dinner he was sure of it.

When he was about to put the revolver back into the drawer, he was surprised by the sound of the doorbell. Again and again, it sounded very loud in the silence of the empty flat. Who's coming at this late hour? And only one answer came to that question an answer that came instinctively and unceasingly.

“Danger danger hazard...” Guided by instincts he did not understand, Dermot turned off the lights, put on a coat lying on a chair and opened the hallway door.

Two men stood outside, and a glimpse of Dermot looking at their blue uniforms. The cops!

“Mr. West?” ask the man who is standing at the front.

Dermot felt that for a long time he had just answered, but only a few seconds later he answered the question by imitating the flat tone of his servant.

“Mr. West hasn't come home yet. You have a need

what's with him at this late hour?”

“Not yet home, huh? All right, then we'll go in and wait.”

“No, can't.”

“Try hearing. My name is Inspector Verall of Seotland Yard, and I have an arrest warrant for your master. You can see it if you want.”

Dermot read the paper proffered to him, or pretended to read it, then asked in a confused tone, asking,

“What is this for? What's the mistake?”

“Murder. Sir Alington West of Harley Street.” With a rumbling thought, Dermot backed off. He went into the living room and turned on the lights. The inspector followed him.

“Check this whole place,” his orders to the other officer. Then he turned to Dermot

“You stay here, man. Don't try to sneak away to tell your master. By the way, what's your name.

“Milson, Sir.”

“When will your master get home, Milson?”

“I don't know, Sir, he went to a dance show at Grafton Galleries.”

“She got out of there about an hour ago. You sure he hasn't come back?”

“I don't think so, sir. I should have heard that he came home.”

At that moment, the other officer appeared from the adjoining room, carrying a revolver in his hand. He thrust it at the inspector rather excitedly. A feeling of satisfaction flashed across the inspector's face.

“This is the proof,” said.

“He must have gone in and out again without your knowledge. He's in trouble now. I'm gonna go. Cawley, you're here. Who knows if he's back, and keep an eye on this guy. Maybe he knows more about his employer than he pretends to show.”

The inspector quickly left. Dermot tried to get details of the event from Cawley who seemed happy to talk.

“The case is pretty clear,” said Cawley.

“The murder was known almost instantly as well. Johnson, the victim's maid, was just about to go to sleep when she heard gunshots. He went down again, and found Sir Alington dead, shot in the heart. He called us right away and we came, then heard his story.”

“Because of that, the case is considered already clear enough?” ask Dermot.

“Of course. This West came home with his uncle, and they had a fight, just as Johnson came in to bring him a drink. The victim threatened to make a new will, and your master threatened to shoot him. Five minutes later, there were gunshots. Yeah, pretty clear. That stupid young man.“

Quite clear? Dermot's spirit seemed to fly as he realized the weight of the evidence that led to him. It's really a great danger, a terrible danger. And there's no way out, except to escape. It spins the brain. Finally he offered to make a cup of tea for Cawley. Cawley received enthusiastically. He checked the whole flat, and he knew there was no back door.

Dermot was allowed to go to the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, Dermot put the kettle on the stove, then pretended to be busy with cups and saucers. Then he quickly slipped into the window, and opened it. The flat was located on the second floor, and outside the window was a small elevator of wire, which moved up and down on the steel rope. The elevator was used by the merchant. Fast as Dermot's lightning was already outside the window, swinging through the steel rope. His hand was injured and bleeding by the rope, but he kept going down without a second thought.

A few minutes later he appears alert from the back of the block. He turned the corner, and collided with the figure of someone standing on the side of the road. It was with great astonishment that he realized that the man was Jack Trent. Trent is fully aware of the dangers of the current situation.

“Yes God! Dermots! Quick, don't linger here.” He took Dermot's arm and took him to a side street. There's an empty taxi. They called out to him, and jumped in.

Trent gave me the address

to the driver.

“The safest place for now. There we can decide, what to do next, to remove the trail from those morons. I came because I wanted to warn you before the police arrived, but I was late.”

“I didn't even know I'd heard about the incident. But, Jack, you don't believe it, do you.”.

“Of course not, buddy, not at all. I know you well. But still this business is very heavy for you. They come and ask questions, what time you arrive at the Grafton Gallenes, when you come home, and so on. Dermot, who, about who killed your uncle?”

“Couldn't. I imagine. Whoever did it, he's the one who put the revolver in my drawer, I guess. He must have been watching us pretty closely.

“True also said the spirit caller, 'Don't go home.' It was meant for your poor uncle apparently. But he came home too, and was shot dead.”

“That warning also applies to me,” said Dermot. “I went home and found a revolver that someone else had put in my drawer, and I was approached by a police inspector.”

“Well, I hope the warning doesn't apply to me.” Trent said.

“We're here.” He pays a taxi, opens the door to the house with his key, and takes Dermot up a dark staircase leading to a small room on the first floor. He opened the door and Dermot walked in.

Trent turned on the lights, then came in.

“Quite safe here, for now,” he said.

“Now we can discuss, what should be done.”

“I'm really stupid,” said Dermot abruptly.

“I should have just dealt with this business. Now I can see it more clearly. This whole event was planned. Why are you laughing?”

Trent laughed out loud, uncontrollably, leaning back in his chair. There was a terrible impression in his laughing voice, also in his overall figure. His eyes flashed a strange flash.

“Indeed very ingenious plot,” he said gasping after laughing.

“Dermot, my friend, you're done.” He brought the phone closer to him.

“What do you want?” ask Dermot.

“Contact Seotland Yard. Tell them that their hunt is here, no longer struggling. Yeah, I locked the door on the way in, and the key was in my pocket. Don't look at the door behind me. That's the door to Claire's room, and she always locks it from there. He's scared of me. I have been afraid of me for a long time. He always knew that I was thinking about the knife, that long sharp knife. No, you're not..”

Dermot was about to charge toward Trent, but Trent suddenly had a revolver that looked very threatening.

“This is the second revolver,” Trent said with a small laugh. “I put the first revolver in your drawer after using it to shoot your uncle. What are you staring at? That door? Free. If Claire wants to open it and she might want to open it for you, I'll shoot you before you can reach it. Not in your heart, not a shot to kill, but just to knock you out. So you can't escape. I'm a really good shooter, you know. I saved you once. I'm a fool. No, no, I want you hanged, yes hanged. It's not you I want to kill with that knife. The knife was for Claire yes, the beautiful Claire, so white and soft. Uncle knew. That's why he's here tonight, to see if I'm crazy or not. He wanted me to be put in a mental institution so I wouldn't kill Claire with that knife. But I'm very clever. I got the door lock, and you got the door lock, too. I slipped out of that dance. As soon as I got there, I saw you coming out of your uncle's house, and I came in. Shoot her. Then I went out again. After that I went to your place and put the revolver in your drawer. I've been in Grafton Galleries again, almost at the same time as you arrived. I put your door lock back in when I said good night to you. I don't mind telling you this semtia. No one else is listening, and when you're hanged, I want you to know that I'm the culprit,... Oh oh, this is so ridiculous! What the hell are you thinking? What, are you looking at?”

“I was thinking about some of your words earlier. You're actually better off not coming home, Trent.”

“What do you mean?”

“See behind you!” Trent reverses body.

In the draw of the door of the room that is connected to that room stands Claire... Trent is fast. His revolver erupted once and hit its target. He fell on the table. The inspector ran up to him, while Dermot was stunned looking at Claire, as in a dream. Various thoughts flashed in his mind. Her uncle, their quarrel, the great misunderstanding between them, the English divorce law that would never free Claire from a mad husband, “we must all pity her”, , the plot that Claire and Sir Alington have devised, but it can be smelled by the clever Trent, Claire calls out

to him.

“Bad, bad. bad!” Yeah, but now...

The inspector re-enforced the body.

“He's dead,” he said annoyed.

“Yes,” Dermot heard himself say.

“Since he was

indeed a sniper..”.