The Girl In The Cellar by Patricia Wentworth

kill me too? I think the house was empty.’
    He thought so too, but he said nothing. It was a moment before he spoke.
    ‘How many steps were there from the ground floor of the cellar to the hall?’
    All this time she had been looking at him. Now her expression altered. She shut her eyes, and her lips moved. It came to him that she was counting the steps. She was back in the cellar, sitting on the steps with the torch in her hand and the faintness passing away. Six steps down—and the floor—and the girl’s body—lying there—dead—six steps down. How many steps up from where she had been sitting, trying to control fear—the horror of being alone with the dead? There were more steps above her than below.
    She opened her eyes, met his, and said, ‘It was six steps down from where I was—and six or seven steps up—I can’t tell exactly.’
    He said, “That’s near enough.’
    There was a long pause between them. She had the feeling of having given out all she had to give. It left her drained and weak. He said suddenly, ‘You’d never seen the girl before?’
    ‘No, never. At least I don’t think so—I don’t remember.’
    He was frowning again.
    ‘How on earth did you get mixed up in it?’
    ‘I don’t know—I can’t remember.’ Then she made a small movement towards him. ‘Something happened yesterday.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘There was a man—I was planting bulbs;—I looked up, and he was where that gate opens on the border, leaning on it, smoking.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I thought—he had mistaken his way. He stood there— smiling. He lighted a cigarette. Then he said—’ It swept over her again, the dreadful feeling which she had had in that man’s presence. Everything darkened. She put out her hand and Jim took it. It was only then that she felt how icy cold she was—how cold. His hands were warm. Their warmth brought her consciousness back.
    He saw her turn fainting white. And then he saw the colour come again to her lips, to her cheek. He had a quite extraordinary sensation of having come home. He said, ‘Anne— Anne—you’re safe—you’re home. Don’t—Anne—darling!’
    For a moment she leaned against him. Then she said in a confused sort of way, ‘I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to. Oh, I’m stupid!’ Her eyes were full of tears. She groped in her pocket for her handkerchief and dried them, leaning against him. Then she said, ‘I don’t know what made me do that. He—he frightened me—I don’t know why’
    ‘He frightened you? What did he say?’
    ‘He said we’d got to have a talk. He said I wouldn’t want to have it in public. I—I turned faint like I did just now—I don’t know why. It frightened me—he frightened me. I said I had never met him before, and he laughed. He—he stood there and smoked. He said I knew what he might say—’ Her voice went away to a whisper on the word. ‘But I didn’t—I didn’t—oh, I didn’t. I didn’t know anything. I think that’s what frightened me. If I could have remembered, no matter what it was, I wouldn’t have been so frightened. It’s not knowing—not being able to see. It’s like waking up in the night and not knowing where you are.’
    His arm was round her again. She leaned against him and trembled. He said, ‘Go on.’
    ‘There wasn’t much more. I said I didn’t know him—I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t want to. I said would he please go away. And he said—’ Her colour all went again and she gripped his arm, but her voice came steadily. ‘He said, “Well, I’ll go for now. Remember, we know where you are.” Then he said he’d got some orders for me. I wasn’t to tell anyone I’d seen him or what he had said, and when I got my orders I was to do just what I was told—at once. He said, “You’d better!” and he turned round and went away.’ She paused for a moment, and then she said, speaking very low and in a piteous hurried manner, ‘I don’t know what he meant, but it