‘What time was it yesterday that she came to you?’ Giles asked.
‘About noon, I should say.’
The King’s Finder walked thoughtfully across the room. He halted at the open casement, looking out over the river.
‘Well,’ he asked presently, ‘what was the other thing that happened?’
‘You remember the two black spaniels the Countess owned,’ asked Luke: ‘Maggie and Mollie?’
‘Yes. Of course I do.’
‘Well, one of them appears to have turned into a large black cat,’ Luke announced quite solemnly.
Sharply Giles turned his head.
‘Are you trying to joke, Luke?’ he snapped out angrily. ‘Whoever heard of such nonsense?’
‘I know that’s what it sounds like,’ said the esquire. ‘But if you had seen what I have you’d understand why I put it that way. The Countess always kept the two dogs in her room, you remember. After Anne and I had pacified the old Princess we went back there. And one of the spaniels was missing—Mollie. In its place, playing with Maggie in the most friendly fashion, was a large black cat. But the most peculiar part was that the cat used all the same tricks—you know, ways of pouncing and attacking in fun, that Mollie used.’
‘Did it make any sounds?’ asked Giles.
‘No cat-like sounds at all,’ said Luke. ‘But it growled like a dog when it got knocked down in the sham fighting, exactly the way that Mollie used to growl. You would have to see it to understand it. It was like a dog in every way it acted, but it was still a cat to look at. Anne said she could nearly believe it was Mollie, dressed up in a cat’s skin. And Maggie’s behaviour was peculiar too. You’d think she’d want to fight with a cat instead of playing with it, just from natural dog’s instinct—let alone from jealousy at its coming into her mistress’s home—you know how pets are that way. But not at all. She treated the cat as though it were the oldest friend she had, let it sleep in the same basket with her and everything. Didn’t seem to miss Mollie, either. It almost looked as though the cat had come specially to take Mollie’s place and keep the other dog from grieving over the loss of her playmate. Anne is positive that it is one of Agnes’s cats. Though I don’t see any particular reason for thinking that.’
‘Except that it never cries, miaows, or makes what you called cat-like sounds, eh?’ muttered Giles. ‘Have you or Anne had any news of Agnes?’
‘No,’ said Luke. ‘It is hardly likely that we would, is it? Nine years now since we saw or heard of her.’
‘You haven’t spoken of the cat to anyone at the palace?’
‘No. The beast of its own accord keeps out of everyone’s way. And Anne thought it best not to talk about it—with the wedding toward and all. Black cats are supposed to bring bad luck when they cross your path.’
‘I know,’ Giles nodded. ‘People still believe in superstitions like that; rubbish that has no rhyme nor reason nor sense whatever. While anything unusual that Agnes might do, like curing your leg, they’d call incantation, sorcery, sinful devil-dealing, and what not. “Shragga the Witch!”—Bah!’
‘Poor Agnes!’ murmured Luke. ‘I wonder what corner of the world she’s hiding her old head in now.’
‘Who can tell?’ sighed Giles. ‘And yet you know, sometimes—lately—I’ve had a sort of feeling—I can’t explain it. A feeling that she’s not far off, that that powerful mind of hers is around us, near, now, in touch almost with my own. I haven’t felt so for a long, long time, not since Anne and I stayed that night at the Haunted Inn, and met all those strange dream-folk—who talked to us but didn’t seem quite real . . . I don’t know. Perhaps it’s all nonsense. Maybe it’s just that I’m mortal tired. Yet that matter of the shell’s disappearing is queer enough.—Hah! A busy time for the King’s Finder! Everything’s disappearing. I suppose the castle itself will be the next. But as for the dog, that does not seem hard to explain. The Countess took the spaniel with her for company, most likely. I wish I had known that before I left. It might have helped me in the search. But I was in such a hurry to catch up with her I couldn’t spare much time. How were things faring at the palace when you left?’
‘Oh, well enough, considering all. No suspicion of the Countess’s going seems to have leaked out—though how much longer that can be kept up I do not know. We have been most careful, keeping the wedding guests busy with games, races, shows, dances and what not. The Queen Mother has been wonderful, hiding her worry behind a smiling face and taking part in everything. The Count Godfrey too.’
‘And the King?’ asked Giles.
Luke frowned uneasily at the floor. ‘He has not seemed so well. Tries hard to act a good host’s part to all his guests. But looks pale, with his thoughts a hundred miles away. He eats hardly at all. Most of the daylight hours, as I said, he spends up in the tower watching the road below.’
Giles turned back to the open window and for a moment said nothing more. Over the dark hill beyond the river a wisp of a slanting moon could now be seen. Its pale path shimmered dimly in the quiet water below. Luke crossed the room, put his hand upon his master’s shoulder and looked out. A ferry-boat with long sweeping oars crept out from the shadow of the farther shore and slid silently towards them. Suddenly the noise of bells broke the hush with a distant silvery voice.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Luke, gazing up at the hill.
‘Chapel bells,’ said Giles. ‘Vespers. That’s the Convent of Saint Bridget up there, the long building at the top of the ridge.’
‘You do know this country, don’t you?’ said Luke. ‘I suppose you’d be bound to, after nine years at your work. Convent of Saint Bridget, eh? Looks like a big place . . . Listen, Giles: how about some supper? You must be hungry—and I know I am. Let me go down and rout out that lazy old host of ours. And I must see if he has put my horse to bed yet. I’ll not be long.’
He started towards the door.
‘Oh, and you won’t forget the saddle-bag,’ he added. ‘You’ll find a fresh shirt in it, if you’ve a mind to rid yourself of some of the road-dust. I’ll give you a call as soon as the food is ready.’
10 The pocket of the tunic
For a moment longer Giles remained looking out at the ferry-boat before he closed the window part way and turned to the saddle-bag. He opened it without much interest, and spread its contents on the bed.
Besides the newly laundered linen there was a tunic, some hose, a pair of gloves and other things. He could hear Luke below shouting for the host, then the clatter of footsteps and his cheerful whistle as he crossed the stable yard to look to his horse.
The idea of a clean shirt after so much hard travel seemed very welcome to Giles. In less than a minute he had changed. He was about to get into his old jacket when he noticed it was muddy on one sleeve. He took up the tunic from the bed. It was a newer and a lighter one than that which he had worn for the last two days. He put it on and threw the old one over a chair. Then he lay back on the bed to wait for Luke’s call to supper.
It seemed as though the esquire had not found everything to his liking in his horse’s stall. For presently his voice could again be heard calling impatiently for the innkeeper.
Waiting and weary, Giles must have dozed off into a short sleep. Because suddenly he sat up, wondering where he was. He rubbed his eyes. He was more certain of being sharply aroused than he was of having fallen asleep. He was sure, too, that he had been often brought to his senses by the same thing before, though as yet his drowsy mind could not give a name to it.