The Empty World

by D. E. Stevenson

  The big draper’s at the corner had a large stock of ladies’ and gentlemen’s attire. He had expanded his business until it filled a whole block: the goods were set out in glass cases and cupboards with plenty of space in between for prospective customers. Tom and Alice wandered round, admiring everything. It was curious, Alice reflected, that you didn’t want things so much when you knew you had only to open the glass door and take them. In the old days, when she could not have had the things, she would have longed for them — but now she felt quite differently. Tom could not appreciate her point of view, for he had never cared much for clothes. They were useful and necessary coverings for his body, nothing more.

  After a short tour of the ground floor they went upstairs, and were somewhat startled at encountering a wax figure clad in walking-attire at a bend in the stairs.

  “What fun it would be to take her home with us!” Tom exclaimed.

  “She gave us a good fright,” Alice said, laughing a trifle hysterically.

  They discussed the matter, trying to decide how they could take in the others, and becoming more and more hilarious as they elaborated their plans.

  “I must buy you a fur coat, my dear. The best in the shop — never mind the price,” Tom told her importantly.

  “How generous you are!” exclaimed Alice with rapture.

  “Not at all, not at all. Of course, I expect an equally costly engagement present from you.”

  “Diamond studs?” suggested Alice. “They would go admirably with that old flannel shirt of yours.”

  “Can you afford diamond studs?” enquired Tom with well-feigned anxiety. “Have I got myself engaged to a millionairess by any chance?”

  They carried on with this nonsense for some time, it was a relief to laugh and joke. Perhaps the sherry with which they had washed down their lunch had something to do with their high spirits, perhaps it was merely the reaction of their youth from the strained atmosphere of Bardsholme during Sir Richard’s illness. Alice chose a fur coat — the sort of coat she had always wanted and had never expected to possess — and a small green hat to go with it. She left her old coat and hat behind, they were no use to her now.

  “Now it’s your turn, Tom,” she said. “You shall have some new shirts and a new suit — in fact, an entirely new outfit. I can’t be seen going about with you in those awful rags.”

  They were on the stairs leading to the ground floor when they heard a noise. The dead silence of the place was broken — there were heavy footsteps and loud voices; a door banged; somebody said, “I tell you the men’s shoes are upstairs — I’ve been here before —”

  Alice put out her hand, and Tom seized it. They stood there for a moment frozen with horror. It was the breaking of the silence, the advent of men into their empty world that horrified them far more than the actual danger to themselves. Indeed, for a moment they scarcely realised the danger to themselves.

  “Who is it?” Alice gasped.

  “Bolton, of course,” replied Tom.

  He pulled Alice up the stairs. They went up and up. The footsteps and voices pursued them. Alice dragged heavily on Tom’s arm, her legs felt like lead, her heart thumped intolerably. They had reached the second floor by this time; Tom dragged her round a corner and pushed her behind a counter which jutted out into the store. She sank down on the floor in a heap.

  The men tramped past up the stairs. Tom peeped out and saw that there were three of them — Bolton, Ackrington and Bartoluzzi. He was dismayed to think they were here, so close to Bardsholme. Perhaps they had met Haviland and had learned the whereabouts of Bardsholme from him — perhaps even now they were on their way.

  He thought wildly. What could he do? Should he take Alice home and return with Farquhar — he and Farquhar could tackle the three — but by that time they might have gone, they might miss them on the road. Should he return to Bardsholme and barricade the place and wait for Bolton to come? He thought — God! I wish David were here. David would know what to do.

  Alice had partially recovered from her fright. She pulled herself together, and straightened her hat.

  “Have they gone?” she whispered. “I’m sorry I was such a fool — it was the suddenness — their sudden arrival out of emptiness — what are we to do?”

  “Get out of here,” Tom said. “That’s the first thing.”

  He took her hand and helped her up. They went down the stairs together, softly, carefully. They could hear the sound of talking and moving about overhead. As they reached the ground floor a man stepped out from behind a show-case and said, “Hands up, Day.”

  It was Greig. Tom did not hesitate, he flung himself at the man with all his force; they went down together with a crash; the revolver exploded harmlessly in the air. Greig was a powerful man, but Tom was wiry; they rolled over and over, struggling and kicking at Alice’s feet. She seized a stand from the counter near by, and waited for an opportunity — Greig’s head came uppermost — she struck at it as hard as she could — he rolled over with a groan.

  Tom leapt up, and they ran for a door in the wall just as the three other men — alarmed by the shot — came clattering down the stairs. Fortunately the door opened easily, they found themselves in a flagged passage. They ran down the passage and out into a narrow lane at the back of the warehouse. Shouts and the clatter of boots on the stones behind them warned them that they were being pursued. Tom looked back and saw that the men were not yet in sight; he drew Alice into the doorway of a small furniture shop — they crouched down behind a sofa — three men clattered past. Tom stepped out and fired at their backs with Greig’s revolver — one of the men fell twisting strangely, the other two dodged into doorways.

  Tom laughed, now that the battle was on he felt better — the excitement buoyed him up. He thought they had a good chance of escape, for the men did not combine — each was playing his own game, none of them wanted a bullet in his own body. Tom ran back into the shop. “Quick,” he said. “There must be a back way out of this place — I got one of them — Bartoluzzi, I think. Where are you?”

  “Here,” she said. “It’s getting dark, isn’t it? There’s a door here. Mind that chair.”

  They groped their way amongst the furniture and found the back door of the shop — it opened on to a little courtyard full of washing-lines. A few ragged garments hung forlornly on the ropes or swung and flapped in the fitful breeze.

  “Come on,” Tom said. “We’re nearly out of the wood.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Sheep’s Clothing

  “Hands up or I shall shoot Miss O’Connell,” a voice said suddenly — it was Bolton. He stood in a doorway smiling at them with a revolver in his hand. Tom put his hands up — it was no use trying to rush the man — they were caught. Ackrington was behind them, and Greig appeared in another doorway.

  “You’ve given us a run,” Bolton said; “tie him up, boys.”

  Ackrington and Greig tore down some of the ropes and bound Tom’s hands. Bolton took Alice by the arm.

  “We must find a place to talk comfortably,” Bolton said. “Try that house, Ackrington.”

  In a few minutes they were in a small house, sitting in the living-room. Tom was tied securely to his chair.

  “Now we can talk,” Bolton said.

  “What’s the game?” Tom demanded angrily. “Why don’t you finish me off if you want to —”

  “We don’t want to,” Bolton said. “It’s the last thing we want to do. We could easily have shot you if we had wanted to — couldn’t we? But you see, we didn’t. We want to talk to you.”

  “Well, go ahead — I can’t prevent you from talking,” Tom told him. There was a little silence whilst Bolton considered what he was going to say. The other four waited with impatience. Tom saw that Greig’s eye was swollen and there was a large lump on his forehead where Alice had hit him with the stand. Tom felt glad that he had not come out of the battle scatheless — he was a nasty piece of work.

  “Look here,
Day,” Bolton said at last. “Try to believe that we had no intention of harming you or Miss O’Connell. We simply wanted to speak to you. And the only way to speak to you was to get hold of you and tie you up.”

  “You could have shot us if you wanted to,” Tom admitted.

  “But we didn’t,” Bolton said. “We’ve started badly, I admit — you feel angry with us and naturally so —”

  “What on earth are you getting at?” Tom said. “Can’t you come to the point? What d’you want? What are you going to do with us?”

  “That’s the whole thing,” Bolton said. “We’re not going to do anything to you. We only want to talk to you for a few minutes and then you can go.”

  Tom looked at him in amazement.

  “I know we’ve started badly,” continued Bolton. “I don’t suppose you will believe it if I tell you that we are sorry for the way we behaved — the way we behaved at the aerodrome and all that — but we are sorry, whether you believe it or not.” He looked at the other two, and they nodded gravely.

  “We were half crazy at the time,” Ackrington explained.

  “That’s right,” agreed Bolton. “We were half crazy. But now we’ve seen how horrible it is to be alone. It’s ghastly. We’re willing to promise to do anything you like if we’re allowed to come and share your life — to live near all you people — and — and share your life. We’ll agree to accept Sir Richard as boss, and — well — to behave ourselves — isn’t that so?”

  “That’s so,” said Greig. Ackrington nodded.

  “It’s rather a sudden — change, isn’t it?” Tom said incredulously.

  “It may seem so to you,” Bolton replied. “But it isn’t really. We’ve all been feeling the loneliness — the horror of being alone. We want to settle down, or at least have some sort of nucleus — if you know what I mean. Just think a moment, Day. How would you like to be left alone in this appalling emptiness?”

  Tom thought for a moment — it was an extraordinary situation — he didn’t trust Bolton a yard, and yet he saw quite clearly that the men might be sincere, might even be willing to behave themselves for the privilege of living in an ordered community.

  “I can’t say anything without consulting Sir Richard,” he said at last.

  Bolton looked at him sadly. “You don’t trust us,” he said. “It’s not to be wondered at after all that has happened, but I assure you we can be trusted. Why not give us a trial? Let us come and live near you — after all, there are only three of us now, and you outnumber us — what harm could we do you?”

  That was just the point. What harm could they do? Tom thought they could do a good deal of harm if they were introduced to Bardsholme. He made up his mind quite suddenly that it was impossible, it could not be risked. Bolton was a plausible devil, but he was bad — bad all through — Greig was worse if anything, and Ackrington was a dark horse. Ackrington might be all right, or he might not — Tom was not taking any risks.

  “I can’t do anything without asking Sir Richard,” he said again.

  “Don’t you realise you’re in our power?” Greig said suddenly. “We can make you —”

  “Shut up, Greig,” said Bolton. “That’s not the way to ask a favour, is it? Perhaps you’ve changed your mind — perhaps you want to live all by yourself — I don’t.”

  “I’m with you, Bolton,” Ackrington said. “Let Greig do what he wants.”

  “For God’s sake don’t leave me alone” cried Greig. “I had enough of that in the wood — the night Jane Forrest knocked me down with her car. Nearly went mad till I found my way back to the mess. I’ll do anything you like — anything.”

  Tom listened to this with mixed feelings — it was true that he and Alice were in these men’s power. They could kill him if they wanted to — that wouldn’t matter very much — but what about Alice? His eyes strayed to Alice and met hers. What a sport she was! She was sitting quite quietly with one leg cocked over the other, smoking a cigarette. She smiled at Tom and drooped one eyelid ever so slightly. Alice had winked at him — she obviously thought the whole thing a put-up job — she wasn’t taken in by Bolton’s plausibility. Had she any plan? he wondered. His own brain felt singularly empty.

  “Look here, Bolton,” he said quickly. “Let me talk it over for a moment with Miss O’Connell.”

  “All right,” replied Bolton. “Go ahead.”

  They moved away and left Tom and Alice together.

  “You’ve got an idea,” he said eagerly.

  “Sort of,” she replied. “We’ve got to pretend to believe him and lead them away from Bardsholme — then lose them somehow or other. Pretend I’ve persuaded you that they are sincere.”

  “It’s risky — for you I mean,” Tom said.

  “The whole thing is dangerous — my way is the safest. I saw Greig’s face when Bolton was talking to you. They’re bad, Tom.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Insist on two cars,” Alice continued. “Try to make them believe you really believe them —”

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  “I think I can help,” she told him. “Don’t change all of a sudden — Bolton’s rather clever.” She rose and beckoned to the men. They came back and leaned against the table.

  “Well,” enquired Bolton.

  “I’ve been talking to Tom,” she said. “I think you ought to be given a trial — it seems unfair to shut you out — that’s what I think. After all, you could be a help to us — we want more people to help with the garden — of course, you would each have to promise solemnly that you would behave properly.”

  “We’ll do that all right,” Greig said.

  “I’m not sure what Sir Richard will say,” Tom put in in a dubious tone.

  “He won’t mind,” Alice replied confidently. “He won’t mind a bit if they behave well and pull their weight in the community.”

  “Well, that’s settled,” Bolton said; “you can unloose Day’s ropes now.”

  They unloosed him, and he stood up and stretched himself. Alice was chatting with Bolton in a friendly way.

  “What has become of all the others?” he heard her enquire.

  “Various things,” Bolton replied with a laugh. “Fuller Brown and Haviland went off together one night (Haviland turned up at the aerodrome, you know; he was a quarrelsome sort of cus).”

  “I see,” Tom said; “they went off together and you haven’t seen them since.”

  “Not a vestige of them,” replied Bolton. “Nobody knows where they went or what happened to them. Thomas got shot in a row and died. We did what we could for the poor little brute, but it was no use — we had no doctor, you see. Bartoluzzi — well, you know what happened to Bart.”

  “What happened to Gosse, and the cook?” enquired Tom.

  “The cook went potty and hanged himself,” Bolton replied; “he was always excitable and queer — wanted to go back to Paris — kept harping on about it all the time. And then one morning we found him strung up to a tree — it was horrible. We left the aerodrome after that. Couldn’t stick the place any longer.”

  “And Gosse?” asked Tom again. He was anxious to know what had really happened about Gosse, how the man had managed to get separated from the others.

  “Oh, Gosse!” Bolton said. “Gosse was rather a nuisance — we played a trick on him. We had been staying at a farm one night, and the next morning we just got up and went away while he was asleep — he took drugs or something. Anyhow, we couldn’t be bothered with Gosse any more. He was always grousing and complaining.”

  “So you just went off and left him!” Tom exclaimed. He was aghast at the cruelty of the trick, at the callousness of the men who could condemn a fellow creature to the loneliness of the empty world. It would have been more merciful, Tom thought, to put a bullet through the man’s head.

  “So there are only three of you left,” Alice said quietly.

  “Only three of us,” agreed Bolton.

  They came out of the little house
into the street — darkness had fallen, but there was a moon — a great big golden moon which made the little town look more weird and ghostly than ever. Alice explained to Bolton about their car, and the parcels in it which were to be taken home. They walked up and down several streets, and at last found it.

  The back of the car was full of parcels which they had collected that morning.

  “I’m afraid there’s no room for you in our car,” Alice said, “but fortunately there are plenty for you to choose from. We will drive slowly, and you can follow us.”

  “That won’t do!” exclaimed Greig angrily.

  Alice looked at him with raised brows.

  “Won’t do?” she enquired. “What do you mean?”

  “How do we know you’ll play square with us?”

  She turned to Bolton. “I don’t like this,” she said. “Is this man really “playing square” himself? We’re trusting you, aren’t we? If there’s any hanky-panky about it the whole thing’s off — definitely. I can’t take the responsibility of it.”

  Bolton hesitated a moment. “Of course it’s all right,” he said. “We’ll find a car, only go slowly so that we can follow you.”

  He looked at her again, searchingly. She met his eyes without flinching. Then he turned away and walked up the street to find another car.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  A Well-planned

  Accident

  A few minutes later the two cars were crawling out of Fairtown in a northerly direction. Tom had decided to lead Bolton as far away from Bardsholme as possible before losing him. Alice kept looking back to see that they were coming.

  Once clear of the town Tom opened the throttle and let the car out, he wanted to see whether he had more speed than the others and could shake them off at will, but, after a few minutes, he found that the other car was keeping up quite easily, and he slowed down.

  “Bolton’s chosen a good car,” he said in a troubled voice, “there aren’t many cars that can beat this — I’m afraid I shan’t be able to shake him off.”