Death on the Way

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  Suddenly his eyes strayed to the chimney piece and he cursed again. Dash it, there was his letter to Pearl Ackerley! Parry had recently been seeing as much of Pearl as he could, and at last he was beginning to think that she was growing fond of him. She had been broadcasting and he had written on the previous night congratulating her on her performance. But because he hadn’t a stamp he had left the letter there beside the clock so that he would see it in the morning. And with his mind full of Lowell’s affairs, he had forgotten it. It was lucky that Pearl was such a sport. She would understand and wouldn’t mind.

  As Parry sat there before the fire a very unusual thing suddenly happened. He felt his heart give a flutter. His heart was strong, he knew, and except for occasional returns of his shell shock trouble, he was now physically fit. But now his heart faltered, as if about to stop, and immediately he got quite faint. For a moment he sat still, while a cold sweat came out on his forehead. Then fearing he would lose consciousness, he pulled himself out of his chair, staggered blindly across the room, and with shaking hands poured himself out a glass of whisky. He drank it neat.

  It pulled him together. Still he felt strangely shaken. Such a thing as this had never before happened to him. For a moment the awful thought that death was approaching filled his mind, and he grew cold in sheer panic. Horror stricken, he took some more whisky. Slowly the crisis passed.

  By the time that he had made a rather unsuccessful attempt to dine, the whisky had done its work. Once more his heart was beating normally and the sickly qualms had passed. He even felt better than before the attack came on; more rested, more energetic. He decided he would go at once to Whitness and fix up the matters he had overlooked. Also he would see Brenda about her call.

  He sat for a few moments thinking, then became suddenly restless. He now could not stay quiet. He felt himself on pins and needles and consumed by a desire for movement. He wondered what Brenda had done. Had she gone back to Whitness? She did not like buses and usually travelled by train, but there had been no train at the time she had left his rooms. In fact, the next train had not yet gone. He wondered if he would have time to get to the station before it started. Scarcely, he thought.

  Still far from normal, Parry left the house. He began to wonder had he taken too much whisky. No, there was no use in trying for the train; he would just miss it. In a sort of dream he began to walk. He came to a telephone box. He entered and rang up ‘Serque’ to say he was going down. He spent a long time fumbling with the telephone. He had certainly taken too much whisky. He came out. He saw a bus labelled ‘Whitness’. He boarded it. It put him down close to ‘Serque’. As he approached a girlish figure left it and hurried off in the opposite direction. He knocked at the door. Mollie Vane opened it. She seemed strangely upset.

  ‘Oh, Clifford, is it you?’ she cried. ‘Brenda’s just gone this very minute. You must have seen her.’

  ‘Gone?’ Parry echoed. ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Of course, you don’t know,’ Mollie answered excitedly, still standing in the hall. ‘We’ve had such a quarter of an hour, mother and I. Brenda was out, you know. First there was your telephone, saying that you were coming down. You had scarcely rung off when there was a second message. Sergeant Emery wanted Brenda. He was speaking from the contractors’ yard and he was with Inspector French, and they wanted Brenda to go up there at once. He said they had made a vital discovery which might clear Harry Lowell, and they wanted some information about Harry which they thought she could give. Well,’ Mollie’s eyes were starting from her head, ‘as if that wasn’t enough, Brenda herself came in a few minutes later, so excited that she could scarcely speak. She shouted out in a sort of triumph that she had just got proof of Harry Lowell’s innocence. But she didn’t tell us what it was. When she heard about Sergeant Emery’s message she cried, “Oh, my God!” and hurried off. I wanted her to wait so that I could go with her. But, no, she wouldn’t. She was beside herself with excitement and just dashed off.’

  Parry seemed suddenly, as it were, sobered. His dreaminess dropped from him and he looked keen, efficient, and very grim.

  ‘I don’t like all that, Mollie,’ he said quickly. ‘I must telephone.’

  He ran to the instrument and at once gave the word ‘Police.’ Then Mollie heard: ‘Is Sergeant Emery there?’ Then: ‘Speaking? Good God, sergeant, I’m afraid there’s something badly wrong! Miss Brenda Vane has just had a telephone purporting to be from you, saying you and French were in the contractors’ yard and wanting her to go up there at once … Yes, she’s gone. It seems she said she had found out something establishing Lowell’s innocence. That may mean proving someone else’s guilt. It looks bad to me, sergeant, as if someone had got to know about it.’

  For some moments there was silence, then: ‘Right, I’ll follow her now and you’ll send some help in case there’s trouble. I’m frightened; for God’s sake don’t be long.’

  Without a word to Mollie, Parry ran out of the house and disappeared in the direction Brenda had taken.

  When Brenda received the message asking her to meet French and Emery in the contractors’ yard, it never for one moment occurred to her to doubt its authenticity. Her mind was in a whirl from the discovery which she believed she had made, and which she hoped would establish Lowell’s innocence. So excited was she that she was almost incapable of consecutive thought, much less the critical analysis which the situation really demanded. She hurried on, her one thought being to get as quickly as possible to her destination.

  There were two routes by which she could go. The best was up through the town, across the railway by the overbridge at the station, then out through the suburbs by what was called the ‘back’ road to Redchurch. This road passed immediately behind the yard and joined the main road just after the latter had passed under the viaduct. The other was along the sea front and then up through the Whitness Public Park to a lane which passed over the railway just beside the yard gates. This latter route was dark and lonely, the park not being lit up at this time of year. This was the shorter way. Because it was shorter Brenda took it.

  Though the lamps in the park were not lighted, it was not absolutely dark. There was no moon, but the night was clear and the stars were bright. A cold wind was blowing in from the sea, which moaned dismally among the trees and shrubs. There had been no rain for several days and Brenda’s footsteps rang sharply on the hard ground.

  It was very lonely in the park. As she hurried along the quality of her surroundings seemed to change. She could not explain it, but an unreasoning feeling of foreboding took possession of her. The moaning of the wind became eerie, the atmosphere grew dark and sinister, the shrubs seemed like crouching beasts menacing her passage.

  Brenda shivered. She was not given to imaginative fears and she did not know what had gone wrong with her. Just this excitement, she supposed. Well, never mind. It was only natural that there should be a reaction. She was nearly through the park and then there would be only the short lane and the level crossing, and she would be with the police.

  Suddenly she heard what sounded like steps, the steps of a running man: somewhere in the distance, she couldn’t tell exactly where. Then as suddenly they stopped. She looked all round her. There was no one in sight.

  Her path at this point was bounded by two long beds of tall evergreen shrubs. For forty or fifty yards it was like a miniature railway cutting. The path here crossed a dip in the ground, and the city fathers in their wisdom had planted the shrubs to screen the path from the wind which usually blew up the tiny valley.

  For a moment Brenda was downright frightened. Not that someone should be running, but about her own condition. What had happened to her? There was no one there. She had imagined the steps. It was this dreadful anxiety through which she was passing. It was affecting her mind. Or was it only her nerves that were getting unstrung? She really—

  A sudden movement caught her eye. She stared, then stopped dead in her tracks, frozen stiff with horror. She had just reac
hed the end of the beds of shrubs. Behind a thick bush crouched a man. As she saw him he sprang up and rushed at her. There was something in his hand, something that glinted dully as he raised his arm. Then she recognised his dreadful, distorted features. And in them she saw Death.

  As he leaped she screamed, screamed as if her life depended on it. Power came back to her and like a hare she turned, and as if all Hell was after her, fled back the way she had come.

  The man raced behind. He was gaining. His hand touched her arm. With a superhuman effort she jerked it away. She felt her sleeve tear. Again she screamed, despairingly. Then she tripped. The ground, as it were, flew up. It hit her in the face. She felt no pain. The man tripped over her. For a moment he staggered, then recovered himself. He swung back. He was standing over her. He raised his arm. She gave herself up for lost …

  Then the miracle happened. The blow did not fall. There was a sudden rush of feet. Two dusky figures appeared. The man dropped his club and tried to bolt. The figures closed with him. They struggled on and on and on. But at last it ended. There was the sound of a snap.

  Brenda slowly dragged herself to her feet. Grasped by two policemen, his face hideous and almost unrecognisable with hate and rage, stood Clifford Parry.

  19

  Conclusion

  Two evenings later an unofficial and somewhat unconventional reunion took place at ‘Serque’. In the seat of honour was Brenda, her head neatly bandaged and her left arm in a sling. She was pale, but the look of dreadful anxiety had gone from her face. Her features instead wore an expression of deep and quiet happiness, albeit tinged with sadness. The cause of her happiness could be seen by following the direction of her eyes. Beside her sat Harry Lowell, none the worse apparently for his nerve racking experiences. He seemed unable to take his eyes off Brenda and the expression she read in them made her smile dreamily.

  In spite, however, of her obvious satisfaction, there was sadness also in her mind, for opposite sat Inspector French, and French’s presence brought back almost too poignantly the unspeakable horror she had felt when first she had realised the truth about Clifford Parry. Even now she could scarcely refrain from shivering as she thought of that unhappy young man.

  French at her invitation had just lit his pipe, and now he began to speak.

  ‘I asked you to fix up this meeting, Miss Vane, firstly, because I thought it was due to you and Mr Lowell to know the truth, and secondly, because I was anxious to hear your experiences. I may say that this is an entirely unofficial meeting of which my superiors know nothing. But I think we may be quite open with one another for the simple reason that there will be no trial, at least, not in the ordinary sense. Parry has signed a full confession and will plead guilty. In the circumstances in which he was arrested he could scarcely do anything else. But besides that he said he had been trying to keep his secret for over a year till he had been almost out of his mind from fear and worry, that it had now got beyond him, and that all he wanted was to ease his mind by confession and then let the end come quickly.’

  Brenda sighed. ‘Poor man,’ she said softly. ‘In spite of everything I can’t help feeling sorry for him; at least, now that things have come all right.’

  ‘There can be no defence on the facts,’ French resumed, ‘though personally I think there might be a defence of unsound mind arising from shell shock. I feel sure he’s not normal. However, thank heaven that’s not my business.’

  ‘Don’t let’s think of him,’ Lowell interposed. ‘We’re both very much obliged to you, inspector, for coming down, and we’re both very anxious to hear what you have to say. Suppose you tell us?’

  ‘Yes, do, Mr French,’ added Brenda.

  ‘First, then, Mr Lowell, I think I should explain what made us believe in your guilt. You know, sir, it was your own fault: you have only yourself to thank. If you hadn’t lost your head and faked that alibi, we should never have seriously suspected you. You see,’ and French, starting at the beginning of his investigation, outlined the steps which had brought him to his conclusion. ‘So you must admit,’ he urged, ‘that though we were wrong, we were justified on the facts.’

  ‘We’re not going to quarrel over that now,’ Lowell answered. ‘I don’t suppose I’d have a claim for wrongful arrest in any case, but I’m not going to put one up. That’s very interesting, inspector. Now, tell us what really did happen.’

  ‘I’m going to, but I suggest that we take things in their proper order. Next, I think we should ask Miss Vane to explain how she came to suspect Parry, for it seems obvious that she must have. I think I know from his confession, but I should like to hear it from her own lips.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Lowell. ‘Go ahead, Brenda.’

  ‘There’s very little to tell,’ Brenda replied. ‘The whole thing was so simple. You know that Mr Horler showed us the letter that you, Harry, received signed “Well Wisher”? You’ve seen that, Mr French?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen it now. If I had seen it before the arrest there would probably have been no arrest made.’

  ‘Well, I noticed that the “r” of the typescript was out of line and twisted both in that letter and in the one Mr Carey had received. I saw that both letters had been done on the same machine, therefore, presumably by the same person.’

  ‘Good for you, Brenda!’ exclaimed Lowell.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Brenda, ‘it was perfectly clear. Remember I’m a trained typist. Well, I settled up with Clifford Parry that he would get samples from all the typewriters in the railway and contractors’ offices, in the hope of finding the machine with the twisted “r”. He seemed so eager to help.’ Brenda half choked.

  ‘Of course he did,’ said French. ‘It was his best line. He admitted it in his confession. By pretending to help you he could keep in touch with the investigation and take any steps to safeguard himself that appeared necessary. His mistake was—I may as well mention it now while we’re speaking of this point—his mistake was that he didn’t know that the type of individual machines of the same make could be identified. He learned of his error from you at lunch on that Friday, two days ago, and that evening he intended to throw his machine into the sea and buy another. You were too quick for him. How was that, Miss Vane?’

  ‘That was the merest accident. It was due to my impatience. He had gone to Lydmouth that afternoon and he said he would be able to get samples from the machines in that office. Next day he was going to get samples from those in the Whitness offices, and that evening he was going to bring them all down here. But I felt I just couldn’t wait all that time. I was in Redchurch in any case, and I thought I’d call and see him for a moment on my way to the station. He hadn’t arrived, but was expected at any moment. I went up to his room to wait. There I saw, standing beside the clock on the chimney piece, a letter. I couldn’t help seeing the address—not that I meant to read it. But I did see it. I shall never forget it. It was typed, to Miss Ackerley, Hunter’s Hotel, Strand, London, W.C. 2. I stared at it in stupefaction. In the address there were three “r’s”, and every one of them was out of line and twisted.’

  Lowell gave vent to an oath while French nodded his head in satisfaction.

  ‘Very remarkable and interesting case and very sharp of you, Miss Vane,’ said French.

  ‘There were two other defects in the type of Harry’s letter, a “t” and an “n.” I looked for these in the address. They were both there.

  ‘For a moment I didn’t see the significance of this. Then at last it came over me. Other things occurred to me, little things. I suddenly saw that this would explain everything. I saw it at once, in a flash. I think it was a sort of intuition rather than a reasoned conclusion. But I had no longer any doubt. Then all I wanted was to escape. I made some excuse to the landlady and hurried away.

  ‘At first I was overwhelmed simply by the horror of my discovery. Then, waiting at the station I saw what it really involved about you, Harry. You won’t believe it, but that didn’t occur to me at first. I was wild with
excitement when I got home. Then that message was waiting for me and I didn’t stop to think, but just ran off. Then you know what happened.’

  French nodded. ‘That all works in exactly with the confession, Miss Vane. He guessed that you had seen the typing of the address and took his measures accordingly. But perhaps I’d better tell you in order from the beginning.’

  Both his hearers signified that this was what they wanted, and as he slowly refilled his pipe, French went on:

  ‘I don’t know if you are familiar with Clifford Parry’s history. In a sense I suppose it would be fair to say that all this trouble is due to the War. Parry served and left the army a wreck. During his service his father had died, and his mother was left hard up. Fortunately about that time they came in for a legacy of some £500. It was decided that this money should be spent in Parry’s finishing the course in engineering which had been interrupted when he joined up. His health having somewhat improved, he qualified. Immediately afterwards his mother died. Her little income died with her and Parry was left alone and penniless. Worse almost than that, debts that he contracted had not been paid off.

  ‘He passed through a very rough period. For a long time he couldn’t get work. Then he got some jobs which just kept body and soul together, but were without prospects. I don’t want to make excuses for him, but there can be no doubt that it was the cold shouldering he got and his sufferings during this period which hardened him against society and conventional morality and made him bitterly resolve to get his own back at any cost, if and when he could.

  ‘At long last his luck changed. He visited Mr Marlowe for the second time. Mr Marlowe had known his parents and somewhat dubiously he arranged for him to be given a trial. Parry always had an exceptionally engaging manner, and partly owing to this, and partly to the fact that he really did his job well, the appointment was confirmed.