THE TALL STRANGER
D. E. Stevenson
© D. E. Stevenson 1957
D. E. Stevenson has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1957 by Fontana Books.
This edition published in 2019 by Endeavour Media Ltd.
Table of Contents
part one
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
part two
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
part one
CHAPTER ONE
For nearly a week London had been shrouded in fog. Today it had lifted a little (just enough for the half-choked inhabitants to see that there was a sun, still shining in the sky) but now it was settling down thicker than ever; it was for all the world like a dirty grey blanket.
Nell Babbington had finished her work for the day (she was secretary to a doctor in Kensington). She put on her coat and hat and took up the neat pile of letters which were ready for the post. Then she called out to Mrs Ridge, the doctor’s housekeeper, to say she was going. Mrs Ridge was downstairs in the kitchen; her voice came up from the nether regions.
‘The fog’s awful,’ yelled Mrs Ridge. ‘I couldn’t ’ardly find my way ’ome. Worse than ever, it is. You better be careful, Miss Babbington.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ shouted Nell.
The fog was waiting for her when she opened the front door and surged at her like a billow of cold evil-smelling smoke. Certainly it was much worse than ever, there was something so sinister about it that she shut the door hastily with herself still inside. The reaction was instinctive, there was no sense in it, for sooner or later she would have to go out and find her way home … but all the same she lingered. The hall was warm and comfortable with its thick crimson carpet, solid mahogany furniture and grandfather clock (which ticked complacently and kept such admirable time). It was the sort of hall which gave one a feeling of security – and this was exactly what it was intended to do. Nervous patients were soothed by the atmosphere of permanence and stability, some of them were reminded of their grandparents’ homes which they had visited in their childhood.
It’s clever, thought Nell – but without surprise for she knew already that Dr Headfort was clever.
There were two other doctors, each of whom had a consulting-room in the house, but although Nell received their patients she really belonged to Dr Headfort. She had belonged to him for more than a year and liked the job for he was absolutely dependable and there was no nonsense about him; Miss Babbington was merely the young woman who received his patients, typed his letters and reminded him of his multitudinous engagements. Some young women might have resented this attitude on the part of their employer but Nell preferred it for she found it much more convenient to keep her business life and her social life in separate compartments. Until she came to Dr Headfort she had never been able to settle down in peace. No sooner had she settled into a congenial job and got used to her employer than the idiotic creature began to get silly. Nell’s path through life was strewn with broken hearts. Of course it was not her fault; she had not made herself. Sometimes she almost wished herself plain and dumpy, but never quite. Life would have been a lot easier but not so exciting; besides, to be honest, Nell’s looks gave pleasure to herself as well as to other people. Her smooth dark hair, which fitted her head like a cap, her gentian-blue eyes and creamy skin made a delightful picture whenever she looked in a mirror, and her slender figure would have graced a fashion-plate.
Nell was still dawdling in the hall when Dr Headfort came downstairs. Nobody could have called him good-looking, but he reminded Nell of her father, who was very good-looking indeed. Colonel Babbington would not have been flattered (the doctor was tall and gaunt with rugged features and a determined chin) but the likeness was there. It’s when he smiles, thought Nell.
He was smiling now. ‘Hallo, are you just going, Miss Babbington?’ he inquired.
It was not really a question, for of course Nell was going – it was her usual hour of departure and here she was in the hall with her hat and coat on – but if nobody ever asked unnecessary questions there would be a good deal less to say.
‘Yes,’ said Nell. ‘I’m going along to the hospital to see my friend – and then home.’
‘I thought your friend was better.’
‘They say she’s better.’
Dr Headfort was shrugging on his overcoat but there was something in Nell’s voice that made him pause. ‘You’re still anxious about her?’ he asked.
‘They say she’s better,’ repeated Nell. ‘Her temperature has steadied, but she just lies there taking no interest in anything. I suppose it’s silly to worry –’
‘People always worry about their friends. It would be unnatural if they didn’t,’ declared the doctor. He opened the door as he spoke and the fog rolled in. ‘Great Scott, it’s worse than ever!’ he exclaimed and like Nell he shut the door hastily. ‘Look here,’ he continued. ‘You can’t go home in this. You could never find your way to Covent Garden – that’s where you live, isn’t it? – the fog will be worse down there. Better stay here for the night. I’ll tell Mrs Ridge to make up a bed for you.’
‘It seems silly –’
‘It would be silly to go. Honestly, Miss Babbington, it would take you hours – and what about the morning?’
Nell hesitated. She saw the point. If she could not get here in the morning it would be very inconvenient. The flat (which she shared with Barbie France) was empty; Barbie was in hospital, lying there and taking no interest in anything. There was no reason at all why Nell should not stay here for the night. Mrs Ridge would coddle her and she felt in the mood for a little coddling.
‘Yes – well – perhaps –’ said Nell. ‘But I must go to the hospital and see Barbie. I said I would.’
The hospital was only about ten minutes’ walk from the doctor’s house so it was agreed that Nell should go and see her friend and come straight back.
After that there was no excuse for dawdling in the hall so Nell went down the steps and turning to the left began to walk along the street. She knew the way well (she had called at the hospital every day for the last five weeks) but the fog really was awful. There are fogs and fogs. This was the worst Nell had ever experienced. She was choked and blinded (even when she walked close to the railings she could scarcely see them) and it seemed that she was deafened as well, for the roar of traffic, which is the accompaniment of life in London, had ceased. Although intrepid by nature Nell was definitely frightened and when she heard steps behind her it was all she could do to stifle a scream.
‘It’s all right,’ said Dr Headfort’s voice reassuringly. ‘I’ll come with you, Miss Babbington.’
‘But aren’t you – going somewhere?’
‘I’m going to the hospital with you.’
Nell opened her mouth to object but b
y this time he had drawn her hand through his arm and they were walking on together – his arm was thin and bony but it felt very strong – so she changed her mind and said, ‘It’s very good of you. As a matter of fact I don’t believe I could find my way, and Barbie will be expecting me.’
‘That’s all right,’ he replied. ‘I’ll have a look at a couple of patients and we can come back together. Hold on a moment, we cross the road here.’
They crossed. Dr Headfort had a torch which enabled them to see the kerb and to find the railings on the other side.
Hitherto their relationship had been strictly professional, but this expedition was out of hours and as they walked arm-in-arm through the fog and darkness they began to converse in a more human way. You could not cling to a man’s arm – however bony – and ignore the fact that he was a human being.
‘It must be a bit lonely without your friend,’ suggested Dr Headfort.
‘It’s ghastly,’ agreed Nell. ‘Barbie and I have shared the flat for years. We get on awfully well together.’
‘Are you alike?’
Nell was surprised at the question. ‘No-no,’ she said doubtfully. ‘At least not to look at. Barbie is rather plump; she has red hair and grey-green eyes … and I don’t think we’re alike in character either. I’m rather an easy-going sort of person, taking people as I find them, but Barbie is like the man in Pilgrim’s Progress, Valiant for Truth.’ Nell giggled and added, ‘Sometimes her frankness is a bit devastating. I often wonder how she gets on in business.’
‘What sort of business?’ Dr Headfort wanted to know.
‘Oh, she’s in a big firm of Interior Decorators; she goes all over the country looking at houses and advising people about colour schemes.’
‘Modern colour schemes?’
‘Not for everybody,’ said Nell quickly. ‘Of course some people go in for bright colours and different-coloured walls, but it depends on the sort of house and the personality of its owner. I was just thinking Barbie would approve of your hall.’
‘She would think it very old-fashioned.’
‘She would think it very clever.’
Dr Headfort chuckled.
‘You did it on purpose, didn’t you?’ asked Nell.
‘You’ve guessed my guilty secret. When I took the house it was modern. I put back the clock a hundred years – yes, just about a hundred years.’
They walked on for a bit in silence and then Nell said, ‘I wish you could see Barbie. I suppose she’s getting better, but the last few days she seems worse – so feeble and wretched. She lies there looking like a ghost. It’s so unlike Barbie.’
‘She isn’t my patient,’ said Dr Headfort.
‘Oh, I know,’ agreed Nell. ‘But I do wish – I mean I can’t help wondering if the doctor understands. It’s so awful to see somebody you’re terribly fond of looking like that.’
For a few moments Dr Headfort did not speak. Then he said, ‘Perhaps I might have a look at her in a friendly way.’
‘Oh, please do!’ exclaimed Nell. ‘It’s Dr Mills. He wouldn’t mind, would he?’
‘I’ll see what I can do. No promises.’
Nell had not been bothering about the direction they were taking, she had left it to her companion in whom she had absolute confidence, so she was surprised when he stopped and said doubtfully, ‘I believe we’ve missed the turning. We’ll have to go back.’
They turned and went back, looking for the turning which should have been on their left, but most certainly was not. Presently the line of railings, which had been their only guide, gave way to a high brick wall which should not have been there at all.
‘Where on earth are we!’ exclaimed Dr Headfort. ‘Look here, Miss Babbington. I’m most awfully sorry.’
‘We can ask someone,’ said Nell soothingly. She was sorry for Dr Headfort; men hate to bungle things, they like to be big and brave and clever.
‘We’ll have to ask,’ admitted Dr Headfort. ‘I’m awfully sorry, Miss Babbington. I thought I could have found my way to the hospital blindfold.’
Unfortunately there was nobody to ask. The street was deserted. Nell had a feeling that it was a narrow back street (one of those queer little rabbit-warrens which lead nowhere in particular and which you never notice on ordinary occasions) but of course she could not be sure. Dr Headfort’s torch made a tiny cave of yellow light in the surrounding gloom. They might have been alone in the world, she and Dr Headfort.
‘Perhaps there’s something written on the wall – I mean the name of the street,’ suggested Nell. ‘We could see with your torch, couldn’t we?’
They looked. There was no placard, but there was something written in yellow chalk: JACK LUVS MARLENE.
‘And we pay millions every year for education!’ exclaimed Dr Headfort in disgust.
‘I know, but we’ve got to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we might leave out somebody who could write another King Lear.’
‘Do you think that’s the best?’ asked Dr Headfort. ‘I think Othello. Anthony Quayle in Othello. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.’
‘Yes, but –’ began Nell … and then she laughed for it was the craziest thing to stand here in the fog arguing about the respective merits of Othello and King Lear.
Dr Headfort laughed too. ‘We must talk about it some time,’ he declared. ‘It’s a very interesting subject. People who are moved by King Lear are usually those who are particularly devoted to their fathers –’
‘And the Othello people have jealous dispositions,’ suggested Nell. She was sorry when she had said it, for it sounded impertinent, but Dr Headfort did not seem to mind.
‘I suppose I could be, if I had anything to be jealous about,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But it’s too cold to stand here. Shall we go on – or back – that’s the question.’
‘Wait, I hear someone coming!’ exclaimed Nell.
They waited as the footsteps approached – two sets of footsteps in heavy boots – and as they drew nearer Dr Headfort called out, ‘Hallo, can you tell us where we are, please!’
The footsteps stopped but there was no reply.
‘Where are we?’ repeated Dr Headfort urgently. ‘We’ve got lost. Are we anywhere near the hospital?’
There was not a sound.
Quite suddenly Nell was nervous. She was all strung up. It was alarming to be aware that there were people – two men – quite close and not be able to see them … but they can see us, she thought; she was about to tell her companion to put opt the torch when it happened. A hand caught her by the arm and seized her bag. At the same moment a burly figure pushed between her and the doctor and dragged him aside.
The assault took Dr Headfort by surprise. He staggered and almost fell but a wild scream from Nell brought him to his senses. He turned and grappled with his assailant; they swayed to and fro, stumbling over the edge of the pavement and continuing the struggle in the road. There was another scream – a hoarse scream like that of an animal in pain – and a torrent of blasphemy and with that the two thugs ran for their lives, their heavy boots clattering and skidding on the greasy pavement.
Dr Headfort was somewhat dazed. His torch had gone out and he could see nothing. He did not even know which way he was facing. ‘Miss Babbington!’ he cried. ‘Are you all right? Where are you?’
‘I’m here,’ said Nell faintly.
He groped in the direction of the voice and found her leaning against the wall. ‘Are you hurt?’ he demanded.
‘No, not hurt. He tried to get my bag – that’s all.’
‘Sure you’re not hurt?’
‘Yes, but – oh dear – I’m afraid I’m going to – to be sick.’
She was sick. It was terribly humiliating (why couldn’t she have fainted gracefully like a Victorian young lady?) but fortunately her companion was a doctor.
‘Natural reaction,’ he murmured. ‘Much the best thing. You’ll be all right in a minute. Here’s a bottle of smel
ling-salts, don’t hold it too close to your nose.’
Nell had seen the little bottle before. It was a habit of the doctor’s to carry it in his pocket and offer it to his patients when they required it, and he always said, ‘Don’t hold it too close to your nose.’ She had seen, also, the startling effects upon patients who had sniffed the little bottle too enthusiastically; so she was careful to obey the instructions and sniffed carefully. The smell was curious but pleasant.
‘Better now, aren’t you?’ said Dr Headfort comfortingly.
‘Much better. I say, I’m awfully sorry – too frightful of me. Why couldn’t I have fainted?’
‘Thank goodness you didn’t! What on earth should I have done if you had fainted?’
It certainly would have been awkward for him. Nell saw that.
At this moment there was a glow of orange-coloured light and a policeman arrived upon the scene. He was large and solid and, to the wanderers, an extremely pleasant sight. An angel straight from heaven would not have been more welcome to Dr Headfort.
‘What’s been happening here?’ asked the policeman sternly. ‘You haven’t been annoying this young lady, have you?’
‘Oh no, he’s been marvellous!’ cried Nell.
‘The lady is suffering from shock,’ explained Dr Headfort. ‘We were attacked by two men – one of them grabbed her bag.’
‘No wonder she was frightened,’ said the policeman sympathetically.
‘I wasn’t frightened,’ declared Nell. ‘I was upset because – because I broke his arm. It was horrible. The bone snapped in two.’
‘You broke ’is arm, Miss?’ echoed the policeman in amazement. He looked at her more closely with his torch and added, ‘You couldn’t ’ave broken ’is arm – not possibly. Look, Miss, here’s your bag on the pavement.’
‘I know. He dropped it when I broke his arm.’
The policeman did not pursue the subject. He said, ‘That’s the worst of these fogs. All the riff-raff in the district are on the go. I s’pose you couldn’t identify the men?’
The Tall Stranger Page 1