The Night Calls (13 page)
Authors: David Pirie
The Doctor nodded, his face tense. ‘It is as before. He is playing games.’
‘But,’ said Beecher, ‘I have just had some good news, gentlemen. Your player is found. Only he is not about to explain himself to you or anyone else.’
And so it was that a few hours later I stood in the wood behind Holy Well as they cut my fellow student down from the tree, where he had hanged himself, at the back of that great gloomy house. It was quite dark now and torches had been placed all around the clearing in a way that horribly picked out his bulging eyes and the oddly angled head where the neck had broken. Dressed in a filthy red jacket, he looked like some grotesque marionette.
Since he was obviously long dead when they found him, the constable had, greatly to his credit as Bell told him, delayed cutting the corpse down until a proper examination of the site could be made. Bell helped to conduct this himself but could find nothing apart from yet another of those hellish pink bottles, presumably the last that Crawford ever consumed on this earth.
Finally they were ready to lower the body, and two policemen climbed the tree and managed to cut through the rope and get it to the ground. I did not much wish to look at the man again, so I turned away and found myself staring at the spectators instead. All the faces in that clearing were lit by the flickering torches as they stared, and one face in particular showed the utmost misery. It was Crawford’s father. He was not crying, indeed he was bolt upright, but he was trembling and pale and all the fight had gone out of him. When he saw my eyes on him he turned away, but it was quite obvious he could not bear to look too closely on his dead son.
I walked back through the trees, hoping only that this business was now at an end. Until I felt a touch on my shoulder. And I turned to see the Doctor, evidently troubled by some strong emotion.
‘We are no further forward.’
At first I could not make sense of the words. The evidence, after all, was so overwhelming. ‘But we saw what was in the outhouse?’
‘Crawford has been dead at least twelve hours, probably far longer. He could not possibly have handed over the parcel. Our man is still at large.’ And he turned away to move back to the drive.
It is not easy to think you are at the end of a case and find that you have arrived nowhere at all. My first emotion was, I have to admit, one of indignation. So perhaps the box had not been handed over by Crawford himself. What of it? He might have paid someone to do it and then gone off to hang himself. I simply could not believe that the whole of our carefully contrived case against the man could now be swept away by one scientific observation.
Nor was my mood much improved by the Doctor, who sat in his upstairs room, a watch beside him, endlessly trying to duplicate the pile of coins we had seen. Slowly he became more proficient at building these little pyramids, but he was not satisfied. ‘They are not so easy,’ he observed quietly. ‘I doubt Crawford could ever have managed them in his condition. And to do it quickly with a woman sleeping beside you!’
He swept his latest creation away and the coins fell with a clatter. I tried to control my temper. ‘Yet there is so much evidence …’
‘There is too much evidence!’ he retorted. ‘It was what irritated me when we found the twine and the paper. For a long time I have been troubled by the neatness of it all. In fact, to be truthful, I doubted Crawford was capable of it. We are dealing with a much more resourceful intelligence.’
‘But still you must concede we have built up a case of sorts.’ I spoke carefully, wanting to be sure of what evidence we still had after this setback. ‘The coins, the psalm, the paper.’
‘All intended to lead us to Crawford. He did not wrap or send the parcel, though whoever did wanted us to believe otherwise. And it was a matter of ease for anyone to access his outhouse. I am sorry to tell you, Doyle, this is no more interesting than the waiter with the icicle. There is no case at all.’
I am afraid my anger erupted, for it was only now that I was beginning to grasp the implications for Miss Scott. ‘No case!’ I got up from the table. ‘But surely we were at last reaping the fruit of your so-called method, Doctor. It would be folly to abandon all our painstaking deduction! More likely your timing of his death is wrong. Or Crawford paid someone else to hand over the box.’
As so often, my anger only served to make the Doctor more reflective: his voice became softer. ‘You fail to understand still,’ he said. ‘It is a mental system, Doyle, not a forcing press. If a piece fails, so be it. But once you start to invent connections and the criminal has you! Do you not grasp how lucky we have been today?’
This was too much. ‘Lucky?’
‘Crawford’s suicide. Whoever is behind all this had no idea of it, or the box would never have been sent when it was. We were given the psalm so we could conclude our case, a case that has led us precisely nowhere. It is all a false trail to distract us from the more serious crimes. But at last …’ And now he too got up. ‘At last one mistake has been made. Just one. A single ray of light in the darkness. But in the end, I swear, it will help us to see him.’
The next day I was feeling a little more cheerful as the Doctor and I sat opposite Miss Elsbeth Scott in a well-appointed private dining room in one of the city’s travelling hotels. It was an enormous relief to be free of all prying eyes, not least those of her landlady.
The Doctor had, it turned out, once operated successfully on the proprietor’s mother and an excellent meal was served, with venison pie as the main course followed by a whole Stilton cheese. Here was a quantity and quality of food I had rarely seen and Miss Scott seemed duly grateful, though she ate only a little as the Doctor engaged us with humorous stories about some of the legendary figures at the university in his earlier teaching days. Clearly they were giants in those times, but highly combative ones like James Syme, an extraordinary surgery teacher, who once threw a student out of the window for impudence. Fortunately it was the ground floor.
Soon the conversation turned to more serious matters, and she thanked Bell for his letter. ‘I have done as you said: nobody knows I am here. Not even my landlady.’
‘Good,’ said Bell, cutting himself another slice of the cheese. ‘I do not wish to alarm you. It may even be, Miss Scott, that though our man is still at large, you have no further part in his scheme. Everything I see tells me his taste is catholic, and I have hopes you were only involved in order to point the finger at Crawford. But I have to be honest and warn you there is something about this man’s style which concerns me. That is why I would feel happier if nobody knows your whereabouts. And, in this respect, the suspension may work in our favour. Now, I understand from what you have told me that there is a place near Dunbar where you could study.’
‘Yes.’ She had finished her meal and was attentive. ‘It was left to me and my sister by my father. While we are suspended I would be happy to spend some time there provided you keep me informed of my sister’s condition and I can return if she needs me or I wish it. But I have no wish to run away from this, Dr Bell.’
‘I assure you it is not running away,’ he said firmly. ‘But we must not take any risks. That is why I think it should be given out to everyone you are making a visit to London. Is there someone at your cottage to assist you and keep an eye on things?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘An excellent woman from the town, Mrs Henderson, has always helped us with the caretaking. Once we send word, she prepares the place and comes in to clean and cook.’
‘Excellent,’ said Bell. ‘If you will inform her you are coming, I have every hope we can bring this whole affair to a conclusion before the suspension is over.’
And so our plans were laid. The Doctor had already made arrangements for Miss Scott to leave her present lodgings, with its monstrous landlady, and move on to another boarding house that was run on somewhat friendlier lines. This move, however, which was already in train, could only be public and afforded her limited protection. In addition, therefore, it was given out that she had arranged a visit to London commencing almost at once. But she would leave the train at Dunbar, where I would be waiting to transport her up the coast to her cottage.
Naturally I was entranced by the scheme, for it held out the promise of half a day with Miss Scott herself; and perhaps there might indeed be other days, for I had been delegated to bring her news of our progress in the enquiry.
On the appointed morning, which was auspiciously warm and sunny, I travelled to Dunbar by the earliest local train possible. Once there I chatted to the porters and soon established the best and cheapest carrier for Miss Scott and her luggage. Only a few hours later, after her arrival, we were being transported merrily along the coastal road in a fly, driven by a wry old codger with a sweet grey mare, laughing and talking for all the world as if we were on some happy excursion.
When her cottage came into view, the picture was complete. For it was a charming old white-washed building, placed in a jewel-like setting by a sandy bay. Perhaps on a dull day it would not have looked nearly as cheerful, but today it was resplendent.
Her luggage was duly unloaded and afterwards I gave the man his fee which, like my train fare, had been generously provided by the Doctor. Now we were on our own, for Mrs Henderson had left word that she would be there later. I think both of us felt a little strange, and I busied myself with carrying the luggage as she took out her key.
And then she stopped me. ‘Mr Doyle?’
I turned. She was smiling. ‘I want you to try something. It was what we did when we were children. Try shouting something, anything, as loud as you like.’
I saw at once what she meant. ‘Charlatan,’ I yelled at the top of my voice, for it was the first thing that came into my head and the word rang around the beach before us. Nobody popped their head up to complain, but we both laughed.
‘Do you see?’ she said. ‘We can say anything we like,’ and she called out a slightly peculiar rhyme that was then popular in the faculty, a relic of its bodysnatching days.
Burke’s the butcher, Hare’s the thief
And Knox the man who buys the beef
I countered by calling one of the seagulls Latimer. No doubt it was all childish and silly, but at the time I could not quite believe the wonder of having all this space to ourselves. For the first time in my life I was in a place where no words or activity could offend.
Was there also a slight apprehension? After all, I was quite unused to this degree of isolation. Perhaps a little, but I did not dwell on it.
Inside, the cottage was plain enough but quite comfortable, for Mrs Henderson had bought provisions and made everything ready. It was only now, I think, that both of us became aware of our physical proximity here. For this reason we occupied ourselves with our tasks. I settled her luggage in the rooms while she tended the stove and prepared to make us tea. For a time there was silence, broken only by the most mundane conversation, such as when she asked me, somewhat gravely, if I took sugar.
Then I went to help her bring down the ancient cups while she reached for the kettle. And, as is the way with these things, we brushed against each other. I felt, I will admit, decidedly awkward and moved away, with a murmured apology, but I was aware she had her eyes on me and I turned to face her.
She was smiling at our mutual embarrassment, so I smiled too and we continued with our chores.
It was then that I found myself face to face with a framed photograph. Here was a man, handsome but not impeccable, with more than a hint of amusement, and beside him two little girls, who were unexpectedly stiff and correct. She saw me looking at it.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘My father bribed us to sit still with the promise of jam omelettes. Your bribe is tea and scones. I am sorry there is no jam.’
I turned to her, for I knew that determined tone. ‘My bribe? To sit still?’
‘No,’ she said pouring the tea. ‘To do what you never do, Mr Doyle. Talk about yourself.’
And so there was no escape, nor to be truthful did I really want one. I saw she had justice on her side, and that now, having shared her own personal life to a degree that in other circumstances would have been utterly impossible, it was time for her to share mine.
At first even now I tried to hide a little of what had happened in our household. I spoke of my father as he had been when I was little, of my pride in him and his design of the zoological memorial. But she saw quickly enough, when she discovered my age at that time, that I was describing the past. And so I was driven to admit that something had happened to him.
She was so sympathetic that I felt no guilt in breaking this confidence. As time wore on and our own confidences brought us closer, I saw how incredibly foolish I had been to imagine that Miss Elsbeth Scott would be in any way distracted or repelled by the circumstances in my home. As to Waller, I mentioned, of course, that we had a lodger who had helped us through these times. Since I had no way of knowing if my very worst suspicions of the man were founded on truth I did not dwell on them. But I had in any case no need to labour the point, for Elsbeth acknowledged at once how difficult Waller’s presence must have been for me in these awful circumstances. And we moved back to talking about my father.
‘In the end,’ I said at last, ‘it is as if we have both lost fathers, for I feel as if he is dead, inside a shell.’
She was looking at me with such intensity. ‘You think he may come back from it?’
I hesitated to say what I had never said before. ‘I always hoped. But my mother … endured a great deal while I was away from home. She is always loving to me, but I know her greatest dread. It is that my life will go like his. That I will fail to make anything of it. I share her obvious doubt on the subject …’
And so the moment had passed. I had expressed my worst fear and we went out to stroll the dunes. Our talk had brought us together, and in my gratitude and relief we returned to happier topics, and I was marvelling at the wonder of her father’s little domain, when she stopped me.
‘You have yet,’ she said, ‘to see the best feature.’
I was about to question her, but she put a finger to her lips and indicated we should walk around the dune. And there it was.
The structure was unique, a cross between a summer house and a tiny pavilion. It was a small white building, elevated from the sand by bricks, but its most remarkable feature was only visible when I stepped inside. Elsbeth had deliberately timed our inspection for high tide, and she made me wait while she removed the shutters. Then she called me in.
The sight was unforgettable. It looked as if she was actually standing in the waves, like some impish goddess, as she removed the dark ribbon from her hair and let the ringlets cascade down around her shoulders. Slowly I grasped that the whole of the front of that little one-room house was glass and the place had been deliberately designed so that, at high tide, the room itself seemed to be almost within the sea.
‘Is it not a marvel?’ she said, hardly containing her laughter. ‘My favourite place on earth. It was once my aunt’s folly and since I was a child, I always thought it was a magical place.’
Then she came to me and I held her. I still recall the sound of the waves and the feeling of her skin and hair and the absolute happiness I felt at that moment. Some would say that this was to take advantage of the situation and exploit my position of trust. I can only laugh at such scruples. She could trust me utterly for I loved her and would stand by her no matter what.
When the moment had passed and we had said what we both felt, she could hardly contain her amazement. ‘It is so strange,’ she said, her eyes shining, ‘because I always believed that anything could happen here.’
‘I believe it.’ I did.
‘But now,’ she said, ‘I have something more to believe in. You are wrong about yourself. And I want to show you that.’
I kissed her again then, but suddenly we heard voices. And I looked up and saw a group of people walking along the sand: a man and a woman with two young children who cantered around happily. They had not seen us.
‘That was always the way,’ said Elsbeth. ‘We would be alone in the world, weeks could go by without a soul, and then walkers would appear. Well, they are almost gone.’
I do not recall how long we stayed there, but I know we talked a good deal about our feelings for each other, and how for the moment they must remain private but, once the business was finished, we could be a little more open. I told her some of my friends had already guessed we were walking out for they had recalled my great interest in her on our first encounter. Before we left she let me do up her hair again with her ribbon.
And then we went back to the little house to say goodbye. This was not too hard, for both of us were greatly cheered by the thought that I had been delegated to make regular visits and bring news of our enquiries. After my long walk back to the station, I stood dreamily waiting for the train and, as if to complete my memorable day, a porter informed me with due solemnity that I would be travelling the distance to Edinburgh on the London express which stopped here once a day. I climbed aboard, found a window seat and, as we shot clear of the station, I decided that on balance I must certainly be the happiest individual on the entire train. All my problems, even the one in my home, seemed less daunting. I was moving into a new life.
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