Free The Night Calls by David Pirie Page A

red drapes, I suddenly realised we were at Madame Rose’s.
    Naturally the place was not open at half past ten in the morning, but even so I found myself looking round guiltily as the Doctor almost ran up the steps to its door.
    It was half open and a woman stood there breathless and worried. She was quite old and, evidently from her dress, a housemaid. ‘Oh, thank heaven, are you the police, sir?’
    Bell was a little surprised but not, I am sure, displeased to find they were not yet here. ‘No, they are on their way,’ he said, ‘but evidently delayed. What has happened?’
    She led us into a large ornate room with a screen beautifully embroidered in the Japanese manner and several tables and upholstered chairs and sofas. The carpet was of a rich red and the chairs matched it. There was a bar too and, though closed, it looked far better stocked than those I visited with my friends. I had rarely been in so luxurious a refreshment room; evidently no trouble was spared here to put the guests at their ease.
    I was reflecting on the contrast with the miserable house we saw by the docks when she led us behind the screen. A woman in her twenties, with exquisitely curled dark hair and blood on her dress lay on a divan, panting for breath and crying. She had her hand to her throat.
    Bell went to her at once. ‘It is all right,’ he said gently, ‘I am a doctor.’ We could see at once that, despite the blood, the woman — who from her accent was French – was not too hurt. But she was sobbing and finding it hard to speak, making very little sense. The Doctor calmed her a little, as we heard the story from the other woman.
    ‘She was attacked, sir,’ the housemaid said. ‘I come in to clean and I hear her screaming. She says she had fallen asleep and somebody got her by the neck. She did not see properly. But he must be up there.’
    The Doctor started upright. ‘Her assailant is still here?’
    ‘Aye, sir. This is why I was so afeared. And there was blood up there, she says.’
    Bell was up from the woman in a trice and making for the door. It led to a hall and then stairs which we took at a gallop. The staircase was as plush as the rest of the place with a stained-glass window halfway up which sent somewhat eerie rays on to the dark crimson carpet. We reached a long corridor with many doors leading off it, and the Doctor shouted he would take this floor and I should go for the next.
    So I ran on to the top of the house. Here it was a little darker, but another corridor stretched out before me with countless rooms on either side. I flung open the door of the first room and saw very little. The shutters were open and light streamed in to reveal a bed, a basin and chair. I withdrew and tried the one across from it, which was very similar. There were so many doors and rooms that I could see I would have to move swiftly, and I ran on, flinging the doors open as I went. A glance was sufficient to confirm each room I had passed so far was quite empty.
    It was very noticeable to me now that the lusher trappings of below had given way to a base functionality. Presumably the owners calculated that, once a man was up here, his thoughts were fully occupied with the activity he desired and he needed no reassurance in soft furnishings. But I was impressed by the sheer scale of the place. These corridors were quite as long and as populated with rooms as any at the university. This surely implied that there must be periods when the custom was very high. How many of the men I knew might supply that custom? I found myself wondering if our ‘lodger’ Bryan Waller would come here when he went out for one of his walks. But the idea was so unpleasant that I left it alone.
    I was almost at the end of the corridor when I heard a sound. It was a little like a door or window closing, and I thought it must have come from the room opposite me a little way along. There were about five more doors on the floor. I approached this one at once and