by John Creasey
‘Then I will help in every way I can,’ Maddern said simply.
‘The risks—’ began Palfrey.
‘I don’t care about the risks. Apart from anything else, this would really give me something to live for, even if I lived only for a few days. I’d like to talk to Sue before calling Congleton. May I?’
‘Don’t lose any more time than you can help,’ urged Palfrey.
‘If you keep talking nonsense, I shall doubt whether you really want my help,’ Maddern said, as if anger were returning.
It’s a pity he’s so touchy, Palfrey thought; it could be his Achilles’ heel. But he smiled and answered mildly, ‘Well, you shouldn’t doubt it. You could even be grateful for the chance. It’s not every day a country G.P. gets a chance to influence the future of humankind!’ He paused, half expecting a sharp retort, but Maddern took that reproach without any show of resentment. ‘The house will have to be surrounded. C.I.D. Special Branch men will be both inside and outside. Your housekeeper will probably hate it, and there’s no telling how long it will last.’
For the first time, Maddern’s expression seemed to brighten in delight, and he gave a deep, pleased chuckle.
‘I can’t imagine anything that would please Bertha Witherspoon more than to have a lot of young men about both night and day. I’ve a number of calls to make. May I make them?’
‘Yes indeed. The more normal your movements the less suspicious our friend with the soft voice will be,’ Palfrey replied. ‘And I must be going.’ He sprang to his feet, very lithe, looking not only better but younger. ‘I’ll arrange for the watch,’ he promised. ‘Will you wait until more men arrive, and then meet me at Middlecombe Police Station?’
‘Yes,’ Maddern said.
Within half an hour, six men were on the premises, two of them outside the door of the surgery, two in the garden near the surgery window and two moving freely about the house. And Maddern, after a word with Smith, who was in charge, followed after Palfrey.
Palfrey left Hallows End some time before the C.I.D. men arrived and drove in a closed Allard towards the local police headquarters. The Middlecombe Police Station was the local headquarters of the Corneshire County Constabulary, a modern building on the outskirts of the town. He was preceded by a local police car and followed by another. Being in the middle of a small procession did not appeal to him.
This was as bizarre a case as he could remember; more frightening, more horrifying than any he had known. Maddern had seen right through to the heart of the matter. If this was the work of some human agency, then that agency could exert absolute control over mankind’s destiny, eventually over human behaviour. This was control over life and death in a way never suspected before. It was control over birth and so over all of human life. If someone wanted to wipe out mankind . . .
He pushed the thought aside as he walked up the steps to the police station, and then up an open staircase to the Chief Superintendent’s office. He shivered, despite the warmth of a room lit by the sun through a huge window. The desk, set across a corner, was empty but a man came from an adjoining office.
‘Mr. King won’t be a few minutes, sir. Please take a chair.’
‘Thanks,’ said Palfrey.
But he went to the window, shading his eyes against the sun with his hand. Beyond was a small square of old, timbered buildings and weathered brick walls; middle seventeenth century beyond any doubt.
What would happen if there were no more births?
‘Stop it,’ he said aloud, and almost savagely. He swung round from the window and as he did so, heard a man hurrying up the staircase, saying, ‘I saw him come in.’
‘But Dr. Simister—’
The policeman who called out to Simister broke off. Simister’s head and shoulders appeared suddenly at the open staircase. A policeman wearing uniform and a helmet was a few steps behind him, and behind him, came Maddern. Simister glanced into this room, caught sight of Palfrey, and exclaimed, ‘Here he is!’
‘Dr. Simister—’ the policeman began.
Simister said stormily, ‘Palfrey—you must be mad!’
‘I’ve been told so on occasion,’ Palfrey said mildly. ‘What makes you think so?’
‘To come and put the fear of God into us like that!’
‘The fear of death, don’t you mean?’ Palfrey asked.
‘You must be mad! Every doctor who left the hospital this morning was shaken to his vitals.’
Palfrey repressed the obvious retort, and said, ‘And has need to be.’
Simister now stood in front of him, wild-eyed, a striking-looking man so much more attractive to look at than Maddern.
‘They’ll go round and spread the story that every woman in this part of the world is barren!’
‘Well,’ Palfrey said coldly. ‘Isn’t that what it looks like?’
‘No, they can’t be. They—’
Simister broke off, as two men appeared from the passage. One, tall, massive, almost prophet-like, was Chief Superintendent King of the Middlecombe Police. The other was a small, middle-aged man who wore pince nez, the nosepiece fastened together by cotton twisted round and round. He had a button of a nose and a button of a mouth and his cheeks looked like dry leather.
‘Dr. Simister!’ exclaimed King.
Simister rounded on him.
‘You’ve got to stop Palfrey,’ he cried. ‘You’ve got to stop him from spreading alarm and despondency. What he says can’t be true, it’s impossible! You’ve got to—’
Suddenly, Simister broke off, staring at the smaller man as if he hadn’t noticed him before. Now, he seemed appalled. Palfrey moved back a little, self-effacingly, to watch the others without playing a direct part in this little tragicomedy.
‘Dale!’ he gasped.
The little man nodded, a mannerism more than agreement.
‘Dale!’ Simister gasped again. ‘What—what on Earth is he doing here?’ Now Simister turned towards the police Superintendent. ‘Are you mad, too? To allow the Press—Good God! If this story gets out there could be panic. My God, this has to be hushed up until—until the truth is known. And you allow Dale—’ He broke off almost incoherent with distress or despair or with rage. ‘Don’t print a word. Do you understand, don’t print a word! To do so would be lunacy!’
Into a curiously static pool of silence, the newspaperman said quietly, ‘If it’s true, then the story must be told, Dr. Simister.’
‘It can’t be true!’
‘It is quite true that there are no cases at the pre-natal clinic,’ interrupted Dale. ‘But don’t worry, doctor, we won’t print anything against the public interest.’
‘But this whole story would be against the public interest!’ cried Simister, his voice almost a screech.
Dale said, ‘Have you a patient expecting a child?’
‘No, but—’
‘Do you know of any doctor in the district who has?’ demanded Dale. Then, with a glance at Palfrey, he went on, ‘The only possible justification for not printing the truth about this phenomenon is that by keeping silent we might help to find out who is behind it.’ He turned to Palfrey and asked with the same forthrightness as Maddern had shown earlier, ‘Do you think we should keep silent, Dr. Palfrey? That is what my editor sent me to find out.’
Chapter Seven
THE NEWS BREAKS
Palfrey looked from Simister’s taut, near-despairing face to the newspaperman’s leathery one in which the periwinkle-blue eyes were very deep-set, then to the massive police Superintendent whose bland features showed no emotion at all, and on to Maddern. Maddern looked as he usually did; acutely intelligent in spite of his flabbiness.
‘You can’t let such news out!’ cried Simister; he was almost gasping. ‘It would cause panic up and down the country. You can’t release it. Why, every woman in Britain would be afraid
in case she was affected.’
Superintendent King said, ‘A lot of them would heave a great sigh of relief, too.’
‘Don’t make a joke of it!’ Simister cried.
‘No joke. Simple fact,’ stated the Superintendent.
‘Do you have an opinion, Dr. Maddern?’ asked Palfrey, mildly.
‘Yes,’ said Maddern. ‘Release the story, but—’
‘You must all be mad!’ screeched Simister.
‘If anyone here is mad, it’s you,’ barked Maddern.
Simister, staring at him, lips working, hands clenched tightly by his side, made a sudden movement towards him. Before Palfrey had time to realise what he was doing, the Superintendent shot out a huge arm. The force of his movement sent Simister back a pace, and as he recovered the policeman said, ‘Try not to get too excited, doctor, if you please.’ He shifted his massive body until it was between Simister and Maddern.
There was something like contempt in Maddern’s eyes.
‘I should release the story, if it were my responsibility, but present it simply as a natural phenomenon. I wouldn’t suggest that it was caused by either outer space or human agency. There will be plenty of newspapermen and television and radio experts who will theorise about those possibilities. But I agree with Dale—you can’t keep such a situation secret.’
Dale turned to Palfrey, ‘What’s your decision, sir?’
‘As a newspaperman, what is your opinion?’
‘I’m with Dr. Maddern. I would release the story very carefully.’
‘But it will do terrible harm!’ cried Simister.
‘Not so much as if it’s spread by rumour,’ retorted Dale. ‘And when Dr. Palfrey knows who’s behind it, the whole truth can be told.’
Palfrey said mildly, ‘I’m sure you’re right. I’m going to London for consultations now, and I think the authorities will also say “release it”.’
‘Supposing they don’t?’ asked Maddern.
‘We’ll jump that fence when we reach it,’ replied Palfrey, looking at Dale. ‘If I can give you a head start of the national Press, I will,’ he promised. ‘You publish in the evening, don’t you?’
‘Four o’clock,’ Dale told him, with a wintry smile. ‘Giving me and the Echo a scoop isn’t important, Dr. Palfrey, but it’s nice of you to think of it. I would like to do a piece on you, though, and about the attacks on you and your men, and if I could break that with the London newspapers—’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Thank you!’ Dale positively crowed. ‘I appreciate that very much.’
‘For God’s sake stop talking like a lot of morons!’ cried Simister. ‘To hear you anyone would think this was just some everyday event which belonged to newspaper headlines!’
‘For the time being, that’s exactly what we want,’ replied Palfrey, ‘to keep the dearth of pregnancies in the background and concentrate on the attacks on me. No reason why you shouldn’t speculate about the reasons, Mr. Dale. I can tell you that there have been three direct attacks on my life—’
He gave Dale all the details he could, talked of the girl Susan and the attacks in the orchard, described what he called ‘some unidentifiable, invisible force’, and then, with Simister almost writhing, made a simple statement.
‘You can say that I am in Middlecombe as the head of the international organisation known as Z5. Enough?’ he asked.
‘Plenty, sir!’
‘I must register a formal protest,’ said Simister, the vigour of his protest sapped. ‘And if the consequences are disastrous you will only have yourselves to blame.’ He turned and stalked out.
King ran the back of his hand over his nose, like a small boy without a handkerchief, and there was a glimmer of a smile in his eyes when he turned to Palfrey.
‘The meeting’s due for eight o’clock, sir. Are you going to eat first? Very welcome to have a meal in our canteen, or a snack for you and Dr. Maddern sent up here. Or at your hotel, whichever suits you.’
‘Here would be fine,’ said Palfrey. ‘Thank you. Will some
coffee and sandwiches suit you, Maddern?’
‘Am I to be at this meeting?’ asked Maddern.
‘I’d like you to be,’ said Palfrey.
‘Exactly what is the meeting about?’ asked Maddern.
‘Heads of all the main council departments,’ said King, adding with that smile lurking in his eyes, ‘I’ll be there, too! I’ll fix those sandwiches and then leave you while I nip home for half an hour. My kids raise merry hell if I don’t see them before they go to bed.’
‘You carry on,’ said Palfrey, and when the door closed he motioned Maddern to a chair. ‘Give me a few minutes to think,’ he pleaded, and sat back, looking, as if for inspiration, at the ceiling. When he began to speak it was as if he were talking to himself. ‘Maddern, to a man of your temperament I know that this affair must be exasperating and frustrating. And there is so much background which I simply can’t pass on to you. Already you have had some briefing, but it isn’t enough. Much depends on what you absorb from what you hear.’ His voice strengthened and he sat up. ‘Now I’m going to telephone my London headquarters,’ he went on. ‘If you listen in at that extension it will give you still more of the background.’ He leaned forward and put in a call to a Mayfair number, and after the operator, a woman with a very pleasant voice spoke.
‘Hallo, Sap.’
‘Hallo, Joyce,’ Palfrey responded, taking out a pencil and beginning to doodle. ‘Is there any news from Headquarters end?’
‘Not a word,’ the woman answered.
‘How many agents did we ask to check?’ asked Palfrey.
‘Key agents in every city and rural district,’ answered Joyce. ‘Surely you remember.’
‘Yes. Dr. Maddern is on the extension and I want him to know the basic facts,’ Palfrey said.
‘You mean, he is to help us?’
‘Yes.’
The woman sounded faintly disapproving.
‘Very well, if that’s what you want.’
‘Perhaps I’d better introduce you,’ Palfrey said, smiling faintly. ‘Dr. Reginald Maddern, I am speaking to Miss Joyce Morgan, my personal assistant.’
‘Miss Morgan,’ Maddern said, sounding slightly nettled.
‘Good evening, Dr. Maddern.’ There was now no doubt at all that Joyce was disapproving; or at least, not even remotely enthusiastic. ‘Sap, we requested over eleven thousand agents throughout the world to report if the birthrate in any area appeared to be sharply or sensationally reduced, and so far not a single reply has come in.’
‘So we’ve only a local problem, so far,’ remarked Palfrey.
‘It looks like it,’ answered Joyce. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Thanks to Dr. Maddern, I’m feeling fine!’ Palfrey appeared to be in a very good mood, and also determined to cheer Joyce up. ‘I’ve a meeting with the Clerk to the Middlecombe Rural District Council tonight. The Chief Engineer, the Medical Officer, the heads of the gas, water, electricity and highways departments will be here, with the Postmaster, the Chief of Police, the Secretary of the local hospital, the Housing Department manager, representatives of the Chamber of Trade, Rotary and other goodwill clubs and the headmasters of the State schools and the only sizeable private school in the area.’ Palfrey brought all these names out fluently, an impressive tribute to his memory. ‘Each of these has been briefed with the basic facts and asked to find out if they know of any possible contributary causes.’
When Palfrey paused, Joyce said with a laugh in her voice, ‘That should be quite a meeting!’
Palfrey was smiling when he rang off; so was Maddern.
Twenty-two men and three women were in the Council Chamber at eight o’clock that evening. They sat at one of the biggest oval tables Palfrey had ever seen, wit
hin easy earshot of each other. The table, of mahogany, had a beautiful lustre; the chairs, with padded seats and arms, were of the same rich wood. Palfrey sat at one end of the table and the Chairman of the Council sat opposite him, some twenty feet away. Maddern was next to Palfrey, and a shiny-headed young man was on the Chairman’s right. King, huge and looming large above the others was on the Chairman’s other side. The Chairman was a broad- shouldered man with a big, reddish-brown face, short-cut hair, and a thick grey tweed suit which was in sharp contrast to his narrow black tie.
His voice had a pleasant West Country burr.
‘Well, gentlemen and Dr. Palfrey,’ he said, ‘each of us knows what we’re here for, there’s no need for me to say it all over again. Or, as there are some among us who are not familiar with everyone present I’ll ask everyone who speaks to state his position. Save a lot of time if we did that. Mr. Cobb,’ he repeated.
A small, almost wizened man, dressed in a russet-brown suit, stood up.
‘Benjamin Cobb, Borough Engineer,’ he announced crisply. ‘I immediately checked the water supplies, sir. We take a daily sample and have a full analysis each day at twelve noon—have done since that typhoid scare in 1937. Nothing abnormal has been reported which appears related to the present emergency. Copies of each analysis are being made and will be available early tomorrow morning.’ He glanced at Palfrey, obviously for approval. ‘Tests have also been made at Combe Weir Plant—the reservoir plant and at the one sewage disposal plant. It should perhaps be stated that all the water for the area comes from the Weir Plant. No water enters the public mains, except from there, until after the most stringent tests.’
‘What would you do if the water became contaminated?’ asked Palfrey.
‘Switch to supplies from the South Wales and Gloucestershire plants.
‘Has there been any such switch in the past nine months?’
‘No, Dr. Palfrey.’
‘Perhaps it would be better if you addressed your remarks to the Chair,’ the Chairman murmured, half-apologetically.
