by Tony Medawar
They came to the edge of a field newly ploughed for winter wheat. The dogs stood motionless and stopped baying. There was bafflement in their melancholy eyes. They whimpered and quivered.
‘What the devil’s the matter with them?’ snapped Skinner irritably.
He saw that the others were looking ahead at the footprints that went off across the freshly turned soil. A single line of prints they were. And they led straight to a gaunt scarecrow that stood some forty feet off, idly flapping its empty arms at them.
They trudged back to the house silently. Banner couldn’t get the scarecrow out of his mind. He had gone out to it and stood looking at it, flabbergasted. The trail had stopped there.
The scarecrow was well dressed, as scarecrows go. It had on a frayed-brimmed straw hat. Its face was an old flour bag with two lopsided holes punched in it for eyes, a triangular nose, and a crayon mouth that resembled the teeth of a rake. The coat hung limply from stick shoulders. At the sleeve cuffs were pinned soiled white cotton gloves. The legs of the loose pants fluttered gently in the morning breeze. A pair of battered shoes with heavy soles stood within a foot of each other under the scarecrow. They fitted the tracks.
The footprints had made fools of them. Each print was sharp and clear. It hadn’t been a case of using the same prints twice, for going and coming.
Banner said suddenly, ‘Was that scarecrow always in that field?’
‘No,’ said Wayne. ‘That’s the one that used to be in Beverly’s vegetable patch.’
As they drew near the house a man came out of it to meet them. He was as fleshless as a hoe-handle, and had hair like singed cotton and a dehydrated face. In short, he was the ugliest gaffer Banner had ever seen.
Banner leaned his head towards Skinner. ‘Who’s this, judge? Gloryanna! He’s as ugly as a—’ He stopped short, for something had clicked in his mind.
Skinner grinned without humour. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and say it, Senator? As ugly as a scarecrow! We know that. His appearance has been against him ever since he was a kid. He isn’t as bad an actor as he looks. He’s Hudson’s uncle, Magnus Fawlkes.’
‘What did you find?’ croaked Uncle Magnus as he met them.
Banner said, ‘The murderer’s out in the field. Anyone can go arrest him. He ain’t gonna run away. But how can you jail a wraith, an empty suit of clothes? It’s the scarecrow … Let’s eat.’
They all went in to a profusion of eggs and bacon and cornbread. Banner regretted that there was no black coffee. But Celeste had made excellent hot cocoa.
Banner thought hard. He didn’t talk to Uncle Magnus, who got the story from the others piecemeal.
Banner suddenly cut in. ‘Where were you buzzing last night, Unk?’
Uncle Magnus turned a pair of haddock eyes in his direction. ‘After I heard Beverly got killed,’ he said, ‘I went settling affairs.’
‘In other words,’ said Banner, ‘I can take that or leave it.’ He jabbed his fork into the yolk of another sunny-side-up.
‘I don’t mean nothing,’ said Uncle Magnus, ‘but I’m not sure a city man like you’ll get any place among us yokels.’
‘Who’s a city man?’ grunted Banner. ‘Listen, Karloff, I was born on a farm. I left it ’cuz it was too quiet. I like lotsa noise. There’s lotsa noise hereabouts, what with shotguns going off at regular intervals.’
Celeste began to gather up the breakfast plates.
Banner said to her, ‘Those groceries stick to the ribs, young ’un. Thank yuh kindly, ma’am. I’ll help you with the crockery.’
Celeste was scandalized. ‘Oh, no, no, Senator. Please sit still. I’ll take that. Oh.’
But Banner wasn’t easily discouraged. He trotted into the large kitchen with a tottering pagoda of cups and saucers and plopped them into a dishpan of hot soapy water. It was a new experience for Celeste to wash dishes with a senator. He was full of funny stories and soon she was laughing. Before she knew it she was telling Banner about Uncle Magnus.
Uncle Magnus, she said, had a grievance against nearly everybody, for all his life he had been either shunned or made fun of. ‘You won’t believe,’ she said, ‘that he once tried to make love to me.’
‘Why, the nasty old home wrecker.’
‘Oh, no. That was before I was married. He wanted to marry me. Of course I refused him as gently as I could.’
So Uncle Magnus and his nephew were once rivals for Celeste’s hand, and now the nephew was dead. Was it the revenge of the scarecrow?
It was dusk and they began to light the lights. Celeste was sitting in the parlour with Banner and Skinner. Skinner seemed reluctant to leave the farm. Celeste’s hands were twisting nervously in her lap. Her fingernails were chewed short.
She looked straight into Skinner’s metallic eyes. ‘Blackmarsh is mine now, isn’t it, judge?’
‘Legally, it is,’ nodded Skinner.
‘Then I’m going to sell it to you,’ she blurted. ‘I want to get away. I want to get rid of this place tonight. Will you still buy it?’
Skinner glanced quizzically at Banner, who didn’t say anything. ‘It’s a little unusual,’ said Skinner, ‘what with everyone involved in a murder case. But I’m the law and I can make it stand. My offer is five thousand dollars, as you know.’
Celeste stood up. ‘That’s more than plenty.’
‘I’ll have to go to Cow Crossing to get the money,’ Skinner said eagerly, getting up. ‘Excuse me.’ He took his mangy beaver off the hat rack, grabbed up his hawthorn stick, and presently they heard his horse and buggy crunch down the gravel drive.
Celeste looked appealingly at Banner. ‘It’s been a hard day. Do you mind if I go upstairs for a rest, Senator?’
‘Run right along, baby bunting.’
She smiled gratefully at him. He followed her out of the parlour and watched her go quickly up the stairs, into the dark. Near the top he saw her hesitate and he plainly heard her startled, ‘Oh!’
His bulk travelled up the stairs at a surprising clip. He stood by her side. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I—l stubbed my toe,’ she said. Were there lies in her round eyes?
‘Are you sure?’ he questioned.
She laughed nervously. ‘I’m all right, Senator.’ She crossed the dark hall and switched on the dim bulb. He watched her walk to one of the rooms and go in and close the door quietly.
He went back down the stairs again. ‘Something’s wrong here. Damn it. It’s all wrong. But there ain’t gonna be any artful dodging tonight.’
Uncle Magnus and Wayne were playing snip-snap-snorem on the oilcloth of the kitchen table. And both were yawning.
‘Thinking of hitting the hay early tonight, neighbours?’ asked Banner.
They said they were about ready to turn in.
‘Tonight,’ said Banner, ‘I’m gonna lock you all up.’
‘Lock us up!’ the men repeated at the same time.
‘As a precaution,’ said Banner. The two card players looked at each other. ‘As a safeguard for yourselves and the others. Who has the bedroom door keys?’
‘Celeste,’ said Uncle Magnus. They got up and stretched.
Banner went upstairs and knocked on Celeste’s door. She let him in. She was wearing a navy flannel robe over her nightgown.
Banner said, ‘I’m locking all the bedrooms tonight, Celeste. They tell me you have the keys.’
‘Key,’ she corrected. ‘All the doors have the same sort of lock. Hudson had a key. This is it.’ She took a thick-bodied key off her dresser and put it into his hand.
He went over to her window and examined it. There were storm shutters that could be closed from the inside and locked. On the outside of the window a heavy screen was nailed solidly to the casing. To get out that way the occupant of the room would first have to punch a hole in the screen.
‘When I go out I’ll lock this door,’ he said. ‘If it ain’t too warm for you, bolt those shutters.’
She didn’t ask him why. She said good ni
ght timidly, and as he went out he saw her move toward the window.
He locked her door. Then he took a heavy chair and jammed the back under the doorknob as an added measure.
All the bedrooms were along the same hallway, some on one side and some on the other; but there were no connecting doors between rooms.
Banner went in to bid both Uncle Magnus and Wayne separate sleep-tights. He looked at both of their windows. They were like Celeste’s; the shutters and the screen nailed to the window-frame from the outside. He locked both their doors too and put chair-backs under the doorknobs. Now just let anyone try and get out.
He was down in the parlour playing idiot’s delight, a game of solitaire, when he heard the horse and buggy rattling up the drive.
Skinner came in. ‘Where’s Celeste?’ he asked.
Banner riffled the deck of cards. ‘She’s gone beddy-bye. You’ll have to save it till morning.’
‘Oh, lord,’ groaned Skinner wearily. ‘Do I have to go all the way back to town tonight?’
‘No,’ said Banner. ‘Take the same room you had last night. Go out and unhitch your dapple grey.’
When Skinner came back into the house Banner led him upstairs. Banner said, ‘The people are sleeping in this house tonight under certain conditions—behind locked doors. I’m locking yours.’
Skinner looked stunned. ‘Then you think that I—’
‘I’m not thinking anything,’ said Banner gruffly. ‘I’m just doing.’
Assuring himself that Skinner could not get out through the window, Banner turned the key in the lock. Another chair-back went under a knob.
He padded down to the end of the hall to the stairway and looked back at the four bedroom doors barricaded with chairs.
There was one other door that he went to and tried. It opened on Beverly’s room and it was fast. He left the hall light burning.
Going into the parlour, he surveyed the scattered cards on the glossy tabletop. ‘I’m licking you this time,’ he vowed. Idiot’s delight began again.
Time had slipped by. Banner might have dozed over his game. A quake shook his whole big body and he found himself blinking at the sallow face of the grandfather clock.
It was past midnight.
What had brought him up so sharp?
The house was as still as a catacomb. Then he heard something that chilled him to the very marrow.
In the upper hall where the bedrooms were situated, someone was walking.
Someone was walking in the hall—and yet he had locked them all in!
He could hear the sound of each shoe as it came down on the hall runner. It was a clumping sound, as if the shoes were hanging loose on feet that were mere bones—or sticks!
Listening, he reached out and ran all the rows of cards together. He felt glued to the chair, unable to get up.
Then came a scream. It was Celeste. And the shotgun roared.
Banner heaved himself up clumsily and the heavy table rocked. The glass lamp teetered dangerously and then toppled to the floor. The smashing of the bulb brought blackness crashing down. Banner groped across the fallen lamp and found the sliding doors. He pushed them wider and scrambled for the stairs.
He came puffing to the top.
The dimly lit hallway was exactly as he left it. The four chairs were still propped against the four doors.
A spasm of bewilderment shook him. Then he heard weak rapping on the inside of Celeste’s door. He plunged towards it, pulling the key out of his pocket. He flung the tightly jammed chair aside and keyed open the door.
Celeste was on the floor, half unconscious, her breath coming shallowly. A faint trickle of blood showed deep red on her whitened face.
Automatically Banner shot his eyes to the window. The storm shutters were bolted on the inside. The boxed-in air reeked of discharged gunpowder. But there was no shotgun.
He bent over Celeste, noting that it was a grazing head wound she’d suffered, while dimly into his consciousness came the steady sound of hammering.
The three male sleepers, trapped in their rooms, were pounding on the doors.
Banner ignored them. He brought water in a basin and bathed Celeste’s face. It didn’t look so bad with the blood washed away. Still her scalp was torn and there were powder burns.
She stopped groaning and opened her eyes. She clutched blindly at Banner’s arm with both hands. ‘The scarecrow! It was in here! It shot me!’
‘Easy now, child. How’d the scarecrow get in?’
She looked dumbfounded. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I left the light on after I locked the shutters. I went to bed. Finally I went to sleep. I woke up with a start. It was standing right there at the foot of my bed. I almost died of fright. But when I saw the shotgun pointing at my head it made me throw myself forward to wrench it out of the thing’s hands or to spoil the aim. It seemed to go off right in my face. I guess I fainted. When I was myself again I was alone in the room, trying to get out.’
She was frightfully weak from shock. Banner left her on the bed while he went to examine the shutter bolt. There was nothing tricky about it. The screen outside the window was intact and the lock on the door hadn’t been tampered with.
Banner went out into the hall, took the chairs away from the other doors, and let the three men out. They peppered him with questions. All he said was, ‘The scarecrow got into Celeste’s room.’
‘This finishes me with this house,’ said Uncle Magnus. ‘I’m taking Celeste to a doctor.’
‘Wait a minnit,’ snapped Banner. ‘No wandering off, Unk, till I give you the checkered flag. We’re all sticking together, like the Rover Boys.’ He led them back to Celeste’s room. ‘Unkie’ll take you to town,’ he said to Celeste.
‘I want to go and never come back,’ she said. ‘But there’s one thing I haven’t told you, Senator … You know that time when I was going up the stairs? You asked me why I’d stopped.’
‘Yep.’
‘It was something I saw.’
‘What’d you see?’
‘It was—just a white figure. That’s all I can tell you. It was gone in an instant. When you asked me what happened I wasn’t sure I really had seen anything. I thought perhaps I was so nervous I’d imagined it. But now I don’t think so.’
Banner nodded soberly. He said to Skinner and Uncle Magnus, ‘You two stay here with Celeste. Wayne, we’ll hitch a horse to the shay.’
They went out of the house and started toward the stable. They drew up short.
Ahead of them on the path stood the empty grotesque scarecrow. It stood on its pole, taunting them.
Banner heard Wayne breathe heavily beside him. ‘The hounds,’ he was muttering. ‘They never barked.’
Celeste and Uncle Magnus, to the pound of horse’s hooves, were gone towards Cow Crossing.
The three remaining men huddled like sheep in the parlour. Banner went to a wall phone and said to a sleepy operator, ‘Wake up, Rip, and gimme Foxchase Hall.’
Wayne looked at him in mute surprise.
Banner got one of the lady instructors on the wire after a lengthy wait. ‘Lissen, Trixie,’ he said, ‘I’m calling the roll. You’ve got a gal there named Joan Vicars. Am I right or wrong?’
‘You’re incomprehensible, whoever you are,’ was the reply. ‘But you’re right. She’s a member of my American Literature class.’
‘Is she in the school now?’
‘Of course she’s in the school now.’
‘I’m still taking stock, sister. Put her on.’
‘I’ll transfer your call to her dormitory.’
Banner heard a click and a dull buzzing. Then a lazy blond voice came on the line.
‘Who’s this?’ said Banner.
‘A girl.’
‘Joan Vicars?’
‘Nope, one of her classmates.’
‘Girlie, put Joanie on.’
There was a pause. Then the girl said, ‘I can’t. She isn’t here.’
‘Where is she, playmat
e?’
‘Lord knows,’ said the girl. ‘Who’re you? Her old mandarin?’
‘No, this’s Senator Banner.’
‘I guess I can tell you what we think. She got pretty mushy with a farm boy named Wayne Markes. All last week she was starry-eyed and telling us she planned to elope with him. When she didn’t come back the other day we all guessed she’d gone and done it. We’ve been covering up for her. Isn’t that romantic—or are you just an old fuddy?’
‘I’m an old fuddy,’ he said. He hung up. He wheeled on Wayne. ‘Did you elope with Joan Vicars?’
‘Elope!’ cried Wayne. ‘No such luck. I haven’t seen her for days.’
‘The gals at Foxchase Hall think you’ve spirited her off.’
‘Well, I’ll see about that.’ Wayne jumped up impetuously and started for the door. There he paused, expecting Banner to halt him gruffly. Banner was carved from rock. Wayne bolted out. They heard him running.
That left Banner and Skinner at the Grange.
‘Better stick with me,’ said Banner, starting to follow Wayne out. Skinner stuck with him. They went past the storage shed, where Banner picked up a bull’s-eye lantern. The horses stirred in the stable when they went in, the whites of the animals’ eyes gleaming.
Banner climbed into the loft and kicked the straw around. He came down again and eyed the pile of horse blankets.
In a few minutes they went out into the night again.
‘Skinner,’ said Banner, ‘the scarecrow is gonna make one more attempt.’
Skinner’s voice sounded as if it were riding the edge of a razor. ‘Who—’
Banner’s hand fell heavily on the lean shoulder. ‘You, Skinner.’
Skinner’s laugh was sickly. ‘You’re clowning.’
‘No, I’m not. You’re next. Knowing that, we’ve gotta hamstring the scarecrow.’
Skinner almost sobbed. ‘If you know that much, you know who the scarecrow is.’
‘I do, pal.’
‘For mercy’s sake, Senator Banner, who is it?’
Banner shook his head. ‘It’s no use. You wouldn’t believe me.’
They were halfway to the house in a wide open spot.
Banner said, ‘You’re bait, Skinner. As long as I’m with you, you’re safe. That goes for me too. The scarecrow won’t tackle two of us. But I’m gonna leave you alone—’
