The Demoniacs

by John Dickson Carr

  “So was I, and I ask yours. But you don’t make it easy for those who would aid you.”

  “How true that is,” breathed Kitty. “Oh, indeed, how true!”

  “Be silent, you,” Jeffrey snapped at her. “What is this offer?” Brogden touched his spectacles.

  “First, you shall find this girl and hale her back to Newgate whether she likes it or no.”

  “A delirious prospect, good sir. What else?”

  “Our danger is that one of the three rogues you mention, Mrs. Cresswell in particular, may force Justice Fielding to act against Miss Ralston. Therefore, as a second condition, you shall find him evidence to put all three behind bars. Do this, and His Worship will overlook the matter of the escape.”

  “Gad’s life, he does not want much!”

  “Come, it is not so bad! I may now tell you a part of your work has been done. Justice Fielding prophesied, or so he informs me, that Hamnet Tawnish would soon be denounced by a victim he had cheated at cards. He was denounced this afternoon. And so we hold one of them at Bow Street already.”

  “Brogden, you are right.” Jeffrey smote his fist on the ledge of the chimney-piece. “This cursed devious magistrate sets no impossible task. For we hold two of them already, and now I think I can snare you the third.”

  “Two of them, did you say?”

  “The second is Major Skelly. Sure you have heard of Major Skelly, since you are so deep in Justice Fielding’s counsels?”

  “Yes; who has not heard of him? And I included him in the three. What of that?”

  “From Justice Fielding I had borrowed two constables, Deering and Lampkin, to await me where and when I should direct Deering, the more intelligent, was designed for an errand which is not yet finished. Lampkin, the brawnier, I had told to follow me into Mrs. Salmon’s Waxwork.”

  “Yes?”

  “It was as well he did. Major Skelly tried assassination with a stab in the back, but missed. Lampkin was witness to this. He then saved my life from a swordsman I could never have touched, smashed the blade with his truncheon, and took Major Skelly into custody to be locked up at Bow Street. When you see him there, our second trophy of the chase—” Jeffrey broke off. “What’s wrong? What ails you?”

  “Mr. Wynne,” cried Brogden, with a shaky hand at his spectacles, “is this some unhumorous jest to strike back at His Worship? Lampkin locked up nobody at Bow Street. I have been there all this afternoon, and I know.”

  Again there was a silence.

  The clock at St. Paul’s Church whirred in its throat before tolling out the first stroke of seven. All Covent Garden, save for church and poorhouse on the west side, had begun to awaken with the whoops of night. But Jeffrey set his mind on those clock-strokes, counting them as he counted to keep his temper, before looking up again.

  “Lampkin?” he asked. “Bribery again?”

  “If you were fool enough to trust him, and not take the prisoner yourself.”

  “Yes. I trusted him.”

  “When will you learn from His Worship’s warnings? Until he shall stamp it out, there is scarce a man below the rank of the high court—thieftakers, watchmen, constables, prison officials; ay, and many magistrates too—will not take a bribe at the right time. And then swear they didn’t, and who’s to prove it? Major Skelly? We have lost him.”

  “We have not lost him, curse it! There is my own evidence.”

  “Not if Lampkin has been bribed to swear against you. A court at the sessions-house may believe you; it may not.”

  “Nor am I the only person who saw all this.”

  “That’s better. Who else saw it?”

  “She is there. Speak plain, Kitty!”

  “Oh, I am happy to do so.” Wringing her hands, Kitty emerged from the alcove. “What would you have me say?”

  “I would have you say the truth. You saw this happen?”

  “To be precise,” Brogden intervened, “you saw an attempted murder?”

  It seemed as impossible to doubt her sincerity, Jeffrey thought, as to doubt her passionate meekness. She dropped a curtsy at Brogden. Her eyes were all candour under the dark hair. She approached as the perfect picture of the virtuous servant-maid, Pamela Andrews out of Mr. Richardson’s novel.

  “I was on an enclosed pair of stairs,” she answered, “and looked out but once. I saw these two gentlemen at fencing beside the Gothic grotto. But I heard all that was said. I heard the sword smashed; I heard another voice, which I took to be the constable’s; I heard Major Skelly accused and taken.”

  “It is no crime,” Brogden retorted, “if two men should be fencing and neither is hurt. Nor is it more than contributory evidence if one of them should be accused. I speak of a stab in the back, which is the only matter before us. Did you see this?”

  “Nay, sir, how could I? But Mr. Wynne told me it was so.”

  “Now, by God, Kitty—!”

  “Young man,” said Brogden, “it will do little good to lose your temper or intimidate this deponent.”

  “Oh, indeed, it will not,” Kitty wailed. “What I say is true; Mr. Wynne knows it is. I am a wretched creature, if you like. But I am a girl of good repute. Please, please may I go now? May I return to the shelter of my aunt’s home?”

  About to ask another question, Jeffrey controlled himself. He glanced first at Kitty and next at Brogden. Then he picked up Kitty’s cloak from the chair by the fire-place.

  “Yes, Kitty, you may go. Here is your cloak; put it on.”

  “Is that all?”

  “For the moment, at least, that is all. Turn round, pray; let me set the cloak across your shoulders. There, that is better! And now, with your permission, I will escort you below-stairs and see you to a chair or a coach.”

  “A chair or a coach? Have I the money to lay out on such luxuries?”

  “Or has Mr. Wynne the money?” asked Brogden, looking sideways. “A room at a bagnio, I believe, costs half a guinea for two persons.”

  “Sir, sir,” Kitty cried, “this is most kind of you. But it is not far. It will be easy to walk in short-cut to the Strand and Temple Bar.”

  “It will also be easy,” said Jeffrey, “for one who would catch you there in the dark. I am not the only person against whom Major Skelly uttered threats. You shall have a chair or a coach.”

  Kitty hesitated, fingers at her lips. Again Brogden glanced sideways. Suddenly it was as though doubts, fears, rages all boiled up at once in that panelled room with the flesh-coloured paintings on the walls.

  “Indeed?” said Brogden. “Well, escort the girl if you must But be sure you return here instantly. I desire a word in private with you.”

  “Have no fear for my return,” Jeffrey snapped. “I desire more than a word in private with you. Come, Kitty.”

  In silence they went down through matted corridors and staircases dimly lighted. From behind one door issued a sound of drunken snoring. Outside another door was a tray with empty bottles and a woman’s broken garter. Kitty shied away from these. But they were on the landing above the foyer before she seized his arm and spoke.

  “Sir, I have told you the truth!”

  “I don’t doubt it, Kitty.”

  “You say nothing. But you are furious; you would strangle me; I am sensible of it. How can I convince you?”

  “By answering me a question beyond earshot of Brogden. No, it does not concern the waxwork! It concerns Miss Peg.”

  Here on this landing there was no sign either of the hot-room in the cellar or of its adjoining surgical chamber where wounds could be dressed and blood let with a suction-bowl. But a hollow echo in the quiet suggested big rooms below the street.

  Again Kitty turned an apprehensive face. He quietened her.

  “At noon today, you said, Miss Peg sent a message for clothes to be delivered at Newgate. What clothes did she call for? Don’t look so startled. Answer!”

  “Why, sir, the choice was left to me. Save, she said, that she must have a fine gown to be worn at evening, and
also a sober cloak (like this one, I suppose), and also a mask.”

  “A mask?”

  “A vizard-mask. I can’t imagine why she should wish a mask at Newgate, or a gown for evening either. But I sent them.”

  “Describe this gown. No women’s details; they would be gibberish. Tell me distinguishing colours alone.”

  “It was cream-coloured, then, overlaid by a sacque of flame-and-blue, and sewn with pearls. The other clothes—”

  “They don’t signify. Was the message sent word-of-mouth, or in a note by street-porter?”

  “In a note, to be sure! The other way is not genteel.”

  “You destroyed the note, I hope?”

  “No; why should I destroy it? I left it in Miss Peg’s room.”

  “That is unfortunate. I must make great haste; I can’t delay now. Stop; don’t tremble; you have done well. Come along.”

  They descended to the dim light of the foyer, which was warm with hint rather than a tang of steam. A buff-and-scarlet uniform loomed up. And unexpectedly they came face to face with Captain Tobias Beresford, sauntering up from the cellar after the refreshment of an Oriental bath.

  Tubby did his best to turn away and pretend he had not seen them, which was the unwritten law if you met an acquaintance here in female company. But he met a different reception.

  “My dear Tubby,” said a cordial voice, “how are you? This is well met!”

  “Hey?”

  “May I make you acquainted with a friend of mine, Kitty Wilkes? Kitty, this is Captain Beresford of the Guards. He is a brisk fellow, as you see.”

  Clearly Tubby had tried to estimate her place in life; and then, after one close look at her, was stunned by her appearance. Sweeping off his black three-cornered hat, much larger and heavier than Jeffrey’s ordinary tricorne, he made so deep an obeisance that his hat touched the floor.

  “M’dear,” he breathed, “m’dear! Your most obedient”

  “Let us hope you are, Tubby. Business, regrettably, detains me here. Miss Wilkes is the niece of Mrs. Salmon, who keeps that admirable waxwork between the Temple gates; and she has a most natural fear of footpads in dark streets. It will be better than a chair if you engage to lend her your arm on the way home.”

  “Oh, sir,” begged Kitty, clasping her hands together, “would you be so good?”

  “Why, split my bottom—your pardon, m’dear!—why, sink me, that’s to say, I should be proud and honoured. Also, Jeff, this is downright handsome of you. After the unpleasantness last night, I mean. No offence, hey?”

  “None whatever, if you remember her fear of thieves.”

  “Ho!” said the other, and tapped a heavy sword-pommel. “I’ll remember it, I promise you.”

  “Then a fond good-evening to you both.”

  They went out together, looking at each other, towards a street-door propped open to the fine September night. A linkboy with a streaming torch ran past outside, illuminating faces. For a few seconds Jeffrey stared after them. Then, no longer amiable, he hastened back up to the room three floors above.

  Brogden, hands on knees, sat wizened in an elbow-chair that had been turned round from the hearth. The change of mood was abrupt; Jeffrey slammed the door when he closed it. The candlelight jumped.

  “Well?” said Brogden. “You desired several words with me?”

  “If I am to receive an answer, yes.”

  “Speak, then.”

  “Have you one half as much evidence against Hamnet Tawnish, now imprisoned at Bow Street, as you have against the more dangerous Major Skelly ?”

  “No.”

  “Yet you say there is little case against him. Why? What devious plot is being spun this time?”

  “There is no plot, devious or otherwise, unless it should be yours. Perhaps Justice Fielding would teach you a stricter observance of your duty. Perhaps Justice Fielding—”

  “Justice Fielding, Justice Fielding. In candour, I grow weary of the man’s name.”

  “And, no doubt, will not remain much longer in his service?”

  “It may be.”

  “Yes,” said Brogden, looking up over his spectacles, “we thought it might be so. That is the one word I want with you. Take care, Mr. Wynne. Take care you are honest with His Worship the next time he questions you.”

  “I shall take care. Meanwhile, did you escort Peg to Newgate this morning, as you promised you would?”

  “Yes, I did. I was trying to render you both a service. I wish now I had not.”

  “Did she speak to you of any matters on the way?”

  “One might say so. She railed at you and used intemperate language because you were not at her side to press her hand and speak encouraging words. I defended you, telling her quite truthfully you had been ordered away on an errand by His Worship, and explaining this.”

  “Did she make comment?”

  “Yes. It was also intemperate. But she looked very thoughtful, it seemed to me.”

  “What happened when you arrived at Newgate?”

  “Young man, does this matter?”

  “Yes. I swear it matters, if I am to find her. What happened at Newgate?”

  “What usually happens? We were greeted by Mr. Goodbody, the governor or keeper, with his customary request for ‘garnish.’ If Miss Ralston had not paid this, as I told her, her outer clothes would have been stripped off by other prisoners and sold to buy drink. When I advised her to draw her purse, and she displayed many sovereigns, Mr. Goodbody became mightily affable. He said she might have a private room in his own house for half a guinea a day.”

  Brogden rose from the chair. He bustled across to the window, his sense of grievance struggling against some other emotion, and turned round with his head outlined against the candlelit panes.

  “I served her in this,” he said.

  “Mr. Brogden, you must not think me ungrateful for your assistance.”

  “Indeed?” The clerk lifted his fist. “I made Goodbody yield much in the price he had demanded for a room, no less than what was to be the cost of her food at his table. I fended off a horde of fighting Viragos who jeered her, and a horde of diseased ruffians who would have pawed her. When they make so pretty a tale of Newgate in the Beggars’ Opera, with thieves dancing to music, they should go and see the reality.”

  “They should. Peg would be the first to agree.”

  “She begged if she might send a note to her former maid, one Kitty Wilkes, for clothes to be fetched. She begged if she might have hot water and a wooden tub for a bath. Both these favours were granted.”

  “At a price, no doubt?”

  “At an exorbitant price, to be sure. But what would you have? Such is the custom; we can no more change the custom than we can change the law.”

  Here Brogden pointed at Jeffrey.

  “Yet all this time, as I now see, she was scheming a plot for escape. I left the prison at not much past eleven of the morning. By midafternoon, to my shock and Justice Fielding’s, comes a messenger from Mr. Goodbody to say she was found missing when they sat down at two-o’clock dinner.”

  “And afterwards?”

  “Afterwards comes Goodbody himself to Bow Street, damning and blasting as I have seldom heard him. On the floor of her room was found the grey travelling-cloak in which she arrived there. Enquiry among the turnkeys recalled observation of a woman, apparently young and pretty, who had left by the main gate among the visitors—”

  “How dressed? In what sort of gown?”

  “They can’t be sure. She wore a black cloak with the hood drawn up, and had a handkerchief at her eyes as though weeping for someone condemned to death. ’Tis a common enough occurrence.”

  “But that is not all you have to tell me, I think. What else?”

  “Well!” answered the clerk, hunching up one shoulder. “It was necessary to apprise Sir Mortimer of this escape. How could we know he had been taken ill last night? And so I sent a letter above Justice Fielding’s signature. There was no reply by porter
until a short time ago.”

  “Still, why should there be this talk of dying? If he could reply at all, he can’t be in such grave condition.”

  “It was not a note from Sir Mortimer himself. It was from his physician, Dr. William Hunter. Nor was he in dangerous condition until—” Brogden paused. “When my letter was put into Sir Mortimer’s hands, he fell down in an apoplectic seizure from which he has not yet recovered.”

  Jeffrey smote his own hands together.

  “This was no one’s fault except the girl’s,” Brogden said.

  “No doubt. It never is. What happened?”

  “Another physician, for some reason, had called at the house about that time: half-past four. Mrs. Cresswell and the servants, not knowing him, refused to admit him.”

  “Was he named Dr. George Abel?”

  “The note did not say. When Sir Mortimer collapsed, however, Mrs. Cresswell shouted that this other physician must go up and attend the patient until they should fetch Dr. Hunter. Both physicians have been at his bedside ever since; they are not hopeful.”

  “Then Mrs. Cresswell read your letter too?”

  “It was she who gave it to Sir Mortimer. We have all a score to settle with the lady.” Brogden moved out from the window. “Well, you are acquainted with the situation now. If you swear this girl did not tell you where she was going—”

  “She did not tell me, no. But I may have some notion of where she is gone.”

  “In that case, you had better bring her back.”

  “My notion is only the wildest guess; it may be all moonshine. Besides, even if I should find her, how shall I return her to Newgate this night? The doors are locked at nine. They would not be opened afterwards for the King himself.”

  “I am going to St. James’s Square now,” Brogden retorted, “to do what I can. It will suffice for His Worship’s purpose if you take the girl there and let her uncle see her. If Sir Mortimer should not die, which seems unlikely, it may be possible to drop the charges against her. In either event …”

  The flames of the candles, caught in a draught, threw broad and fluttery light up across the painting of Venus and Mars. Brogden advanced still farmer, fists clenched at his sides and eyes fixed on Jeffrey.