“But it’s not about him I want to talk to you—at least, he only comes into it indirectly. It’s more of a personal problem. Do you mind?”
“All right. Go ahead.”
“I’m a bit worried about the trip down.”
“Why? You know as well as I do that nothing can go wrong with the cable.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just. . . Look, Clobber, I don’t want you to think I’m pulling your leg, because I’m really very serious. I don’t think I’m going to get down alive. You see, yesterday was my birthday—I turned 31 and it was March 31—and I had to spend last night up here. Now, I’m not being superstitious or anything, but I’ve been warned that the day after my birthday I’d not be alive if my first trip was from the top to the bottom of the mountain. If I hadn’t forgotten, I’d have changed shifts with someone, but as it is . . .”
“Look here, Heston, if you’re not bluffing, you’re the biggest damn fool—”
“I’m not bluffing, Clobber. I mean it. You see, I haven’t got a relation in the world. If anything does happen. I’d like you to see that each of the men gets something of mine as a sort of keepsake. You can have my watch, Dimble gets my binoculars—”
“Sure, sure. And your million pound bank account goes to Little Orphan Annie. Don’t be a damned fool. Who gave you this idiotic warning, anyway?”
“It was Gha.”
“Get to hell out of here, you little rat! Coming here and—”
“But I mean it, Clobber—”
“Get out! It would be a damned good thing for all of us if you didn’t reach the bottom alive—”
Dimble, neat and officious but friendly, arrived at the lower station in the station wagon, and with him came the conductor Skager, and Mrs. Orvin who owned and managed the restaurant on the top of the mountain.
Brander shuffled forward to meet them.
“Nice day,” said Dimble. “What’s your time, Brander? 9:25? Good. I see your watch agrees with mine. Nothing like accuracy, I say. Set my watch night and morning by the wireless. Everything ship-shape here? Good.”
In the background Skager scratched a pimple on his neck. Mrs. Orvin said: “How’s your hand, Mr. Brander?”
The station-master peered below his glasses at his left hand, which was neatly bound with fresh white bandages. “Getting better slowly, thanks. It’s still a little painful. I can’t use it much yet.”
“Don’t like that fellow Heston,” said Dimble. “Seems all right at his work, but I don’t like his attitude. Nasty trick he played on you, Brander.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t a trick, Mr. Dimble. Perhaps he didn’t know the other end of the iron was hot.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Orvin. “He probably heated it up specially. I can believe anything of him. Impertinent, that’s what he is.”
“Even if he did do it,” said Brander. “I can’t bear any hard feelings.”
“You’re a religious man, eh Brander? All right in its way, but too impractical. No good turning the other cheek to a chap like Heston. Doesn’t appreciate decency, believe me. No, I’m different. If he’d done it to me, I’d have my knife into him.” There was unexpected venom in Dimble’s tones.
“He’ll get a knife into him one of these days,” said Skager. He hesitated. “He’ll be coming down in the first car, won’t he?”
“Yes,” said Brander.
“And it’s just about time,” said Dimble. “We’d better get in the car. After you, Mrs. Orvin. So long, Brander.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Dimble—Mrs. Orvin—Skager—”
Heston came through the door leading to the landing platform at the upper station. In the car, the Native Ben was still sweeping.
“Hurry up, you lazy black swine,” said Heston. “What in hell have you been doing with yourself this morning? It’s almost time to go and you’re still messing about. Get out of my way.”
The Native looked at him with a snarl. “You musn’t talk to me like that. I am not your dog. I have been twenty years with this company, and in all that time nobody has ever spoken to me like that—”
“Then it’s time someone started. Go on—get out.”
Ben muttered: “I would like to—”
“You’d like to what? Come up behind me when I’m not looking, I suppose? Well, you won’t get much chance for that. And don’t hang around—voetsak!”
From the driver’s cabin they heard the two sharp bells that indicated that the lower car was ready to move. Ben stepped aside. As the upper car began to slide down and away, he went through the door, up the stairs and into the driver’s cabin. He looked over Clobbers shoulder through the plate-glass window.
The upper car was then twenty of thirty yards from the station. Both men saw Heston lean out the side of the car and salute them with an exaggerated sweep of his right arm. Both men muttered under their breath.
As the seconds ticked by, the two cars approached each other in mid-air.
In the ascending car Dimble looked at the one that was descending with a critical eye. Suddenly he became annoyed. “That fool,” he said. “Look how he’s leaning out over the door. Dangerous—”
His voice trailed off. As the cars passed each other, he saw something protruding from Heston’s back—something that gleamed sliver for an inch or two and was surmounted by a handle of bright scarlet. Dimble said: “God!”
He reached and jerked the emergency brake. Skager moaned: “He’s not leaning.” Mrs. Orvin gulped audibly.
“That’s my knife,” she said, “the one he said the Martian. . .”
The telephone bell in the car rang insistently. Dimble answered it.
“What’s the trouble?” came Clobber’s voice over the wire.
“It’s Heston. He’s slumped over the door of the car. There seems to be a knife in his back.”
“A knife? Hell! He was alive when he left here, because he waved to me. Ben saw him too . . . What should we do?”
“Just hang on a second. Brander, are you on the other end? Have you heard this conversation?”
“Yes, Mr. Dimble.”
“Well, Heston’s car is nearer you now. We’ll finish the journey. When the car arrives at your station, see if he’s still alive. In any event, telephone us right away. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Dimble.”
“All right, Clobber. I’m releasing the brake now. Speed it a little.”
“Sure.”
The cars moved again.
At the top, Dimble led the rush up the stairs to the driver’s cabin, where Clobber’s white face greeted them. They waited. The telephone rang.
Clobber stretched out a tentative hand, but Dimble was ahead of him.
“I’ve seen him,” said Brander’s voice, queerly. “He’s dead”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. He’s dead.”
“Well, look here, Brander, don’t touch anything. Get on the phone to the police right away. And let Piet stand guard over the body until they get here. All right?”
“It might be difficult to do that, Mr. Dimble. There are people here already for tickets, so I can’t leave the box, and Piet is scared of bodies. He’s said so. I’ve locked the door leading to the car—won’t that be enough?”
“No. If anyone there is curious, they can climb round the side, and possibly spoil evidence. Let me speak to Piet.”
“Here he is, Mr. Dimble.”
“Hullo, Piet. Listen—this is Mr. Dimble here. I want you to go into the room with the car, and see nobody touches anything.”
“No, Baas. Not me, Baas. Not with a dead body, Baas.”
“Oh, dammit. All right, let me talk to Mr. Brander. Brander? Listen. This is the best plan. Don’t sell any tickets—we won’t be operating today, anyway. We’ll start the cars and stop them halfway, so nobody will be able to get near them. In the meantime, you telephone the police. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I will telephone the police.”
“And give us a ring the m
oment they are here.”
“Yes, Mr. Dimble.”
The police came.
Inspector Dirk Joubert was in charge of the party, and with him was his uncle Rolf le Roux, the inevitable kromsteel protruding through the forest of his beard. Facetious Detective-Sergeant Johnson was there, serious Sergeant Botha, Doc McGregor with his black bag, and several uniformed men.
They all mounted the steps to the lower station building, and found Brander waiting for them.
“Where is the body?” asked Joubert.
Brander told them, walked out of the ticket office to point out the two cable cars opposite each other, high above, in the center of the abyss.
“If you’re going to examine the body today, Doc,” said Johnson, “you’d better start walking the wire. Here, I’ll give you a hand up.”
Brander said: “Oh, no, the driver at the top can bring the car back to where we are standing.”
Johnson grinned. “You don’t say.”
“Oh yes.” He remembered: “I’m supposed to ring Mr. Dimble the engineer as soon as you had arrived. Would you like to speak to him?”
“Yes,” said Joubert.
They walked back to the ticket office. Brander made the connection. “Hullo,” he said, “hullo, Mr. Dimble. The police are here. They would like to talk to you.”
Joubert took the instrument from his proffered hand. “Yes? Inspector Joubert talking. We’d like you to let the car with the body come down here. What’s that? No. It’d be better if you people stayed on top of the mountain until I telephone you again. Hullo! Just one moment. While we’re about it, you might give me an idea of what happened. I see. You went up in the right-hand car, and as you passed the left-hand car halfway you saw the knife sticking out of his back. And then? Yes. Yes. And why did you move the car with the body halfway back again? Mm. No, that’s all right—it was quite a good idea. Well look, I’ll get a full statement from you later. You’d better tell the driver to get the cars started. Goodbye now.”
Almost as soon as he put the receiver down the cable began to whine.
They walked back to the room which housed the landing platform, and watched the approaching car. When it was still a fair distance away they could see the figure slumped over the gate, quite clearly, with the scarlet splash of the knife-handle protruding from its back.
“I can tell you one thing right now,” said McGregor. “It’s no’ a suicide.”
“It is the will of the Lord,” said Brander.
The car jerked slightly to a stop.
“You men go to work,” said Joubert. “I want to talk to Mr. Brander.”
Rolf walked to one side with the two men.
“Look, Brander,” said Joubert. “I know roughly what happened from Mr. Dimble, but I’d like your side of it. When the car came down, did you examine the body?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He was dead. I could see that.”
“And did anyone else come near the body before the driver hoisted it off? This Native, Piet?”
“No, not Piet. He is afraid of bodies. He would not go near the car. He stood at the door until the motors started, though, in case anyone else wanted to go through.”
“Who else could have gone through?”
“Well, there was a man and two women here—passengers—but they left when I wouldn’t sell them tickets.” Joubert started on a new track. “Heston was his name, wasn’t it? Yes. Tell me, Brander, what sort of a man was he? Was there anyone working here who hated him?”
Brander hesitated. “I do not like to talk about him. He is dead now. What does it matter what he was like in life? Now he is a soul on Mars.”
It was Rolf who queried the last word: “Mars?”
“Yes.” Something almost like animation shone behind Brander’s thick glasses. “I see you have not heard of Scientific Calvinism?”
“No,” said Rolf. “What is it?”
“A religion. I am a Believer. Let me try and explain. We all know there is a heaven, the seat of the Almighty. Yet so few people have tried to find where heaven is. I don’t want to go into long details, but Eremiah, the founder of Scientific Calvinism, has proved beyond any shadow of doubt that what we call heaven is in reality the planet Mars. If you are interested, I have some books—”
“Not just now,” said Joubert. “I want you to answer my question. Is there anybody here who hated Heston?”
“He was not liked,” said Brander, “but nobody here hated him enough to kill him.”
“No? Someone stuck a knife in his back, all the same. Who could have done it?”
“The angel of death,” said Brander. “The mighty messenger from Mars. It was the will of the Lord.”
“And that is all you can tell me?”
“That is all I know.”
Brander went back to the ticket office. Joubert walked out whistling. He came back a few seconds later, and behind him two uniformed attendants carried a long basket.
“Well, doc?” asked Joubert.
“One blow,” said McGregor. “A verra clean swift blow. No mess. The murderer struck him from behind and above. Either the killer stood on something, or he was a verra tall man.”
“Or woman?”
“Maybe. I canna say one way or another.”
Johnson had evidently been eavesdropping on the examination of Brander. He asked: “Could it have been an angel, doc, or a Martian? You know one of those thin seven-foot monstrosities with no ears and pop-eyes?”
McGregor looked at him stolidly.
“Well,” said Johnson, “at least the height seems to fit. And another thing: Martians don’t have hands, do they? They have tentacles, satin-smooth and very pliable and strong as iron.”
“What are you getting at the noo?” asked McGregor. “Telling you something, doc. You see, this murderer didn’t leave fingerprints.”
Joubert said: “Cut out the nonsense, Johnson. So the man wore gloves. All right. Doc, you go back with the body and do the p.m. If anything else crops up, telephone me here. Let’s go and talk to this Native, Piet.”
But Piet knew nothing. He was old and superstitious and very afraid of death. He had not even looked at the body. The nearest he had come to it was to stand on guard on the other side of a closed door.
Brander telephoned Dimble, and handed the instrument to Joubert.
“We’re coming up, Dimble. What is the signal for starting the car? Two bells—right. Some of my men will be on this station. No, I don’t care about the rules about conductors on every trip. We’re coming up without one, and the car at the top can come down without one too. All right—so it’s irregular. I’ll take the responsibility. Nobody on top must come down, do you hear? Well want to interview you one at a time. Is there a room there we can use? The restaurant? Right. You’ll hear the signal in a couple of minutes.”
Joubert, Oom Rolf and Johnson. Four uniformed policemen. Going up in the car in which death had come down.
“I don’t think we’ll be long,” said Joubert. “The solution’s on top, obviously.”
Rolf said: “How do you make that out?”
“When the cars reached the middle of the run, Heston already had the knife in his back. There was nobody with him in the car, or he’d have been seen. Therefore, Heston must have been killed before he left the top. One of the men stationed up there is the chap we’re looking for.”
“Maybe,” said Johnson, grinning, “and maybe the Martian who did it was one of the invisible breed.”
Rolf looked worried. He said to Joubert: “I hope you are right.”
“Of course I am right. It’s the only possible explanation.”
“So what are you going to do? First question the men who were on top when the cars started this morning?”
“No. Let them stew in their own juice for a while. This Dimble seems a proper fuss pot—better get him over first.”
Dimble.
“And so I told Brander to see the body was guar
ded, and when I found Piet was afraid, I told him—”
“Right. Mr. Dimble. We’ve got all that. Now, just let me get one thing clear. The two men, apart from Heston, who stayed on the mountain last night, were Clobber the driver and the Native Ben?”
“Yes.”
“Did either of these two men have anything against Heston?”
“Probably. Heston wasn’t a very likable chap, you know. But I don’t think anyone would murder him.”
Joubert said again: “Someone did. Now look, Dimble—to your knowledge did either Clobber or Ben have anything against Heston?”
“Not to my knowledge, no. They may have. For that matter we all disliked him. He was always doing something damned foolish. Like practical jokes—only there was malice behind them, and he never acted as though he was joking. Never could be sure. Nasty type.”
Rolf interposed: “What sort of actions are you talking about Mr. Dimble?”
“Well, like putting an emetic in my sandwiches when I wasn’t looking. Couldn’t prove it was him, though. And burning Brander’s hand.”
Joubert said: “I noticed his left hand was in bandages. What happened?”
“Heston handed him a length of iron to hold, and it was all but red-hot.”
“I see. So it would appear that both you and Brander had cause to hate the man?”
“Cause, yes, and I must admit I didn’t like him. But Brander is different. We were talking about it this morning, and he didn’t seem to bear any grudge. He’s a religious type, you know.”
“So I gathered,” said Joubert, drily.
Dimble went on: “And that reminds me. Skager had it in for Heston, too. When I mentioned that if it had been my hand he had burned. I’d have my knife in for him. Skager said that one day someone would. . . Hey! That’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Joubert, “All right, Dimble. Let’s have Skager.”
A pasty, gangling man, who had not long left youth behind him, but still carried youth’s pimples.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Inspector. It’s just an expression. I didn’t like him.”
“So you didn’t like him, and you just used an expression? Doesn’t it strike you as strange that a few minutes later Heston did have a knife in his back?”
Death Locked In Page 19
