Beginner's Luck

by Paul Somers

  “Well, no …”

  “Then see one.”

  “It’s just an indisposition,” I said. “I’ll be all right in a day or two.”

  He blew his top, then—and I couldn’t blame him. “A day or two! That’s no bloody good. We run a newspaper here, not a bloody convalescent home. I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with you at all. See a doctor right away and let me know what he says. That’s an order!”

  He hung up.

  I felt pretty worried. If I didn’t report, they’d be sure to ring again the next day. And they’d keep on ringing. If I continued to stall, they’d probably send someone down to find out what the hell I was playing at. They might even send Lawson back, which was the very last thing I wanted. It was absolutely imperative that I should be left alone for the next few days. I thought about it for a long time, and there seemed only one thing to do. I went into the lounge and composed a letter to Blair. It took me quite a while. The final version read:

  DEAR MR. BLAIR,

  I’m afraid that I must ask you to accept, as of now, my resignation from the post of reporter on the Record. I have been reluctant to take this step, particularly in view of the consideration that you and other members of the staff have shown me, but I realise now that I am temperamentally unfitted for the life. As you may have guessed, there is nothing really wrong with my health, but this ghastly murder has upset my nerves and I’m not sleeping at all well. I find that I dislike intensely the sort of inquiries that reporters have to make, and I can’t at all approve of some of the methods they use. In the circumstances, it is obviously better that I should find some other sort of work, so please accept this as a final severance. If there should be any letters for me, I’d be grateful if you would have them redirected to me at Poste Restante, General Post Office, Launceston, as I am proposing to take a holiday in Cornwall right away before looking around for a new job.

  Yours sincerely,

  HUGH CURTIS

  I sealed the letter up and drove into Brighton to post it so that Blair would be sure to get it first thing in the morning. I hadn’t much doubt that it would do the trick. Blair didn’t know me at all well—he would take it at its face value and write me off as a hopeless neurotic and hypochondriac. There might be repercussions later on, because I’d been taken on to the staff of the Record very much as a favour, and the Chairman was pretty certain to mention what had happened, to my father. But he couldn’t do it at the moment because my father was away in Lausanne at a conference until the middle of June. By then, if I came through this business, I’d be able to explain everything. If I didn’t come through, it would scarcely matter. I felt much happier when the letter was posted.

  The rest of the evening dragged horribly. I went to my room around ten and waited there in a state of mounting tension, listening to the quarters striking. I couldn’t leave the hotel until the manager had locked up and gone to bed, because otherwise I should be locked out. Anyway, it would be safer to wait until the village was asleep. From my window seat, I watched the lights go out one by one. When all seemed quiet, I crept downstairs and silently let myself out. It was five minutes to midnight. I’d already taken the precaution of parking the car beside the kissing-gate, and I walked quickly up the hill to it. There was no one about. I took the blankets under one arm, and the water can and soft bag with all the provisions in it in the other, and set off up the field path. I had to walk very slowly and carefully, because the insufflator was in position and I didn’t want to set it off with any sudden jerk and arrive at the castle sneezing and smelling of pepper!

  The night was almost as dark as the previous one had been, but I was getting to know the place better now and I had little difficulty in finding my way. I skirted the moat, passed below the square tower, and crossed the causeway to the door. I rested for a moment, for I was carrying quite a load. Then I let myself in with Smith’s key. I tried to lock the door again behind me, but I found that I couldn’t. Apparently there was some obstruction in the lock, so that it worked from the outside but not from the inside. That cleared up a point which had puzzled me quite a bit—why Smith had left the door open behind him on the night when Hoad had walked in on him. Evidently he’d had no choice.

  I crossed the courtyard to the tower door, and pulled it open, and called up softly. I thought that Smith and Mollie might be in the first-floor room, but I got no reply. I lugged the bag up the spiral staircase and reached the top door, which was closed. I couldn’t see a thing. I made sure the insufflator was still in position, and banged on the door. There was a moment’s silence. Then Smith called out, “Is that you, Mr. Curtis?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Have you got the stuff?”

  “Yes.” I was so tense with excitement that it was all I could do to keep my voice under control. “There’s a bit more to come up.”

  “Fetch it, then.”

  I left the bag on the step and went down for the blankets and water. As I reached the top door again I put my shoulder to it and heaved, just to see what would happen. It gave a little, but it didn’t open. It felt as though Smith had his foot wedged against it. He called out, “Easy, there!” I waited. After a moment the door opened about six inches. A pale gleam of light came through from the roof. I couldn’t see Mollie.

  Smith said, “Put both your hands through the door, Mr. Curtis. And keep them there.”

  I obeyed. The door slowly opened. The first thing I saw was the gun, well out of reach. The next thing was Smith. He certainly wasn’t taking any chances. I hadn’t overestimated him.

  “Step in,” he said. “Hands above your head. Now stand still.” He hobbled up close. I could see that he still wasn’t putting much weight on his foot. He thrust the gun against my belly and slapped my pockets expertly. Out of the corner of my eye I could just see the nozzle of the insufflator—though only because I knew it was there. It was pointing straight at his face, and I knew it would work if only I could get at it. He thumped my breast pocket and must have been within an inch or two of triggering it off himself—but he missed it. “All right,” he said, and stepped back. I lowered my hands, sweating with disappointment. The moment had passed.

  I looked around for Mollie. She was sitting propped up in an angle of the parapet, with her thin summer coat folded under her as a cushion. I said, “Hallo, Mollie. Are you all right?”

  “More or less,” she said. She sounded as though she was having difficulty with her voice, too—but with her it wasn’t excitement. I guessed it was just plain misery. “I could do with a drink—I’m absolutely parched.”

  “I’ll get it,” Smith said. He backed to the door, and brought in the bag and the water can. He opened the bag as carefully as though it had been full of grenades. He took the things out one at a time, and scrutinised each in turn.

  “What goes with this?” he asked, holding up the corkscrew.

  “I couldn’t get any wine,” I said. “I left it too late and the hours were wrong. I’ll bring some to-morrow.”

  He grunted, and went on delving. He spread everything neatly on the concrete—the tumblers, the tins, the knives and forks, the packets of this and that. He had a delicate touch with everything, like a conjurer or a card sharper. He never fumbled. When he came to the dagger-like knife he gave me a quick, sardonic glance, tried the point, and tossed it over the parapet into the moat. But he passed the tin opener. He inspected the bandage, and seemed to approve of it.

  “Well, that seems all right,” he said, surveying the things. “You’ve been busy, Mr. Curtis.” He unscrewed the top of the water can, smelt the contents, and filled the two tumblers. He took one over to Mollie, and himself drained the other at a draught. He refilled them, and they both drank again. They certainly were thirsty. Then he fetched the blankets, unrolled them carefully, and put two of them beside Mollie and two beside his jacket, which lay across the slats behind the door. It seemed that I’d been right about the door—he’d obviously been sitting there with his foot ag
ainst it. That way, of course, he couldn’t be taken by surprise. He pushed the door shut, now, and set to work to carve up a loaf. The gun was on the concrete beside him, but I wasn’t tempted. Not at the moment. I was still hoping for a chance to use the pepper.

  I walked over to Mollie. So far she hadn’t moved. The light from the handlamp was dimmer than the night before and I still couldn’t see her face properly. I said, “Has he behaved himself?”

  “So far,” she said.

  “Have you been up here all the time?”

  “No, only since dusk. We spent most of the day in the courtyard. I’m allowed to exercise!”

  “Are you going to sleep up here?”

  “I gather so. Mr. Smith has fixed up a gadget so that I can’t cut his throat during the night.”

  She pointed, and I saw then that one of her feet was secured by wire to the slats. There were two separate wires, and two separate loops. The whole thing was cunningly arranged so that she couldn’t get free unaided. The ends of the wires were both out of her reach.

  I said indignantly, “Look here, Smith, you can’t leave her like this!” Even as I said it, it struck me that indignation was pretty foolish in the circumstances. It was like complaining of discomfort on the way to the gas chamber. But that was how it was. One became almost conditioned to major outrage, and boggled over detail.

  Smith was quite unperturbed. He was dividing ham and tongue and tomatoes into two heaps with meticulous care. He said, “She’s perfectly all right, Mr. Curtis—the wires aren’t tight. Obviously I can’t leave her free at night. Even if she didn’t cut my throat, she might get desperate and jump into the moat. I wouldn’t like her to hurt herself!” He picked up his gun, and half the food. “Just stand away, will you, while I bring this over?”

  I stood back, and he took the food across to Mollie. Then he returned to his place, and they both began to eat. They were both ravenous. While they ate, I gave Mollie the news. I told her about Lawson and the bedroom incident, because I thought it might cheer her up a bit, and it did. I also told her where I’d put her car, and about my office ringing up, and about the letter of resignation I’d sent to Blair. She seemed quite horrified over that, but she had to agree that it had been the only thing to do. Smith grunted approval. He seemed very amiable. He didn’t mind Mollie and me talking. He didn’t seem to mind anything. Actually, it wasn’t easy to talk, because I had half my mind on how I could get near enough to him to use the pepper.

  As I gazed around at the uniquely improbable scene, I had to tell myself all over again that this wasn’t just a nightmare. For it really was fantastic. There, in one corner, was Mollie—the haughty, sophisticated Mollie—tethered by a foot like some animal. There, in another corner, was Smith, a callous and apparently quite unworried murderer, thoroughly enjoying his food and behaving as politely as a host at a party. And there was I, with a woman’s powder spray sticking out of my buttonhole, and homicide in my heart. And all in the sinister, shadow-casting half-light of that now failing electric lamp. It seemed incredibly macabre.

  At last Smith stirred. “Well, that was good,” he said. “To-morrow, Mr. Curtis, perhaps you can do even better. We mustn’t spare the expense.”

  “No,” I said, “you’ve got twenty pounds to spend, haven’t you?”

  He smiled good-humouredly. “I shall need that on my travels.”

  “How is the ankle?” I said.

  “Coming along very nicely. I’ve been bathing it—in the well! As you see, I’m getting about much better—and when Miss Bourne has fixed the bandage for me it’ll no doubt be easier still. Another two days, and you’ll be celebrating my departure.… And now, Mr. Curtis, I think you’d better be getting back. Miss Bourne and I have had quite a tiring day.”

  “It looks as though you need a new lamp battery,” I said.

  “Yes, I was going to mention that. Please don’t forget it. And I’d like some cigarettes, I’m running out. Not cork-tipped, if you don’t mind.”

  I said, “Is there anything you’d like, Mollie?”

  “You might change my library book!” she said.

  “I’ll bring some papers, anyway.” I stood looking at her. I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want to leave either of them. I wanted to have a crack at Smith. But he was at the other side of the roof and I couldn’t think of any excuse to get near him.

  “Well, good night, Mr. Curtis,” he said.

  I didn’t move.

  “I said ‘Good night, Mr. Curtis.’ ”

  I still didn’t move. I’d suddenly had a very simple idea. I didn’t say anything, either. I just stood there.

  After a moment he got up and came hobbling over to me. “Are you deaf?” he said, and for the first time that night his voice had a nasty edge. “Get going!” I felt the gun in my ribs.

  He looked as though he knew I was up to something, but he didn’t know what. His face was about a foot away. The position was perfect. I wondered if he’d have time to press the trigger before the pepper got him. Anyway, I had to take a chance. I said, “I’m sorry, Smith—I’ve got a frightful pain in my chest.” I clapped my hand on my jacket and the pepper shot out.

  It missed him completely. The nozzle must have turned, because the spray went sideways instead of upwards. Smith jerked back. The gun was still pointing at me menacingly and his finger was steady on the trigger. He didn’t even sneeze. But I did—for a moment or two I was quite helpless. It would have been comic if there hadn’t been so much at stake. As it was, it was just a ghastly fiasco.

  He waited till I’d stopped sneezing. Then he made me move to a new place, and came up close again and unbuttoned my jacket and took away the insufflator.

  “An ingenious idea, Mr. Curtis,” he said, “but you really shouldn’t have done it, you know. I did warn you. It seems you need another lesson. Stand back!”

  He began to hobble towards Mollie. I caught a glimpse of her face in the light as he turned the lamp towards her with his foot. She looked distraught with fear. “Don’t!” she breathed. “Oh, please don’t!”

  I couldn’t bear it. Not again. I said, “Smith, if you touch her I swear you’ll have to kill me. And that’ll be the end of you, too.” I took a step towards him, and another. “So help me, I mean it.”

  He stopped, and gazed at me for a long moment.

  “I believe you do,” he said. “The breaking point, eh? Well, in that case you’ll have to take your own punishment.”

  He came up to me and stuck the gun hard in my stomach and gave me a savage punch with his knuckles. He knew just where to hit so that it hurt most—and where he hit was well below the belt. He kept on hitting me, very calmly, very scientifically, and every blow brought its own peculiar agony. I slumped against the wall, as wave after wave of pain passed through me. I knew I couldn’t take much more. I was vaguely aware of gasps and cries from Mollie, but they seemed to grow fainter. I couldn’t take any more. Then the blows suddenly ceased, and I swam slowly back to full consciousness through a haze of pain.

  “Well, I think that will do for now,” I heard Smith saying. “After all, if I incapacitate you entirely I shan’t get those cigarettes. Good night, Mr. Curtis.”

  I didn’t look at Mollie. I couldn’t bear to. I knew what she must be feeling, because I’d felt the same the night before. There couldn’t be anything much worse than watching someone else being brutally hurt when you couldn’t raise a finger to stop it. I said, “Good night, Mollie,” and stumbled out through the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The only consolation I took away from the castle that night was that I’d stood up to Smith over Mollie—and won. I knew now that I could prevent him from hurting her. I knew also that, whatever passing torments he might inflict on me, he wouldn’t risk doing me any crippling injury. Our relationship, if it could be called that, had reached a point of balance. But I was still no nearer getting that gun away from him—and I was one day nearer the moment of his departure, the final reckoning.


  The real problem, of course, was the tower. If Smith had been spending his nights in the courtyard, or even in the first-floor room, there might have been some possibility of creeping in quietly and catching him off guard. But the tower was a safe fortress. It wasn’t even as though the door giving access to the roof was a light affair, that I could fling open and rush through. Its heavy oak was inches thick, and he probably kept his foot wedged against it all night. He’d always be ready for me long before I could do anything effective.

  In fact, there was really only one way of approaching that roof without announcing my arrival, and that was from the outside of the castle. But how could it be done? Theoretically, I supposed, it might be possible to get hold of a sixty-foot ladder and float it out across the moat and mount it on some improvised raft and climb up—but it would be a difficult operation and certainly not a quiet one. And how could I hope to get a sixty-foot ladder to the castle without attracting dangerous attention in the village? Single-handed, the whole thing was beyond me. The ladder was out. And the walls were much top smooth to scale without a ladder …

  Or were they? I’d rather taken that for granted, but I hadn’t seen them close to—I’d only seen them across the moat. It might be worth while to examine them more carefully. I had a pair of binoculars in the car, and I decided to go along to the castle next day and do a bit of reconnoitring.

  Directly after breakfast I collected the glasses from the car boot and walked up to the kissing-gate. The gate itself was out of sight of the square tower, but parts of the path were not, and I didn’t want to risk being seen by Smith if I could help it. I debated the best route to take. Fifty yards to the left, away from the path, there was a small copse. I could reach that without showing myself. After that there was a dip in the ground that would give me adequate cover for most of the way. At the far end I shouldn’t be able to avoid crossing an open space, visible from the tower if anyone was looking, but the distance was short enough to risk a quick dash. Beyond the gap, the fringe of hazel bushes beside the moat would give me cover. Once I’d reached them, I could work my way round unobserved until I was opposite the tower.