Malice in Wonderland

by Nicholas Blake

  “We ought to tell Captain Wise.”

  “Captain Wise is in hospital, somebody said. He was nearly drowned this morning. Three others are dead.…”

  “Well, this is a nice sort of holiday, I don’t think …”

  After lunch, a special meeting was called. The concert hall was packed when Captain Wise came on to the platform, looking grave but still the acme of efficiency.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I’m sorry to have to keep you indoors for a little on such a beautiful afternoon. Unfortunately, we seem to have someone here with a rather nasty sense of humour. This morning two visitors and myself were dragged under water and held there, down at the bathing beach. If it had happened only once, we should have assumed it was just a bit of innocent horseplay on someone’s part. But the notice that was pinned on the board this morning, signed ‘The Mad Hatter,’ compels me to believe that some misguided practical joker is at work, systematically. In the first place, I appeal to him—or her—to realise what discomfort he is causing, and leave off. We provide quite enough amusements at Wonderland, surely, to satisfy anyone, and we don’t want dirty games as well.”

  “Hear, hear!” boomed Mr. Thistlethwaite.

  “I can assure you that my staff and myself, with your cooperation, will soon get rid of this public nuisance if he decides to persevere with his foolish pranks. Now I have just a few requests to make. First, those of you who were at the dance last night heard an announcement made over the loud-speakers, to the effect that you were to watch out for the Mad Hatter. It was dark at the time, except for the spotlight. Anyone could have come up to the platform from the body of the hall, or entered the hall by those two side doors at either end of the platform, and spoken through the microphone: it was placed, just then, on the extreme right-hand side of the platform. I have already consulted with the band, but none of them could see anything: like yourselves, they assumed it was a surprise announcement made by the management, and paid it no particular attention. If any of you noticed anything suspicious at the time, or anyone behaving in a suspicious manner after the lights went up, will he please come to my office and tell me about it.

  “Secondly, about the notice that was pinned up this morning. It was certainly not on the board at twelve o’clock, when my secretary put up several notices of my own. If anyone saw an unauthorised person putting up a notice between twelve and one o’clock, will he let me know? Thirdly, I’d be grateful if the members of the voluntary sports committee would come to my office as soon as we’ve finished here. And lastly, may I ask you all to keep this to yourselves. Quite frankly, a thing like this, if it is allowed to leak out—and you know how rumours grow—would be bad for Wonderland. My private belief is that the practical joker—or jokers—will have the decency to stop, now that they realise public opinion is against them. But I’ve my job to keep, and it’s up to me to prevent any repetition of these stupid tricks—even at the risk of seeming to make a mountain out of a molehill. Well, that’s all, I think. Thank you all very much.”

  A few minutes later, Paul Perry was sitting in the resident manager’s office with the other members of the sports committee—five women and four men. Captain Wise’s secretary, Miss Jones, and Teddy Wise were also there. The glass doors leading on to the balcony were open, and sunlight streamed into the office, lighting up the chromium desk, the filing cupboards, the picture of a regimental group that hung above a built-in electric fire, and Captain Wise’s faint, humorous smile. Yes, thought Paul, he looks like the headmaster who, for the sake of discipline, has issued a public denunciation of some harmless rag, and is now relaxing in private to the boys-will-be-boys attitude.

  Captain Wise made no reference to what had just happened, except for saying that they could not take any action till they had more facts to work on: no doubt a stream of visitors would soon be invading his office, volunteering information about what they had seen, or thought they had seen, or heard that someone else had seen—information which it would be his own task to sift: he did not wish to bother the sports committee with that kind of stuff.

  The sea breeze, blowing gently and steadily through the open window, stirred his fine hair, left undisturbed the sleek head of Miss Jones, who sat with pencil and note-book at his side, demure, the perfect secretary, but still ravishing.

  “Well now,” said Captain Wise, “let’s just run over the programme for to-morrow. In the morning——”

  He broke off. There were footsteps padding up the stairs outside. The door opened. A pretty girl, in tennis-shoes, short white skirt and brassière, burst in. There were several others behind her.

  “Oh, Captain Wise, I’m sorry to—but we found them in the pavilion like this,” she panted. “Look.”

  She put a box of tennis-balls down on the desk, and opened the lid. The members of the committee were all on their feet, trying to look over Captain Wise’s shoulder. The box contained half a dozen tennis-balls. They were all thickly coated with treacle.

  IV

  THEY ALL STARED at the contents of the box, dumbfounded. In silence, too, like a procession of devotees laying gifts upon an altar, the other girls who had been grouped inside the door came forward and placed boxes on the manager’s desk.

  “I suppose they are tennis-balls all right,” said one of the committee at last. “Not bombs.”

  “I don’t think you need worry, Mrs. Greenidge. Not even the I.R.A. would think of coating bombs with treacle,” said Captain Wise.”

  “There was a piece of paper inside my box,” the first girl said. “Look. Here it is.”

  Captain Wise gingerly took up the treacle-stained paper and read out, “‘A present for Elsie, Lacie and Tillie. From the Mad Hatter.’ Well, I’m damned! Elsie, Lacie and——”

  “That’s just what I said to my friend,” the girl declared. “It don’t make sense. My name’s Dolores. None of us are called——”

  Miss Jones’ cool, competent voice cut in: “Elsie, Lacie and Tillie are the names of the three little girls who lived at the bottom of a treacle well, Captain Wise.”

  “What on earth are you talking about, Miss Jones?” he exclaimed irritably. “Treacle well?”

  “It was part of the dormouse’s story in Alice in Wonderland. At the Mad Hatter’s tea-party, you remember,” Miss Jones replied in unruffled tones. There was a short silence.

  “I see,” said Captain Wise. “Where did you get these boxes?”

  “They were the ones put out ready in the pavilion for tennis this afternoon,” the first girl said.

  “Well, I’m sorry you’ve been so inconvenienced, Miss Page. Teddy, will you go with these ladies to the store and give them some fresh boxes. Then come back here. Oh, and ask the head chef if a tin of treacle is missing.”

  “Oh, Mr. Wise,” Paul heard the girl saying to Teddy as they trooped out, “I’m so glad you’re coming with us. Reely. I don’t feel safe with a homicidal maniac at large.”

  Captain Wise raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he said. “If we aren’t careful, this nuisance of a practical joker will get magnified into a Jack the Ripper.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” asked one of the committee, a lantern-jawed young man who looked like—and was—the type that is destined by fate to become secretary, live-wire and factotum of any number of clubs and committees.

  Captain Wise rubbed his chin backwards and forwards over his upstretched fingers. An unusual moment of indecision, perplexity almost, seemed to be upon him.

  “It’s very good of you, Mr. Easton,” he said at last. “But I think I really cannot ask any of you ladies and gentlemen to come in on this. It would not be fair. You’re here for a holiday, and it’s the management’s business to see that your holiday isn’t spoilt.”

  “But, honestly, it wouldn’t spoil it—speaking for myself, that is—and I’m sure I express the opinion of my fellow committee members too,” insisted the young man, warming to his work. “I mean, it’d be q
uite a novelty for us all, a new competition, find the Mad Hatter. See what I mean? Why, you could offer a prize—you know, a reward of so-and-so will be offered to the person giving information which leads to the arrest of the Mad Hatter. Get everyone interested. It’d go, you know. You’ve got something there, Captain Wise.”

  The manager eyed him speculatively, then looked round at the rest of them. The committee, as is the way of committees, all began talking at once and more or less relevantly.

  “It’s an idea.”

  “What I say is, we have no mandate from the members of this camp to take such action. We’re a sports committee.”

  “Well, hunting out this chap would be a sport. A blood-sport, you might say.”

  “I don’t approve of blood-sports. The league for——”

  “My boss hunts twice a week. He’s a nice, kind gentleman. You’d say he wouldn’t hurt a fly. A publisher, he is. He said to me one day——”

  “My Flo says she goes in fear and trembling of the Mad Hatter. Still, she’s learnt ju-jitsu. I reckon she’d give this joker something to take home. Snap your arm like a match, she can.”

  “Our Billy swapped his conjuring set at school for a box of practical jokes. Daft tricks, they were. I tanned his behind for him. What I say——”

  “Has any of you,” cut in a Miss Gardiner, a schoolmistress of heavy limbs and formidable eye, “studied the psychology of the practical joker?”

  “I don’t hold with these psychologists. They turn you inside out, and what have you to show for it?”

  “Your tubes, I suppose.”

  “The motivation of the practical joker,” persisted Miss Gardiner in tones like a mechanised brigade mopping up a disorganised enemy, “is generally inferiority feeling. Unable to take his place on equal terms within the community, his libido or power-urge drives him to expedients which will bring the community down to his own level. Ridiculed himself, he seeks to cast ridicule upon the community as a whole.”

  “Sort of tit-for-tat, you mean?”

  “That would be an over-simplification of the psychosis,” replied Miss Gardiner severely. “He is often, too, a person with a strong but suppressed sense of display. Söderman cites the case of one such individual, a member of a voluntary fire-brigade, who on several occasions perpetrated arson solely in order that he might be able to wear his uniform in public. Adler suggests——”

  “What uniform does this Mad Hatter wear, anyway? A busby?”

  “A top-hat, of course, silly.”

  Here the manager interposed tactfully. “I think we must close this interesting discussion, and get down to the proper business. I can assure you that your suggestions will be borne in mind, and I’ll call upon you later if the need arises. For all we know, the practical joker may decide to call it a day. Now then …”

  The committee began to discuss the details of Monday’s programme. The main event was to be a treasure hunt in the afternoon. The course and clues for this had already been prepared by the management. It was the task of the committee members to assist the regular staff in distributing the clues, marshalling the “field,” and making other arrangements. The clues were in sealed envelopes which would be given out at dinner to-night, so that earnest treasure-seekers should have the opportunity of studying them leisurely.

  When the meeting was over, Paul Perry wandered out towards the tennis-courts. The games being played were not of a very serious nature, for the weekly tournaments did not begin till Tuesday. Paul caught sight of the massive figure of Mr. Thistlethwaite seated in a deck-chair beside a court where Sally and Mr. Morley were playing against another couple. He sat down on the grass near Mr. Thistlethwaite’s chair to watch the game.

  “You are an exponent yourself, sir?” inquired his companion.

  “Up to a point. I don’t get much time for it, though, nowadays.”

  M. W.

  “Ah. You gentlemen of the pen must scorn delights and live laborious days. An arduous calling, indeed, but few can offer such recompenses.”

  “Your daughter plays well. She seems to be carrying her partner.”

  “It runs in the family, sir. I myself used to have no little skill at ball-games.”

  Albert Morley, leaping desperately to intercept a side-line drive, missed the ball and fell sprawling. His opponents laughed: even Sally could not help smiling. Mr. Morley picked himself up, beamed round in the most genial manner, and resumed his stance at the net.

  “A good sportsman, Mr. Morley,” said Mr. Thistlethwaite. “He can always take a joke against himself. It’s one of the most sterling facets of our national character, would you not say, sir? Show me a fellow who can join in a laugh at his own expense, and show me one of nature’s gentlemen.”

  Paul did not attempt to dispute this proposition. Instead, he presently inquired:

  “How are the people here reacting to this practical joker? Getting a bit rattled?”

  “The prevalent attitude is one of calm resolution. The Britisher is not easily to be intimidated. Business as usual, or—should I say?—pleasure as usual, is the watchword of Wonderland just now.”

  “I wonder what he’ll do next. Treacly tennis-balls are rather an anti-climax after attempted drownings.”

  “Reculer pour mieux sauter, possibly, sir. The speculation is not without interest.” Mr. Thistlethwaite turned towards Paul, his deck-chair creaking dangerously. “You made use of the term ‘practical joker,’ sir. Have you considered the implications?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Implications of what, Daddy?” It was Sally, who had finished her game and come to sit down beside them with Albert Morley.

  “I was speaking of this individual who calls himself the Mad Hatter. In my judgment, the essence of a practical joke is that the perpetrator should not only witness the discomfiture of his victim but also receive due acclaim for his own ingenuity. A joke which you share with no one but yourself cannot give full satisfaction. What conclusions may we draw from that in the present context?”

  “You mean,” said Paul after a short silence, “that the fellow may have an accomplice—or several—to share the joke with.”

  “That is a possibility, sir,” said Mr. Thistlethwaite.

  “I think the chap must be a little touched,” Mr. Morley volunteered.

  “That, again, is a legitimate hypothesis. A madman,” Mr. Thistlethwaite continued in equable tones, “is the one living creature who can share a joke with himself.”

  “Oh, Daddy, do shut up. You’re giving me the goo.”

  “It might be a case of split personality, I suppose,” said Paul. “An individual who wears by turns the motley of the jester and the sober respectability of—well, of such a person as yourself.”

  “Are you suggesting that Daddy is the Mad Hatter? You be careful, Mr. Paul Pry.”

  “I was merely making a scientific generalisation, Miss Prickly-pear.”

  “There is yet a third construction which might be placed upon these bizarre events,” her father enunciated. He placed his finger-tips together, and paused dramatically. “It is, that the Mad Hatter is neither a practical joker nor mad. He may be as sane as you or I.”

  “But, Daddy, that’s impossible. Either he——”

  “In analysing any criminal—that is to say, anti-social—action, we should ask ourselves, not only who stands to gain by it, but also who stands to lose.”

  “Well, you stood to lose. If that beastly person had held me under the water much longer, your beautiful daughter would have been a poor, cold corpse.”

  Her father, leaning sideways, stroked her head and smiled. A rather fatuous smile, thought Paul, yet in an odd way it seemed to make him real. Mr. Thistlethwaite was so much of a Presence, you could hardly connect him with a private life, with human frailties and relationships.

  “No,” he was saying, carefully turning out his made-to-measure, discreet sentences. “It is not so much the guests as the Wonderland Ltd. company itself which stands to
lose by a continuance of these outrages.”

  “The implication being that the joker is someone with a grudge against the company?” said Paul.

  Mr. Thistlethwaite inclined his head in a gesture of solemn approbation: so might he look when some undergraduate had chosen, under his own suave guidance, a cloth which struck the happy mean between bravura and un-distinction.

  Sally said: “But isn’t it a very queer way of getting your own back on the company—to make things unpleasant for the visitors?”

  “It might be the only way you could do it, don’t you think?” said little Mr. Morley unexpectedly.

  “Just so, Mr. Morley. And that gives us—does it not?—a pointer towards the miscreant.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He is a person without influence or standing. Whether his enemy is the company as a whole, or some official of it such as Captain Wise who would lose his post in the event of the outrages driving away any considerable proportion of the visitors, he himself is not in a position to attack the enemy save by these devious and undignified stratagems.”

  Mr. Thistlethwaite drew a deep breath and stroked the creases of his impeccable flannel trousers.

  “One of the servants, perhaps, who has been given the sack?” suggested Paul. “But one would not expect them to be so conversant with the works of Lewis Carroll.”

  “I suppose even servants can read,” said Sally. “Besides, you needn’t have read Alice in Wonderland to have heard of the Mad Hatter. There are pantomimes.”

  “But I fancy that Elsie, Lacie and Tillie do not figure in the pantomime,” said Mr. Thistlethwaite.

  Paul Perry stiffened, regarded him more closely.

  “The time-factor,” Mr. Thistlethwaite went on, “is also of interest. The great majority of the visitors to Wonderland only stay for one week. Should the outrages persist into a second week, it would eliminate from suspicion all but the staff and the few remaining visitors.”

  “You’ve studied the affair pretty closely, I see,” said Paul.

  “I have given it some attention, sir. As an amateur of criminology, I——”