The Golden Deed

by Andrew Garve

  Twenty minutes later Mellanby was on his way to the caravan in the Humber. He was usually a rather slow driver, because of his gammy leg, but tonight he drove as fast as he could, to get to the scene quickly, to get the ordeal over. His face had lost its dazed expression. His look now was that of a man whose mind was at war with itself – a grim mask covering an inner turmoil. His thoughts kept reverting to that moment of violent impact when he’d struck Roscoe with the chair. The trouble was, he couldn’t remember much about it. He hadn’t been in any state to notice details at the time. He could remember how he’d felt, that was all … Only too well!

  It took him less than half an hour to reach the quarry through the quiet lanes. A light was burning in the caravan. Eve Sherston was standing in the open doorway, silhouetted against the light as she gazed out Mellanby swung the car in beside the Chrysler, doused his lamps, and limped over to her.

  ‘Hallo, Eve …’ He glanced apprehensively into the van. There was no sign of Sherston. ‘Where’s George?’

  ‘Over there in the bushes,’ she said. Her voice had a note of panic in it. ‘Oh, John, I’m so glad you’ve come … He says he’s doing the best thing, but …’

  Mellanby swung round, following the direction of her pointing finger. There was a faint glow from the vegetation near the verge of the road. He crossed the quarry and plunged into the bushes, thrusting the foliage aside. At a spot close to the road’s edge, but well screened from it Sherston was wielding a spade by the light of an electric hand lamp set on the ground. There was a long, deep hole at his feet and he was feverishly shovelling earth back into it. Sweat was rolling down his face in streams. He paused for a second as Mellanby appeared, said, ‘Good man! – you’ve been quick,’ and went on shovelling.

  ‘George – what the hell are you doing?’ Mellanby cried.

  ‘What does it look like?’ Sherston said, throwing in another spadeful of earth and roots.

  With incredulous horror, Mellanby gazed down. Three feet below the surface of the ground, he could just make out the death-pale face of Frank Roscoe. The scratch on the cheek showed like a dark line. The eyes were closed … Then a spadeful of earth covered it.

  ‘Stop!’ Mellanby shouted. He seized Sherston’s arm. ‘For God’s sake, George, are you mad? We can’t do this.’

  ‘Quiet, man …!’ Sherston jerked himself free and continued to shovel in the earth. ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘We can tell the truth,’ Mellanby cried, in a near-frenzy. ‘We must …! What’s got into you?’ He tried to grab the spade, but Sherston pushed him aside – not roughly, but firmly, as though his mind were made up. ‘Let me finish, John – it’ll be light in half an hour … I tell you we had no choice. We’ll argue it out when I’m through.’ He was beginning to stamp the soil down now. The job was almost done.

  Sick with horror, Mellanby turned away. For the second time that night he felt himself utterly inadequate. Groping blindly, he stumbled back to the caravan. ‘Give me a drink, Eve, for God’s sake,’ he said.

  She poured him whisky, a stiff shot, and he drank it neat.

  ‘George is mad,’ he said. ‘Mad!’

  ‘I tried to stop him, John, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He said he knew best … He made me help him – it was ghastly … John, I’m terrified.’

  ‘You’ve good reason to be … We all have! If only I’d known …!’

  He stopped abruptly as a beam of light suddenly lit up the lane. Eve called out in alarm, ‘George! – there’s someone coming!’ Sherston called something back and the glow disappeared from the bushes. Eve pulled the caravan door shut and turned out the gas lamp. The sound of a car engine grew louder. Eve, a frightened voice in the darkness, said, ‘Who’d come along here at this hour?’ Mellanby didn’t answer. He was beyond caring who came – he’d almost have welcomed someone … The lights grew brighter. The car seemed to slow. Then it went on again. As it passed, Mellanby caught the clink of bottles. ‘Milk!’ Eve said, with a hysterical little laugh. ‘Would you believe it …?’ When the engine noise had died she opened the door and lit the gas again. Her face was as pale as parchment under the glare.

  In a few moments, Sherston appeared at the door. ‘False alarm, eh?’ he said to Eve. ‘That thing had me worried for a second …’ He threw his spade under the caravan and wiped his hands on a rag. ‘Well, that’s that,’ he said grimly.

  He climbed into the van and pulled the door shut. ‘Sorry if I was a bit rough out there, John, but I had to finish what I’d started … Okay, I know what you’re going to say – I ought to have consulted you first.’

  ‘Of course you ought!’

  ‘Well, it’s too bad I couldn’t but there just wasn’t time for a lot of discussion – I had to use what darkness there was left.’

  ‘Why do it at all? We’re not criminals. We didn’t kill Roscoe on purpose. It was – it was an accident …’

  Sherston poured himself a glass of water and drank deeply. Then he sat down opposite Mellanby. ‘Now listen to me, John,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve had a bit longer to think about this than you have, and I reckon I’ve got the position a good deal clearer … Of course it was an accident – we neither of us intended to kill him. But I damn well intended to half-kill him if I could, and from the way you went for him I wouldn’t say you were exactly friendly. Face it, man we both hated his guts, and we had good reason to. He was an out-and-out bastard, and we both knew it. So what would it look like if tonight’s story got out …?’

  ‘I don’t care what it looks like,’ Mellanby said angrily.

  ‘You soon would! Can’t you see we wouldn’t have a dog’s chance? We both went for him with chairs, and between us we knocked him unconscious. We didn’t call a doctor. Instead, we smuggled him out here, and he died. I know there was a damn good reason for everything we did, but would anyone else think so? Don’t kid yourself! There’s not a jury that wouldn’t bring it in as manslaughter.’

  Mellanby looked from Sherston to Eve, and back again. ‘We only did what we were forced to do,’ he said. ‘Anyone who knew the facts would agree. He was too much for us you said that yourself. And there couldn’t have been greater provocation. Threatening to use a razor …!’

  ‘He hadn’t got a razor though,’ Sherston said. ‘He hadn’t got a darned thing. That’s what a jury would pick on. We weren’t either of us in actual danger of our lives, not at that moment with the two of us tackling him together. A jury would say we ought to have done without the chairs … Look, I’ve no qualms about what we did, don’t think that – he was a louse, even if he did manage to do one good deed, and I’m shedding no tears for him. He deserves to be in that hole I’ve just dug, and I’m glad he’s there. All I’m saying is that if the truth gets out, you and I will be jailed as criminals – and I’m damned if I’m going to lose my freedom for a bastard like that. I’m fifty-five, and my last years are precious to me … I tell you, man, there was only one way to look after ourselves, and that was to stick him in the ground – which is what I’ve done.’

  ‘You were wrong,’ Mellanby said. ‘You’ve put us both in the wrong – hopelessly. What you’ve done now is criminal.’

  ‘Maybe it is, technically, but not any other way – not morally. Anyhow, why should you worry? I did it on my own. I’m not asking you to take responsibility for it.’

  ‘I know about it – that’s enough.’

  ‘Well, try and forget it John … If you can’t do that just keep quiet about it!’ Sherston looked grim. ‘As a matter of fact I don’t see how you can do anything else, now Roscoe’s underground … They’d never believe you hadn’t had a hand in it.’

  Mellanby groaned. ‘God – what a mess!’

  ‘It’s nothing like the mess it might have been?’

  ‘You can’t be sure of that,’ Mellanby said, ‘How do you know the whole thing won’t come out? Then where would we be?’

  Sherston shook his head. ‘How can it? – who’s to know? All you have to do is g
ive out that Roscoe didn’t like the Bath district after all and pushed off somewhere else – you don’t know where – and that’ll be that … He hadn’t any roots here. He hadn’t any friends, had he? I wouldn’t think so! Who’s going to search for him? He came here out of the blue, and he’s gone back into it.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that’ Mellanby said. ‘Everyone leaves traces … What about his things up at the house – his clothes …?’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to pack those up double-quick – hide them somewhere tonight and bring them along here as soon as you get the chance. I’ll soon get rid of them.’

  Mellanby glanced out of the window. The sky had the pale look of dawn – the bushes by the road were taking shape. The quietness of death lay over the quarry. He shivered. ‘Suppose someone found him …? A dog might …’ He broke off, unable to finish.

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ Sherston said. ‘He’s four feet down and well stamped on … By the time I’ve finished with the place, there won’t be a trace. In a week or two it’ll be grown over. Nobody’s going to find him, and nobody’s going to suspect a thing. I’m certain of that.’

  ‘It’s so incredibly cold-blooded …’

  ‘John, this isn’t a time to be squeamish. I know how you feel – right now I’m pretty queasy myself, to tell you the truth, though God knows I’ve seen tougher things done in my time, and done them … The thing is, it was necessary.’

  ‘Eve doesn’t think so.’

  ‘I didn’t at first,’ Eve said, ‘but now I think George is right … Why should we risk ruining our lives for a man like Roscoe?’

  Mellanby got to his feet. ‘Well – I don’t know … I’ll have to think about it. I must talk to Sally.’

  ‘You do that,’ Sherston said. ‘Talk to Sally. Ask her if she wants her life ruined. Shell say I’m right – you’ll see …’ He got up and opened the door. ‘I’m sorry about this, John. You’re a man of principle, much more than I am … I know what it means to you, I know it’s a heck of a problem. All I can say is, I’ve tried to do my best – for both. I honestly couldn’t see any other way.’

  Mellanby nodded. His face was grey and set. ‘I’ll come back later, anyway.’

  ‘With the clothes!’ Sherston called after him. ‘And, John – be careful! Watch your step!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sally said, with an effort at calmness, ‘The thing is, John, what would happen if you told the truth? Do you think George is right or wrong?’

  It was an hour later. The gruesome news of Roscoe’s summary disposal, added to the shock of his death, had quite shattered Sally at first, but the problem of what to do next was so urgent that she’d forced herself to put the horror out of her mind and concentrate on the dilemma that faced them. No decisions had been taken yet, but as a precaution – and to Mellanby it seemed halfway to a decision – Sally had gathered all Roscoe’s belongings together and locked them away in a cupboard. Kira and the children were still asleep – but they wouldn’t be much longer. They’d have to be told something. The question was, what? Sally and Mellanby, facing each other in the bedroom in a state of desperate anxiety, now had to make up their minds.

  It was a little while before Mellanby answered. On his way back from the caravan he’d had time to do some hard thinking. He had to be honest with Sally, but he hated having to tell her his conclusions. When at last he replied, it was as though the words were being dragged from him one by one.

  ‘I’m horribly afraid George may be right,’ he said.

  Sally looked at him blankly. ‘You mean you would be sent to prison!’

  ‘I think it’s quite likely,’ Mellanby said. ‘I didn’t to begin with, but I do now … Of course, it’s hard to be certain – so much would depend on the judge – but I’ve been thinking about other cases and they’re not very reassuring … Do you remember that man in Bristol last year? – Ferguson, I think his name was. He attacked his wife’s lover and they fought and the man died … He’d had much more to put up with than George or I – but he was sent to prison … So why should we get off …? You see, Sally, we did take the law into our own hands. George could have gone to the police in the first place instead of rushing round here to try and beat Roscoe up. They’ll say that’s what he ought to have done … And I could have slipped out and rung the police when Roscoe was hitting George, instead of joining in … The truth is, we were both completely beside ourselves and went for him blindly – and the law will say we used more than the necessary force.’

  ‘But, John, it was sheer bad luck that he died.’

  ‘For him and for us!’

  ‘If he hadn’t done, no one would have given it another thought …’

  ‘I know,’ Mellanby said, ‘The trouble is, the law goes mainly by results.’

  ‘I suppose so … But, darling, surely it would weigh with a judge and jury that Roscoe was such a ghastly man. The way he behaved from the beginning – all those horrible threats – and attacking Eve like that …’

  ‘Well …’ Mellanby hesitated. ‘They might see things a bit differently … You see, they’d only have our version – and it might be hard to convey just why we felt so terrorized. They might think that Roscoe’s threats were pretty fantastic and that it would have been perfectly safe to pretend to play along with him and go to the police afterwards. They might easily think I just lost my head … The attack on Eve is another matter, but there again they might wonder just how serious it was. Eve’s taken it much more lightly than George, and she doesn’t seem to have any marks on her … I’m sure all these things would weigh, particularly if Roscoe turned out to have a bad police record – but they wouldn’t be enough. He still had the right to live.’

  ‘I can’t believe a jury wouldn’t be sympathetic, all the same,’ Sally said.

  Mellanby shook his head. ‘There’s another side to that, too, I’m afraid … There’s such a thing as forfeiting sympathy. Have you thought what sort of figure I’d cut in the box …? Roscoe was a man who’d risked his life to save you and Tony from drowning – I owed him everything – and a few days afterwards I bashed him with a chair. It doesn’t sound very pretty, does it? And that’s only the beginning. We didn’t do any of the things we ought to have done after it happened. We didn’t call a doctor, or the police – as George says, we smuggled him out. We can explain all that after a fashion, but whatever we say it’ll look as though we were trying to cover up, as though we felt guilty … And then – burying him …! Even if we got over the other things, we’d never get over that. It was an appalling thing to do – it would put any jury against us … No, Sally, I think we’ve got to face it – the verdict would be manslaughter, and we’d get anything up to five years.’

  ‘Five years …! John!’

  ‘It’s happened to others. It could just as easily happen to us.’

  ‘But it would be so utterly unjust – you’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve it … Five years!’ Sally gazed at Mellanby with frightened eyes. ‘It’s unthinkable … Darling, it would mean the end of everything, it would destroy our lives. We’d never get over it – we couldn’t! … And think of Tony and Alison … John, it’s just too awful …’

  Mellanby was silent.

  Presently Sally said, in a different tone, ‘And suppose we keep quiet about it all – what then?’

  Mellanby gave a little shrug. ‘I imagine George is probably right about that, too … I don’t see why Roscoe’s body should ever be found. If we say that he left here last evening, while Kira was out and the children were asleep, nobody’s going to disbelieve us … Of course, if inquiries ever did start things might get very difficult …’

  ‘Are they likely to?’

  ‘Well you never know – something might start them off. But at the moment I can’t think of anything that would.’

  There was another little silence. Then Sally said slowly, ‘So it comes to this – if we tell the truth, we probably ruin our lives, and if we don’t there’s a g
ood chance we can carry on as though …’ She hesitated.

  ‘As though nothing had happened?’ Mellanby said, with rare bitterness.

  ‘No, darling, of course not – I know things would never be the same again – but at least the children wouldn’t suffer … After all, John, we can’t bring Roscoe back to life. What good would you be doing by telling the truth? What would you be doing it for?’

  ‘For myself, I suppose,’ Mellanby said. ‘I dare say it’s very old-fashioned of me, but I happen to be a law-abiding man. I believe in law and order. I don’t believe people are entitled to disregard the law and make their own rules just because it happens to suit them. I’ve a very deep feeling about it.’

  ‘Well, yes, I know,’ Sally said, ‘and I do agree with you, of course … But there must be exceptions sometimes.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so.’

  ‘John, you’ve made exceptions yourself … What about when you found out Roscoe was a confidence man? – you were going to let him go because you were grateful to him, instead of handing him over to the police. You were making your own rules then.’

  Mellanby pondered. ‘Yes … Strictly speaking, I suppose I was wrong … But at least I wasn’t doing it to shield myself, which is what I’d be doing now.’

  ‘But, darling, if the law’s stupid and unjust …’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Sally – it’s the only thing there is between us and the jungle. It’s the only thing that makes a decent, civilized life possible. If people were allowed to ignore it because they’d got good reasons, that would be the end of organized society – and soon we’d all have to carry bludgeons. Either you have laws and observe them, or in the long run you’re sunk.’

  ‘I don’t see how one could be more sunk than having to do five years in jail for absolutely nothing!’

  ‘That depends … What do you think the five years would be like out of jail?’

  Sally gazed at him unhappily. ‘You really want to confess, don’t you?’

  ‘I hate the thought of living with a lie all my life. I hate it more than I can tell you.’