by Q. Patrick
“Any help from the neighbors?”
Bracegirdle frowned. “I’ve given up expecting any help. They don’t even seem able to produce half-way decent alibis. At the best of times they’ve only one other person’s word to back them up. In my opinion they’ve all got something to hide. But I can’t very well arrest the lot of them!” He swallowed the remnants of his highball and set down the empty glass. “We won’t get any farther until we find the body.”
“Peter Foote doesn’t think he’s dead,” I remarked, and went on to tell him what Peter had said the day before.
The deputy listened patiently.
“If it interests the young man,” he said at length, “you might tell him we’ve done everything he suggested—with no result. The ports have been watched. The blood on the bridge has been analyzed. I interviewed Mrs. Franklin Alstone yesterday—”
“What sort of a woman is she?”
“Might have been pretty once. You can’t tell through the paint.”
“Any use?”
He shook his head. “She hadn’t seen her dear, darling boy for months. Spent about half an hour telling me what a wicked man Mr. Alstone was, and how he had ruined her life. She was positive about Gerald, though. He didn’t go to her.”
“Did he have any other friends?”
“None that I could locate.”
“So you don’t think he’s alive?”
Bracegirdle grunted. “He’s dead all right, whatever Mr. Foote or any other young Philo Vance may say.”
That same evening I went to visit Mark in the City Hall. I did my best to get him to talk, but he no longer appeared to have confidence in me. He sat staring moodily at the floor of his cell, and all I could extract from him were a few non-committal monosyllables. Although I felt I knew him well enough to be convinced of his fundamental innocence, I had to admit that he seemed to be holding something back. He appeared unable to grasp the fact that Peter’s father had given him a thousand dollars. He steadfastly refused to accept the check and also turned a deaf ear to my suggestions for legal assistance. The fate of his animals and flowers alone interested him.
In the light of his silence, I realized that things looked pretty bad for him. The public had eagerly adopted him as a peg on which to hang their vague suspicions and fears. And the fact that no sort of atrocity had been attempted since his apprehension inclined even the more sane members of the community to think the worst.
Nevertheless, his arrest had done little to restore confidence in the valley itself. One day the Goschens suddenly migrated to an apartment in town, where, as Millie put it over the ’phone, the kids were more likely to “remain alive.” They told me that there was no child or animal to be seen in Grindle. The police had issued orders for them all to be kept under lock and key. I had not realized that the affair had reached such a pitch.
When I was beginning to believe that no further complications would arise, I received a letter. It had a Grindle postmark, and was typewritten on ordinary white paper, similar to that of the other anonymous epistle.
It read:
“It isn’t only in hospitals that animals are tortured, is it? It isn’t only for ‘humanity’ that children and harmless creatures are slaughtered. You thought you had the monopoly of it, didn’t you? Maybe you’re right!”
I read this peculiar document and handed it over to Toni who had just come in.
He returned it with a smile.
“Well, well, Doug,” he said slowly, “that is unexpected, isn’t it?”
There was something about his smile that I did not understand.
Chapter XI
After ten days or so, the weather changed. On Friday morning I awoke feeling heavy and unrested. The air from the open window was warm, and I noticed that the iron-hard piles of snow, lying along the street, had sagged during the night. December seemed to be going in for extremes that year. By noon dirty runnels of water were pouring down the gutters, and there were no more raccoon coats or red noses to be seen on the campus at Rhodes.
At the hospital I ran into Peter Foote, who, with the aid of a crutch, was now able to attend most of his classes. On hearing that Toni and I planned to return to Grindle that evening, he asked for a lift. He wanted to see Mr. Alstone, he explained, and to become officially enlisted in the search for Gerald.
It was late afternoon when the three of us arrived in the valley. I shall never forget the curious sensation of apprehension and excitement I experienced as we drove by Grindle Oak. I think the others, too, felt as I did. None of us spoke, yet our silence was more eloquent than words.
As we helped Peter out onto the Alstones’ porch, Franklin was standing there alone, staring over the snow. It was difficult to realize that this was the father of the boy whose disappearance had aroused such nation-wide indignation. He seemed so slight and shadowy a figure—one not designed to play a conspicuous role in life. How had this affair affected him, I wondered. Did he worry about his missing son? Did he seem as insignificant to himself as he did to the newspaper reporters who had completely overlooked him in favor of his aggressive parent?
He listened in silence to Peter’s request to be allowed to help in the search for Gerald.
“Very kind, very kind, indeed,” he said at last. “We must ask father.”
My first task, after our reunion with the delighted Lucinda, was to see Mrs. Baines and present her with the thousand dollars. She was up and about when I reached the cottage. I found her peeling potatoes, surrounded with a mob of querulous children. I told her of Mr. Foote’s action and handed her the check. She accepted it without gratitude or enthusiasm, muttering that it would come in handy now that there was no man about the house. Her mind was obviously elsewhere and she kept glancing out of the window across the snow which still glowed dimly in the fading light. I suppose that, like all the other inhabitants of the valley, she was dreading the thaw—dreading what might happen now the snow was melting and Grindle would once again be naked and exposed to attack.
On the way home I made a detour, strolling up the lane which led to the Lampson road. It was strange to see the Goschens’ house lying there dark and deserted after the blaze of light which had always been wont to greet the passer-by. The Tailford-Joneses, however, still expended the usual amount of electricity. There was a light in almost every window, and I could see Roberta moving about in the livingroom. For a moment she absorbed my attention, and I did not notice Edgar standing by the gate.
“So you’re back with us, Dr. Swanson.” His voice was quiet and low.
“Oh, good evening, I didn’t see you.”
“People sometimes don’t.” The little colonel tapped his fingers gently on the wood of the gate. “Well, the snow will soon be gone.”
“Yes, it’s been a foul month, hasn’t it?”
Edgar leaned over the gate and, in the light from the house, I could see he was smiling.
“Very unpleasant, Doctor. I wonder what January has in store for us.”
There was a tone in his voice which was difficult to interpret.
“Don’t let’s talk about next month, yet,” I said with a heavy attempt at jocularity. “There’s Christmas to come first.”
“Christmas. Ah, yes.” Mr. Tailford-Jones seemed to be musing over the implications of the word. “‘Peace on earth and good will towards men,’ isn’t it? Very suitable! Goodnight, Dr. Swanson.”
He turned, and I saw his diminutive figure pattering up the path to the house.
When I got home I found Toni entertaining Valerie and Mrs. Middleton in the living-room. The sight of Valerie made me realize how much I had been missing her.
“Hello, Doug,” she said smiling. “It’s good to have you back.”
“Yes—,” Mrs. Middleton’s little blue eyes were regarding me solemnly—“now the Goschens have gone, you are the only friends we have in the valley. We must all cling together in times like these.”
Toni brought me a highball. “They say things have been prett
y tough here in our absence.”
“We’ve all had our finger-prints taken,” put in Valerie. “And we’re not supposed to go out after dark. There are policemen all over the place who ask you where you’re going and what you intend to do. We haven’t been allowed to take Sancho out for days.” Her eyes softened as she spoke. “He’s much better, by the way, and raring for exercise!”
Mrs. Middleton moved uneasily and shot a glance at the window. “The police may do all they can,” she said, “but they can’t stop things happening. We’ve not seen the end of it yet. The snow is going, and when it’s gone—”
“Oh, Mother, let’s not be gruesome tonight. I want to enjoy myself.” Valerie crossed to the piano and began to play.
From then on, despite Mrs. Middleton, the shadow of death slipped temporarily into the background. It was not until our guests were leaving that our strange position was brought back to us.
We were all standing by the garden gate, when we heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and a flashlight was shone on us.
“Those ladies can’t go out alone,” said a gruff voice. “Is one of you gentlemen escorting them?”
“Yes, officer,” replied Toni. “I am.”
“All right, brother, but you’d better take a torch.”
The policeman moved on, swinging his flashlight from side to side as he went.
Soon after the others had left, the telephone rang. It was Peter Foote calling from the Alstones’. His voice was high-pitched and excited.
“Hello! Dr. Swanson? Have you heard the news? Mark’s escaped!”
“Escaped!”
“Yes. Sometime this evening. Bracegirdle’s just ’phoned Mr. Alstone. He’s coming right over from Rhodes with an armed squad.”
“How did it happen?”
“Don’t know exactly.”
“Any idea where he’s gone?”
“Bracegirdle seems to think he’s headed in this direction. Nothing definite, though. I rather hope he makes a get-away. I owe him a lot.”
As he spoke, an idea flashed through my mind, an idea which called for quick action.
“Listen, Peter,” I said, “will you do me a favor? Keep Bracegirdle occupied for a few minutes when he comes. Fake some story—do anything, but don’t let them go after Mark, just yet. I think I know where he is, and I don’t want that armed squad turned loose on him if I can help it. Give me a quarter of an hour. That’s all I want.”
“Okay, Doctor, anything you say. But snap into it. I’ve a feeling they’ll be right over.”
I threw down the receiver and dashed out into the lane. In front I could still see the flickering light of the policeman’s torch, but I hurried on, pushing past him with a curt goodnight.
He shot the flashlight up into my face.
“Hey, there, what are you up to?”
“It’s only Dr. Swanson,” I shouted, and ran on.
I could hear him starting after me. Then his footsteps ceased. He had, I supposed, decided I was above suspicion.
It was a dark night, and the ground was slushy. Before me loomed the covered bridge. I crossed it and hurried on toward the Baines’ cottage.
The windows were curtained and unlighted. Keeping close to the wall, I made for the old stable and pushed, at the door. It was open. Inside the darkness was intense. I groped my way forward, and stumbled over something. Quickly I struck a match and, in the fitful illumination, I saw it was an empty cage. The others were empty, too. Someone had let the animals loose.
“Mark!” I whispered.
There was no answer.
I called again and, reaching the ladder, swung myself up into the loft.
“It’s Dr. Swanson, Mark. Don’t be afraid.”
As I felt round the wall, my face brushed against something soft, and the heavy scent of flowers suddenly invaded my nostrils.
“Are you there, Mark?”
I could distinctly hear the sound of someone breathing. I could feel, too, that someone was watching me. It had always been a notion of mine that Mark could see in the dark and now I half expected his eyes to gleam in the obscurity—luminous as a cat’s. I moved slowly forward, my hands stretched out to guide me. Then I bumped against the foot of the bed, and my fingers touched the rough material of a man’s coat.
“Mark, why didn’t you answer me?”
I produced a match-box and lit one of the candles which I knew to be by the bedside.
He was sitting upright, his eyes staring blankly into mine.
“How on earth did you get here?” I asked.
“Saw my chance, and jumped a truck.”
“But why, Mark? What good will it do you? They’d shoot if they saw you.”
“I had to come back and see them animals was all right, hadn’t I? Tommy’s just a kid. He doesn’t know how to look after ’em good.”
“So you broke jail just for that?”
“I turned ’em loose. They’re better outside now the snow’s gone than cooped up here with me away.”
“Listen, Mark. The police will be here any minute. You’re going back with them, aren’t you?”
“It’s all right now them animals is gone. Tommy knows how to water them plants.”
He rose and started to move round the room, fingering the leaves and the blossoms.
I followed. It was like dealing with a child.
“When the police come—”
“Police!” His mouth broke into a sudden smile. “I could tell them a thing or two if I wanted. But what’s the use? They wouldn’t understand. They ain’t got no sense!”
I put a hand on his arm. “You know something about the murders, don’t you, Mark? Why don’t you tell me?”
He did not reply and, in the candlelight, I saw that his eyes had once more assumed a vague, faraway expression.
As we stood there in silence, I heard a car grind to a stop outside in the road.
“That’s the police now, Mark. You stay here and promise me not to move. Those cops are quick on the trigger. They’ll shoot if you try a get-away.”
Obediently, he crossed and sat down on the bed.
Below there were shouts and the sound of heavy footsteps. Hurrying down the ladder, I stumbled to the door and swung it back. The strip of lawn leading up to the cottage was dark with shadowy forms. As soon as the door opened, they seemed to tense. If I had been able to see, I know I would have been looking down the barrels of some fifteen revolvers.
“Is Bracegirdle there?” I called.
One of the men detached himself from the crowd.
“Dr. Swanson!” The deputy’s voice was hoarse with surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Just seeing nothing happens to Mark. He’s in there, waiting. I’ll go up with you. You don’t need your regiment.”
He followed me into the barn, and I told him in a few words why Mark had run away.
“Listen, Bracegirdle,” I said and, for the first time since the beginning of the case, I put what little authority I possessed into my voice, “I think you respect me as much as I respect you. We are friends, and I have never before criticized anything you’ve done in connection with this business. But I want to tell you right here and now that you’re making a big mistake in believing Mark has anything to do with these murders. He’s just a kid and innocent as a lamb!”
Bracegirdle’s face was close to mine. In the darkness I could hear his quiet regular breathing.
“Maybe you’re right, Dr. Swanson,” he said slowly, “and maybe you’re wrong. But, murderer or no murderer, that boy knows something, and it’s my duty to find out what it is. I can understand how you feel. You know him. You’re fond of him, but—”
“But—nothing!” I said. “I’m a doctor and I know that if he’s treated to any more of this stuff, he’ll lose what little wits he has left. He may have seen something; he may even have seen one of the murders committed. Well and good, but you’re not going to get it out of him by locking him up. The only way to make hi
m tell is to get him to trust you.”
“Okay, Doctor. No one’s going to treat him rough. Come on. We’d better get him.”
Mark rose as we entered the loft. Without a word he pushed past us and started down, the ladder. At the foot he stood waiting patiently for us to descend. The sight of the squad of policemen on the lawn seemed to have no effect on him. He closed the stable door carefully after us and let himself be conducted to the car.
As they drove off, he turned and smiled at me.
“The plants will be all right,” I called. “I’ll see Tommy looks after them—good.”
The next morning over breakfast, I told Toni all that had happened. He listened in silence, gazing out across the lawn where now there were only a few dirty brown heaps to mark where the snow had been.
When I had finished, he took a piece of toast and buttered it slowly.
“Do you know what Mark’s holding back from the police?” he asked.
“No. I don’t. Maybe it’s something important. Maybe it’s just something he imagined. You can’t tell with Mark.”
“He’s never talked to you—not even before he was arrested?”
“Never said a damn thing,” I replied rather irritably. “You know as much about it as I do.”
Toni smiled the curious smile which he had adopted of late.
“That’s just exactly what I was thinking, Doug. Pass me the marmalade.”
For a few moments we ate in silence. Then I happened to look up and noticed Valerie on Esmeralda riding down the lane outside the window. She waved and pointed up our drive, indicating that she was coming in.
I nodded my head and waved back.
“She’s up early,” I remarked, as I swallowed the last drops of my coffee. “Expect she’s glad to be able to ride again. Charlie wants his horses exercised, by the way.”
Toni grunted and lit a cigarette.
“I’ll go let her in,” I said.
“If you’re going out into the garden,” he called, as I strolled into the hall, “you might as well close the garage. I think I left it open last night.”
I lingered a few moments at the front door, waiting for Valerie to tether Esmeralda. She seemed to be taking her time, and I was just about to investigate, when she ran up. Although she had seemed gay and debonair when she passed the window a little while before, I could tell at once that in the interval something terrible must have happened. Her face was deathly pale. Her lips were white. In her hand she held a short piece of rope.
