Old House of Fear

by Russell Kirk

  About half-past eight, Mary MacAskival ran into the study – shod, for a change, and her face glowing with excitement. The nerves that girl must have! Logan put down his pipe, not knowing whether he was expected to shake hands or to kiss her; but she gave him time for neither. “Hugh,” she said, “Hugh Logan, I saw them from my window! Jackman and Royall and the others: they’re bringing something up from the shore, dragging it. Come down with me, and we’ll go out to meet them.”

  Through that immense house they ran, out into the enclosed courtyard of the Victorian block. By the big door, or rather gate, three of the men were standing: Tompkins, and Anderson the footman (who looked unpleasantly like his Gallowgate brother), and a dark grinning man, supple; and compact, who must be Ferd Caggia, the cook. A rifle lay at an angle against the wall by the door, back of Anderson. Caggia had just passed an odd green bottle – was it the old rum? – to Anderson, who took a swig from it. The three men stared at Logan and the girl, Anderson leering as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Mary MacAskival marched straight up to the door, Logan by her side, she quite ignoring the men until she stood right before Anderson, who barred the way. Yes, it was rum Anderson smelt of. “Open the door,” she said, calmly.

  “Mr. Logan and I are going out to meet Dr. Jackman.”

  “What’ll ye gie me if I do?” Anderson’s words came thickly; the man was drunk. Anderson winked at Tompkins and Ferd for approval.

  “Be good enough to open it.” Mary MacAskival’s green eyes glittered.

  “Not for a young hizzie, not me.” Anderson laughed harshly, leaning against the door. Mary MacAskival reached past him and pulled at the bolt; it slid back.

  Then Anderson took her round the waist, staring defiantly at Logan. “Ye’ll gie me something, whether I let ye oot or no, ma fine leddie.” With one raw fist, he pulled at the girl’s jacket. Logan took a step forward and gave Anderson the back of his hand.

  Caught off balance, Anderson crashed against the door. His big head jerked back, his arm flew away from the girl, and he fell.

  The next second, Anderson was up from the flagstones, and everything happened at once. “Davie, you know what Dr….” Tompkins began, in mild remonstrance. Ferd Caggia glided to one side, still grinning, as if he were a spectator at a match for his especial amusement. And tall Davie Anderson, rising, had grasped the rifle; already its muzzle was swinging upward, toward Logan, and there was killing in Anderson’s tipsy eyes.

  Logan’s reaction was instinctive and the product of his army years, not prudential. Very swiftly, he sent his hand into his armpit and flashed out the little pistol. “Anderson,” he said, distinctly, “don’t move. Don’t move at all.” The girl stood fixed by the unbolted door, her eyes wide, very pale. Anderson’s mouth opened; the rifle in his grip sank toward the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Caggia glide smoothly toward his back, and saw Caggia’s hands slip down toward something protruding just above his belt; but still Caggia smiled. “Caggia,” said Logan, “bide where you are, man.” Tompkins quivered.

  Then, behind Anderson, the big door opened, and Dr. Jackman stepped softly in, his eyes sweeping across the little tableau. Without hesitation, Jackman snatched the rifle from Anderson’s hands and dealt the footman a terrible blow in the jaw with the butt of it. The man fell, stunned, and a tooth flew out of his mouth as he struck the flagstones. Behind Jackman, Royall entered; and after him, two more men, dragging something, and staring at the tableau as they came.

  Jackman kicked Anderson in the face. “I told you, you ape, to mind your manners. Caggia, get this fellow to his quarters. Powert, relieve Anderson on duty at the door” – this to one of the men behind him. “Mr. Logan, I was not aware that junior bank-clerks carried revolvers on their social calls.” Jackman’s words were smooth, but his face was twisted cruelly. Rumpelstiltskin, Logan thought. “Mr. Logan,” Jackman went on, even more suavely, “now that I have disposed of Anderson, you have no more need that pistol. Be good enough to give it to me.” Jackman held out his hand.

  Royall was beside Jackman now, carrying a rifle; and Caggia was out of Logan’s line of vision, probably right at his unprotected back; and the girl, surrounded by men, was exposed to any shooting; and the odds were too great. Logan extended his palm, with the little pistol lying up it, toward Jackman.

  Then Royall drew in his breath. “Dr. Jackman,” he said, hoarsely, “see what gun that is!”

  Plucking the pistol deftly out of Logan’s hand, Jackman examined it. “Quite right, Royall,” he observed. “It’s Donley’s gun Meg, isn’t it? Mr. Logan, my apologies: I was quite deceived by you – an excellent performance on your part. You are a young man of talents. After you took the gun from Donley, did you shoot him or drown him?”

  Only then did Logan see what the men had dragged into the courtyard. It was the battered dead body of Donley, still streaming with water. “Don’t look, my dear,” said Jackman to Mary, considerately. “A bit of flotsam, washed up near the pier.”

  Chapter 10

  TWO MORE MEN had come into the courtyard, and stood staring. “Simmons,” said Dr. Jackman to one of them, “help Niven to get this body into the cellars, for the time being. Miss MacAskival, be so good as to go to your rooms and remain there until I send word. Well, Rab! Up and about? I take it that Donley here wasn’t on your heels last night? No, of course not. We haven’t yet found your friend Carruthers, but I trust that we will. Caggia, do get Anderson to his bed, for he’s sprinkling blood all over the flags, and there’s a lady present.”

  The sight of blood seemed to put Edmund Jackman into excellent form. Shock-headed Rab gazed at him vacantly, as if still dazed by his last evening’s encounter with shadowy pursuers. “Well,” Jackman went on cheerfully, “poor Till – he’s lost the sight of one eye forever, I’m sure – is quits with Seamus Donley now. Go up and tell him the news, Tompkins.”

  Mary, in the midst of this hard crew, was looking at Logan with dismay in her eyes. “Hugh,” she said, “Hugh…” and stretched out a hand toward him. Jackman shot a malign glance at her.

  “You’d best go, Mary,” Logan told her, with what assurance he could summon up. She turned and fled into the Old House.

  Logan could conjecture the fate of Donley. Tired and wounded, the old terrorist must have been flung on the skerries by that cruel sea; the boat would have broken up; and his body, beaten against the rocks, had washed round to the harbor at the other end of Carnglass. In this grim moment, Logan had little time to pity Donley. It could not have been Donley, then, returned, who hunted Rab and Carruthers through the night. Rab might have fired only at imaginary stalkers, in this eerie island. But then what had become of Carruthers? Lagg had taken him, Rab had screamed in his hysteria last night. Was it possible that, after all, Lagg had not been killed? But if he had not, how could he have existed alone and invisible these several days; and how could a sly fat Galloway factor have made away with one seasoned ruffian and driven another out of his wits?

  Except for Powert, standing sentry at the gate, Logan now was left alone in the courtyard with Jackman and Royall. “Well, Mr. Logan,” Jackman was saying to him, “there are few things in this vale of tears more interesting than an accomplished adversary. I prize you.” He was playing with that little pistol Meg. “Royall, we’ll take Mr. Logan up to my study, and there he’ll supply us with valuable information, I’m sure. He should be able to tell us, for instance, who disposed of Carruthers. He has done us one service already, in evening our score with the late lamented Seamus Donley; now we’ll discover just who sent Mr. Logan to us, and why.”

  It might be folly to go on pretending he was an Edinburgh bank-clerk, Logan thought: Meg had given him away. Under the circumstances, and considering the habits of Jackman’s gang, naturally Dr. Jackman assumed that Logan had disposed of Donley. But what new role could Logan play? To have lapsed into his American speech would have suggested to the quick mind of Jackman that this young fellow had been
sent to manage the purchase of Carnglass. And, having learnt too much about Jackman and Company, Logan then would be a candidate for extinction.

  He dared not pretend to be an Englishman, for his mastery of English accents was not up to it, and Jackman would have detected him at once. Their French, too, might be better than his own. There seemed to be nothing for it but to keep speaking in a genteel Scots, though he might expand his vocabulary beyond the usual range of a fictitious junior clerk. “Well, Dr. Jackman,” Logan said – he made the word almost “weel” – “I confess I do find myself in predicament.”

  “Really,” said Jackman, “really now, my dear fellow, you needn’t continue to talk as a Lothians counter-jumper would. You didn’t ring quite true in that role, but yours was a valiant try. You’re a cut or two above that sort of thing, eh? I doubt whether you’re a Scot at all. An Englishman, possibly? Or even a German? A university man, probably. Just walk on the other side of our Mr. Logan, if you will be so good, Royall. We shall have Mr. Logan resident in Carnglass for some time now: permanently, perhaps, depending on his degree of cooperation with us. Among the many things about you which puzzle me, Logan, is how you contrived to become acquainted with Miss Mary MacAskival. We shall have to interrogate the young lady on that point, eh, Royall – unless Mr. Logan is so gallant as to save us the trouble? I hadn’t guessed that Miss MacAskival numbered among her friends any person formidable enough to do in Seamus Donley, late I.R.A. Well, up to my study, if you don’t mind. On the stair, Mr. Royall, pray walk directly behind Mr. Logan, with your gun at the ready. We mustn’t underestimate his talents a second time.”

  For all the gravity of this situation, Hugh Logan felt more confidence in himself than he had known since he landed in Carnglass. He had begun to understand matters, and to struggle against the tide of events; his ineffectuality of an hour ago had given way to action of a sort. And time was running out for Jackman. A few more days of silence from Carnglass, at most, and someone – the police, or a passing ship or plane – would suspect that things were amiss in the island, and there would be investigations highly embarrassing to Jackman. They would not be so embarrassing, however – sobering thought – if Hugh Logan somehow should have vanished from Carnglass before any official inquiries might be made. It was some comfort to reflect that Duncan MacAskival, if no one else, soon would begin to wonder where he was; and there was the faint possibility that the Glasgow police, desiring him for a witness in the affair of Mutto’s Wynd, might commence to look for him. Everything, conceivably, would depend upon how the next few minutes with Dr. Jackman happened to go.

  In the study, Jackman indicated that, as on the first occasion, Logan was to sit at the chess-table. “I don’t think you’ll be needed, Royall,” Jackman said to that cadaverous secretary, “but you might look in within the hour. We have a very clever guest here: devilish clever. It’s as well I have Donley’s pistol in my pocket now.” Royall hesitated, as if to offer some objection; but, at a dark glance from Jackman, went out.

  Once again Jackman poured sherry for Logan, and set out the Table Men of Askival. “Really, Logan, I think you were pulling my leg at our last game of chess, as you were in so many other matters. I’ll not accept any handicap in this match. It’s rather pleasant to play during a casual discussion like ours, don’t you think? We never may have an opportunity for another match. That depends upon you, of course, Logan.” Jackman showed every sign of being in good spirits, as if he enjoyed this contest with an able adversary; but well below his urbane surface, Logan suspected, a gnawing disquietude was at work in Jackman. He knew the man much better after Mary’s account of him.

  As for Logan, he made his first move in the match with seeming indifference, smiling at Jackman. The only thing that could suffice to save him, Logan felt, was to dismay Jackman by a show of complacency and mysterious assurance. He had this sole advantage, that Jackman had not the faintest glimmer as to who Logan really was. “Oh, no, sir,” he said to Jackman, still with his assumed Scotish burr, “I fancy that the question of our future encounters, Dr. Jackman, already is settled by people from beyond Carnglass.”

  Jackman scowled. “I told you you needn’t play at little games with me, Logan, or whatever your name is. It’s pointless now for you to talk like a smarmy bank-clerk that never existed. Why not out with it all? Who are you?” He advanced a rook.

  “That, Dr. Jackman, you’ll learn in the fullness of time. Lest you grow rash, let me remind you of one thing: you may be sure that I’d not have come to Carnglass, knowing you and your men were here, without having taken precautions. There are a dozen people who know precisely where I am, and why, and who will come looking for me if I don’t return when I ought.” He let that observation sink in as he meditated his next move. He wished there were any truth in it; but Jackman could not know its hollowness.

  “As for that, Logan” – here Jackman castled – “it would be entirely possible for you to be lost, accidentally, in the wild waters. No witnesses would swear to your having met with any harm in quiet old Carnglass. Not one. You might, for instance, have gone mackerel-fishing in a small boat with Lagg and Donley; and the three of you might have been caught in a squall – there are mishaps enough in these waters – and drowned; and two of the bodies might have been recovered, Donley’s and yours. A death by drowning is quite natural. A quarter of a mile off the western shore of Carnglass is a ragged reef that would offer a wholly convincing explanation.”

  Logan extricated a bishop from a tight corner. “But suppose, Dr. Jackman, that my friends ashore are not the sort to be satisfied by the formalities of a coroner’s jury, or, indeed, by Scottish courts of law? Suppose they might hold you privately accountable, and presume you guilty until proved innocent?”

  Jackman stared at him. “Logan, I put it to you bluntly now, Royall was sounding you out last night, of course, with his bits from Burns, and our other signals. You evaded him. Now tell me out and out, for I’ve no time to waste: are you one of us? If you are, why cannot you say so and have done with it, and transmit your instructions to me, if you’ve any to give? Perhaps you’re from London; perhaps from Paris; perhaps from further East. I’ve been expecting some such inquiry, of course. Why this cat-and-mouse rubbish, if you are one of us?”

  Jackman’s nerves were wearing thin. To assume the new role of a member of Jackman’s conspiratorial circle would be much the safest dodge for him just now, of course – if only Logan knew how to play it. But, lacking knowledge of the ring, all he could undertake was to cast out dark hints from time to time. “Why, I’ll tell you merely this, Dr. Jackman: I am not authorized to make any regular communication to you until certain events have taken place, and until a certain time has elapsed. Until then, consider me simply as your casual guest.” He took a rook of Jackman’s.

  “You are a cool chap, Logan. I needn’t tell you I have ways of extracting a statement from you. I know all the ways, Logan.”

  “Of course you know them. But suppose I am the sort of person I may be: if you did me any hurt, it might be awkward for you afterward, eh? I have a long memory, Jackman.”

  Jackman bit his lip, and lost another pawn. “There are other ways of getting round you, Logan. Have you ever heard a lady scream? A fullthroated scream, from exquisite agony, I mean. It’s rather distressing for a gentleman who happens to like the lady in question. And it is the ladies, the gently-bred, soft-skinned ladies, who scream loudest, Logan, and talk soonest and most. Imagine a young lady accustomed all her life to deference, who hadn’t had a hand laid upon her in anger since she was a naughty small child; and then think of her, to her surprise and chagrin, abruptly treated to the worst that the human body can stand. How she would scream, Logan, and babble all she knew, and beg to be let off; and you would have the interesting experience of watching the process, though unable to intervene. Suppose Miss Mary MacAskival were the young lady? I’m sure she could tell us a great deal about you.” Jackman’s marvellous eyes glinted. “Torment is the great le
veller, Logan: in torment, the colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady are sisters under the skin. There are no class distinctions in agony; our Miss MacAskival would behave like the lowest trull from Piccadilly, except that she would scream louder and talk sooner.”

  It required a considerable effort, but Logan kept a smiling countenance. If he protested, or showed any sign of weakness, Jackman would take precisely this course; he was being sounded. Indifference on his part, just now, was the chief hope for Mary.

  “Ah, well, Dr. Jackman, you and I are playing for higher stakes than a slip of a girl, aren’t we? If you must, you must; but I may as well tell you that you’d be wasting the time of both of us. Miss MacAskival knows only just what I found necessary to tell her, which is precious little. As for my being racked vicariously by her discomforts – why, you and I got past that a good time ago, didn’t we, Jackman? ‘O had ye been where I ha’ been, and seen wha’ I ha’ seen…’ When fellows like us have supped long on horrors, another squeal or two doesn’t much matter. Besides, I doubt whether you have much taste for twisting ladies’ arms, Jackman, I know you did your share of the disagreeable business, that very sort of business, in Barcelona and Bucharest – oh, I know all about you, Jackman” – here Jackman grimaced, taken aback – “but really, though you make such operations sound jolly, they aren’t very good fun, are they, now? One never quite grows accustomed to them; they stick in the craw; and what’s worse, they stick at the back of the brain, don’t they? Even our friend Royall, I suspect doesn’t relish that business as he should.”

  “Even so, Logan, I wouldn’t have to turn my own hands to the work, you know. Those strapping fellows downstairs would jump at the chance. They’ve been somewhat inhibited from their accustomed earthy pleasures here in Carnglass, poor chaps, and some haven’t had their way with a woman for months. Your recent little contretemps with Anderson, for instance – I’m certain Anderson would perform the task with enthusiasm. They’re a trifle coarse-fibred, my men, and to apply the peine fort et dure to a young lady would be quite their cup of tea.”