They Walk in Darkness

by Gerald Verner

  ‘I understand,’ Peter continued, ‘that she makes the fifth victim. It’s dreadful that these things should be allowed to happen. I really think that the police should have done more about finding the person responsible . . .’

  Miss Tittleton paused in her counting and looked up at him.

  ‘Maybe it isn’t a thing for the p’lice,’ she said, meaningly.

  ‘Now, now, Aggie,’ warned Mr. Tittleton. ‘Don’t you go gettin’ on to that agin . . .’

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded. ‘Why shouldn’t I say what I think?’

  ‘Quite right,’ agreed Peter. ‘Freedom of speech is one of the advantages of this country. You mean you think it’s more a case for a doctor . . .?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Miss Tittleton, snappishly. ‘Doctor, indeed! What good would a doctor be . . .?’

  ‘If the person responsible is a lunatic,’ said Peter, ‘a doctor . . .’

  ‘I never said anythin’ about a lunatic,’ interrupted Miss Tittleton.

  ‘Oh, but surely,’ protested Peter, ‘only a lunatic could be capable of perpetrating such horrible atrocities . . .’

  ‘That’s what I says, sir,’ broke in Mr. Tittleton, eagerly, coming down two steps. ‘I . . .’

  ‘You only say it to be different to me,’ snapped Miss Tittleton. ‘It ain’t what you think — not really. You think the same as most of us do.’

  ‘What do most of you think?’ asked Peter, before Mr. Tittleton could reply to this accusation.

  Miss Tittleton brought forth a piece of brown paper and string from beneath the counter and began to make a neat parcel of the ten packets of cigarettes she had counted out.

  ‘There’s some things that can’t be accounted for by natural means,’ she muttered. ‘It’s my belief, an’ the belief of a lot more other people, too, in these parts, that witchcraft’s at the bottom of it. This place was a hot-bed of it at one time an’ some people think that the old forces are workin’ again as they did then.’

  ‘Do you seriously believe that witchcraft is capable of kidnapping children and murdering them?’ asked Peter, with a faintly incredulous smile.

  ‘That I do,’ declared Miss Tittleton, emphatically. ‘And why not? If people make pacts with the Devil there’s nothing they wouldn’t be capable o’ doin’, is there? They put spells on children an’ cattle, yes, and on people too, in the old days, an’ who’s to say it can’t be done today . . .?’

  ‘Who do you believe has made a pact with the Devil in Fendyke St. Mary?’ said Peter, quickly.

  ‘That I wouldn’t like to say,’ answered Miss Tittleton. ‘But there’s someone round ’ere who has, you mark my words. I know it’s the fashion to laugh and scoff at such things these days, but there’s more in it than what a lot thinks.’

  ‘Well,’ remarked Peter, shaking his head, ‘I like to keep an open mind about most things, but I find it very difficult to believe that witchcraft can have been responsible for this outbreak of murder. It seems to me much more likely to be the work of a homicidal maniac.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to believe anything,’ said Miss Tittleton. ‘I’m only giving my opinion, that’s all. But you’ll find I’m right.’ She tied a final knot in the string and pushed the parcel across the counter towards Peter.

  ‘Thank you.’ He took out his notecase and tendered a pound-note. ‘Have you any basis for your opinion?’ he asked. ‘Other than your own conviction.’

  ‘Ted Belton saw the Black Man,’ she answered, seriously, searching in the till for change, ‘on All-Hallows’ Eve . . .’

  ‘The Black Man?’ Peter raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

  ‘That’s what they used to call the Devil in olden times,’ she explained. ‘That’s what they still call him round ’ere. Ted Belton saw him the night before last close by Mother Knap’s old cottage . . .’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ put in Mr. Tittleton, who had come down from his perch on the steps by easy stages and had now joined his sister behind the counter. ‘Full of it ’e was the next day. A great black figure, ’e said it were — nigh on ten feet ’igh . . .’

  ‘Near Mother Knap’s cottage?’ said Peter, with interest. ‘That’s the place they call Witch’s House, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ answered Mr. Tittleton. ‘Where you found them people, sir . . .’

  ‘What time was it when he saw this black man?’ asked Peter. Here was something, if the information could be relied on, that might be of importance.

  ‘As near midnight as makes no difference,’ said Miss Tittleton. ‘He’d been over to ’Inton earlier on, on his bicycle, and ’ad an accident coming back . . .’

  ‘Skid it was,’ broke in Mr. Tittleton. ‘Buckled ’is front wheel and he ’ad to leave the machine an’ walk the rest o’ the way ’ome. Nigh on seven mile. ’E was close to the old cottage when ’e see this ’uge black figure. ’E says it seemed to grow outer the side of the building and glide away in the darkness. Those was the very words ’e used, wasn’t they, Aggie?’

  Miss Tittleton nodded, putting Peter’s change down on the counter. ‘Twice the ’eight of a normal man, he said it was,’ she supplemented.

  ‘The beer must be very strong in Hinton,’ said Peter, sceptically.

  ‘Ted Belton don’t drink,’ said Miss Tittleton, curtly. ‘He’s barely turned seventeen . . .’

  ‘There was a queer sort o’ light, too, shinin’ from the window,’ said Mr. Tittleton. ‘Dim an’ faint-like, he said it was. Proper scared ’e was, an’ took to his ’eels and run.’

  The light, thought Peter, must have come from the candles in that silver candelabra — the candles that had burned until they had guttered out. Ted Belton had not imagined that part of his story anyway, but what about the rest? A man ten feet high was absurd, but had he seen someone and allowed his imagination to run riot over the rest? He decided that Ted Belton might be interviewed with possible profit.

  ‘It’s an extraordinary story — particularly in view of what’s happened at the cottage,’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s your opinion that this black man was the Devil himself?’

  ‘Everyone’s entitled to think what they please,’ said Miss Tittleton with a slight jerk of one shoulder to indicate that whatever Peter liked to think was entirely his own affair.

  ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that this place, Witch’s House, has always had rather a bad reputation, hasn’t it? Don’t you think it possible that, knowing the legend concerning it, Ted Belton may have imagined he saw something?’

  ‘I’ve told you what I think,’ replied Miss Tittleton, ‘and I’m not the only one what thinks the same.’

  ‘I admit to being very interested and I should like to hear the story at first hand,’ said Peter. ‘Where can Belton be found?’

  ‘’E works for Tom Acheson, sir,’ answered Mr. Tittleton. ‘At the garidge. He’s there most times up to six o’clock . . .’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Peter, picking up his change and his parcel. ‘I’ve been very interested in what you’ve told me. You won’t forget to try and get those Players, will you? I’ll call in again in a few days’ time.’

  He left the shop, setting the discordant bell jangling again.

  The Tittletons stared after him for a moment and then turned and stared at each other.

  ‘Pleasant sort o’ gentleman,’ said Mr. Tittleton.

  ‘Pleasant enough,’ agreed his sister.

  ‘’E don’t believe Ted Belton seen anything,’ said Mr. Tittleton, preparing to reascend the steps.

  ‘He wouldn’t believe anythin’ that he couldn’t explain,’ replied Miss Tittleton. ‘An’ there’s some things that can’t be explained — leastways not by means he’d understand. Maybe he’ll ’ave cause to change his mind, though, if he stays here very long.’

  She began to rearrange the stock on one of the lower shelves . . .

  Chapter Nine

  Ted Belton was a lanky youth with a mop of dark hair and intelligent eyes. When Pet
er found him he was engaged in greasing a car, an operation which appeared to have had the effect of distributing a goodly portion of the grease about his own person. He was more than willing to discuss his adventure of All-Hallows’ Eve, and he told his story with a straightforward directness that impressed Peter favourably. There seemed no doubt at all that he had seen something that night and no amount of questioning would alter the original account he had given, which corresponded almost exactly with what the Tittletons had said. He had been coming down the road, very tired from his long tramp in the snow, and also very cold and hungry, when he had seen a glow of light from the window of the cottage. It had startled him because he had forgotten that the place even existed until the light reminded him, his entire attention being taken up by thoughts of home and food and bed. The sight of that light glowing in the darkness, and coming from a house that ought to be empty and deserted, scared him badly. All the old stories concerning Witch’s House came crowding into his mind and he felt himself seized with a sudden panic. It had a curious effect of partially paralysing his legs and filled him with an intense dread of passing the place. He had to force himself to move at all, and then it was only slowly, as though he had suddenly stumbled into a patch of wet tar so that his feet clung reluctantly to the roadway. He managed to overcome this a little, and he was almost level with the cottage when he saw something move away from it . . .

  ‘Like a great dark shadow, it were,’ he said, rubbing a lump of oily cotton waste between his greasy hands. ‘An’ it sort o’ came outer the wall, an’ floated away into the darkness. It looked like a man dressed all in black, but taller than what any ’uman being could ’ave been, sir. More’n twice my ’eight an’ I’m nigh on six foot . . .’

  ‘If it was so dark, how were you able to see it?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Well, sir,’ answered Belton, ‘the light from the winder was thrown back, like, from the snow. It was only dim an’ I only caught a sort o’ glimpse of it . . .’ He gave a half sheepish grin. ‘I didn’t wait no longer,’ he added, ‘I just run like hell.’

  ‘You’re quite sure you weren’t mistaken?’ said Peter. ‘Perhaps it was only the shadow of something . . .’

  Belton shook his tousled head emphatically.

  ‘No, sir,’ he declared. ‘It weren’t no shadder. It was too solid, and it moved. It sort o’ drifted away . . .’

  ‘And you’re quite sure of the height?’ persisted Peter.

  ‘Yes, sir. It was a good ten foot. It weren’t nothin’ ’uman, sir. I’d take me dyin’ oath on that . . .’

  ‘In fact,’ said Peter, with a smile, ‘you’re convinced that this huge black figure you saw was the Devil. Isn’t that right?’

  Belton rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, thereby adding a fresh streak of grimy oil to the rest.

  ‘Well, yes, sir,’ he said, candidly.

  Peter left him to get on with his work, the richer for a ten-shilling note, and stopped on his way out to have a word with Tom Acheson, a bow-legged little man with sparse grey hair and small, very bright black eyes. There was no doubt at all that Acheson firmly believed in the truth of the story told by his employee. Belton was a lad with a very good character and a reputation for veracity. Neither was he given to imagining things or exaggerating what he experienced. Without admitting it in so many words, Acheson made it quite clear that he was of the same opinion as Miss Tittleton regarding the baby killing.

  As he came out of the garage, Peter met Anthony Sherwood. He looked rather tired and drawn, and a little grim, but his face cleared as he saw Peter, and he greeted him pleasantly. After inquiring about Miss Wymondham and Ann and answering Peter’s reciprocal inquiry concerning April, he said abruptly:

  ‘You’ve heard about Joan Coxen, of course?’

  Peter nodded.

  ‘Shocking, isn’t it?’ said Sherwood, his face darkening. ‘It’s incredible that such things can be allowed to happen in this so-called enlightened age . . .’

  ‘Colonel Shoredust has called in Scotland Yard,’ said Peter. ‘Two detectives are arriving today, I believe, so perhaps we shall get some results.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ remarked Sherwood, gloomily. ‘I’m rather doubtful if this is the sort of thing in which the police’ll be much good . . .’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Peter, raising his eyebrows and looking at the other quizzically, ‘that you belong to the great majority?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The general opinion appears to be that all this violence and sudden death is the result of a survival of witchcraft,’ said Peter. ‘I’ve just been talking to a youth who claims to have seen the Devil himself on the Eve of All-Hallows, lurking in the vicinity of that old cottage they call Witch’s House . . .’ He related Ted Belton’s adventure.

  ‘H’m, queer,’ said Sherwood. ‘Particularly when you come to think of what happened to those four people . . .’

  ‘You’ve heard about that too, have you?’ remarked Peter. ‘I must say news travels fast in this district.’

  Sherwood smiled.

  ‘No faster than any other village,’ he said. ‘You tell one person and they pass it on to another, and so on . . . I heard about it, and about poor little Joan, from the milkman . . .’

  ‘Did you know Mallory, Fay Bennett, and Severac?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Not very well,’ replied Sherwood, ‘but well enough to be sure that the world has suffered no very great loss . . . You found them, didn’t you, Chard?’

  Peter nodded.

  ‘Is it true that they were poisoned?’

  ‘Yes. Doctor Culpepper thought with some form of cyanide . . .’

  ‘Strange business altogether,’ said Sherwood, musingly, caressing his chin. ‘What in the world made them all go to that old cottage? And at that hour of the night? Laura must have gone there almost directly after she left your aunt’s . . . What do you make of it?’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Peter. ‘It’s inexplicable to me. There was an old table there laid for a meal and they were all seated round it . . . It was weird and rather horrible . . .’ He gave a brief description of the scene as it had appeared to him when he had burst open the locked door.

  ‘No wonder the people in the district believe it’s witchcraft,’ commented Sherwood. ‘You can’t really blame them . . .’

  ‘Do you believe that witchcraft has anything to do with it?’ asked Peter, pointedly.

  ‘I?’ Sherwood laughed, and shrugged his shoulders. ‘No, but then I’m not a native of these parts. My grandfather was the proprietor of a circus, and I was born in a tent, but most of the families in Fendyke St. Mary have lived here for generations. Their forefathers go right back to the Middle Ages when witchcraft was regarded as an everyday occurrence, and the belief in it has been handed down from father to son. It’s like a belief in God. After all, if you believe in God it’s a natural corollary that you should believe in the Devil, and all witchcraft is founded on a belief in the Devil. The witch entered into a pact with the Black Man and in exchange for her soul received abnormal powers . . .’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ said Peter, rather surprised that he should, though he couldn’t have said why.

  ‘I do know a certain amount,’ answered Sherwood. ‘I’ve always been very interested and I’ve read all the books I could get hold of about the subject. This particular district was steeped in it. The abominable orgies of the Witches’ Sabbath were regularly practised in the place where Lucifer’s Stone stands now, and Fendyke St. Mary had a particularly virulent coven of its own of which Catherine Knap, the original tenant of Witch’s House, was a leading light. Brought up, soaked in all this tradition, it’s not to be wondered at that the inhabitants are only too ready to explain anything strange and inexplicable by witchcraft.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ agreed Peter. ‘I’d no idea that you had made such a study of the subject . . .’

  ‘I haven’t made a really serious study,’ said Sherwood, quickl
y. ‘But I’ve got one or two books that might interest you, which I’ve picked up at odd times. Why don’t you and your wife come and have dinner with us tomorrow night and I’ll show them to you?’

  ‘We’d like to very much,’ said Peter.

  ‘Good,’ exclaimed Sherwood. ‘Then we’ll expect you about seven-thirty. I must push off now . . . Promised April I’d be back before eleven . . .’ He shook hands and hurried away, leaving Peter to walk slowly up the High Street . . .

  Chapter Ten

  Doctor Culpepper had been and gone when Peter eventually got back to Wymondham Lodge. Miss Wymondham was suffering from nothing more serious than a severe cold in the head, and he had prescribed some medicine and told her to remain in bed.

  ‘She’s fuming and fretting because she can’t get up,’ said Ann, ‘and thoroughly annoyed with herself. I think you might go in and talk to her for a bit presently, darling. She’s bursting with curiosity to know what’s going on . . . By the way, Superintendent Odds rang up just before you came in. Colonel Shoredust wants you to attend the conference at Hinton this afternoon . . .’

  ‘Me?’ said Peter, in surprise, and she nodded.

  ‘Yes. The detectives from Scotland Yard will be there and he wants you to give a first-hand account of how you found those people in the cottage . . .’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Peter.

  ‘The conference is at four o’clock at the police station,’ she continued. ‘How did you get on this morning, darling?’

  He told her, repeating his conversation with the Tittletons, and his interview with Ted Belton.

  ‘Do you think he really saw something?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sure he thinks he did,’ answered Peter. ‘He wasn’t just making up a story for the sake of causing a sensation. He genuinely believes in the absolute truth of what he says . . .’

  ‘But he couldn’t have seen what he says he saw,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s impossible, Peter. What could this thing be that was ten feet high?’

  Peter shrugged his shoulders.