Johnny Swanson

by Eleanor Updale

  She pulled his arms away and sat down on one of the chairs. ‘Be quiet, Johnny,’ she said, looking anxiously around to make sure that no one else was in earshot. ‘And don’t call me Mrs Langford. No one here calls me that. If you let them know who I really am, we could both be in a lot of trouble.’

  ‘So you are J. W. Morgan, then?’

  ‘What? How do you know that?’

  Johnny took the crumpled envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Change Your Appearance Permanently,’ he said. ‘You answered that advert. Mrs Langford, I know you want a disguise.’

  Mrs Langford sat in silence, turning over the envelope while Johnny burbled on. ‘I knew it was you. And I’ve worked it all out. Someone is holding you prisoner here, aren’t they, Mrs Langford? That’s why you need the disguise, isn’t it? You want to escape.’

  Mrs Langford was still for a few more seconds, then nodded, gazing down at the letter. ‘Tell me more, Johnny,’ she said quietly. ‘Tell me everything you know.’

  ‘Well, I know that my mother didn’t kill Dr Langford for a start—’ He stopped suddenly, remembering Olwen’s reaction to unexpected news. ‘Oh, Mrs Langford. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Did you know? Your husband is dead.’

  She didn’t raise her head, but nodded, and whispered, ‘Yes, Johnny. I know.’

  ‘He was murdered, Mrs Langford. While you were in France—’

  ‘In France?’ She paused and mumbled, ‘Oh yes …’

  Johnny was getting excited and talking more quickly. ‘And the police think my mother did it. But she didn’t, and you can tell them she didn’t. The police won’t take any notice of me. But they’ll listen to you. You know she’d never do a thing like that, don’t you?’

  Mrs Langford said nothing.

  ‘Help me, Mrs Langford. Tell the police it was nothing to do with my mother. You must know it wasn’t. And you must have some idea who it was. I’ve worked that out too. It must have been somebody who knew about the BCG. Was it the Umckaloabo man? Was it somebody here? There was a Welshman who warned me to stop looking for you. Is it him, Mrs Langford? Did he kill your husband? Is that why he’s hiding you here? To keep you quiet?’

  Mrs Langford pulled Johnny close to her and whispered urgently, ‘Johnny, you’re the one who had better keep quiet, or you are going to make things very difficult for both of us.’ She split her pile of papers in two and handed him half. ‘Come on. Help me put these out on the seats, and I’ll try to explain.’

  Johnny took a look at the heading on the top sheet. It read:

  THE STAFF OF CRAIG-Y-NOS PRESENT

  CINDERELLA

  He understood now why the nurse had told Olwen she’d be missing ‘fun and games’. ‘A pantomime? Is there going to be a pantomime?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Johnny. Tonight everyone at Craig-y-Nos will be in this hall. It’s a special treat. Now, come on. I haven’t got long to finish getting things ready.’

  They walked between the rows putting out the programmes, and Mrs Langford began. ‘As you know, my husband was doing some important work to do with TB. One of his old students, Dr Howell, was producing the BCG vaccine for him – here, in the laboratory.’

  Dr Howell. Johnny had heard that name just a few minutes earlier. Olwen had been wearing his coat and shoes.

  Mrs Langford continued: ‘My husband got him some of the original culture, and told him how to do it.’

  Johnny’s mind ran on. ‘And then Dr Howell got jealous, and killed your husband so he could pretend the vaccine was all his own work.’

  ‘Oh, Johnny, what a clever boy you are,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘But it was worse than that. You see, Dr Howell wanted to sell the vaccine.’

  ‘Like the Umckaloabo man? The man who put that advert in the paper!’

  ‘Yes, Johnny. Just like him. But of course Dr Howell couldn’t advertise BCG openly because it was against the law for him to have it. So he planned to frighten people into thinking their children might die if they weren’t immunized, and then to charge them a fortune to buy the BCG secretly. He was going to target rich people. He knew they’d pay him a lot of money if he promised not to tell anyone that they’d used an illegal vaccine.’

  ‘So it was a kind of blackmail too?’ said Johnny. ‘Dr Langford wouldn’t have liked that.’

  ‘No indeed,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘My husband wanted the vaccine given free to all children, just as it is in France. He was terribly shocked when he found out about Dr Howell’s plans. He protested, and he paid with his life.’

  Johnny interrupted her. ‘So Dr Howell was waiting for your husband when he got back from France. Waiting to kill him, so he couldn’t spoil his plans. I guessed ages ago that it must be something like that,’ he said triumphantly. ‘I tried to tell the police, but they just wouldn’t listen. But surely you could have told them?’

  ‘No, Johnny. I haven’t been at liberty for a moment since my husband died. This man, this Dr Howell … he watches over me all the time. I have to stay in his cottage overnight, and in the daytime I work here as a secretary. He got me the job so he could guard me round the clock. He’s told them I’m his aunt—’

  ‘Mrs J. W. Morgan!’ said Johnny, understanding instantly how a fictitious aunt could be useful. ‘I see it all now.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘So that’s it. I’m trapped.’

  Johnny jumped in, thrilled that his theory was proving to be correct, and Mrs Langford nodded in agreement as he babbled through the story. ‘He knew where to find you in France, he brought you here so you couldn’t tell anyone about him, and he’s been keeping you prisoner ever since. Which is why you wanted the disguise. You wanted to get away …’

  ‘Yes. About that, Johnny. I don’t really understand. How are you connected to that advertisement?’

  Before Johnny could reply, a man in a white coat strode in through the double doors. He shuffled from foot to foot anxiously, nibbling at his fingernails.

  ‘Get a move on,’ he said roughly. ‘We haven’t got much time.’ Johnny listened hard. Was this the same man who had threatened him on the phone at the post office? He wasn’t sure. The accent was the same, but no doubt lots of people in Wales spoke like that. The man continued, getting more agitated: ‘One of the nurses held me up. Some nonsense about a girl stealing my coat. I could have done without that, today of all days. Anyway, it’s up to you to make sure this panto starts on time. Are you absolutely sure that everyone is coming?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Dr Howell,’ said Mrs Langford, and Johnny froze beside her. Now that he’d heard the name, he was certain that he was in the presence of a murderer.

  Mrs Langford kept her composure. She took the remaining programmes out of Johnny’s arms. ‘Thank you for your help, son,’ she said, as if he were one of the patients and had simply been lending her a hand. ‘I’ll finish off here. You run along, now.’ She bent down and added in a whisper, ‘Come and find me in the office after the show has started.’

  Johnny turned to leave. ‘Of course, Mrs Morgan,’ he said at the top of his voice, trying to give Dr Howell the impression that he was just another inmate. He was grateful to Mrs Langford for giving him a chance to get away from the menacing man; and he was determined to make good use of the time before he saw her again. He set off to find the outside toilets, and Olwen, who would by now be scrubbing them out as her punishment.

  Chapter 36

  IN THE TOILETS

  It wasn’t hard to find the boys’ toilets. Johnny needed only to follow his nose. This might be a hospital, but boys in a hurry could lower the tone of a lavatory anywhere. The smell was familiar from school, and the chilly brick block was very similar to the grim outdoor shack in the playground back in Stambleton. At least here there were electric lights, though all they did was show up the chipped surface of the long porcelain trough that served as a urinal, the rude words and pictures scraped into the peeling paint of the cubicle doors, and the muddy footmarks swirling in the stinking liquid on the
grey stone floor. There were even footprints on the ceiling. Johnny worked out how they’d got there. A thick pipe crossed the room high up above the doorway. If you swung on it and kicked really hard, you could hit the roof. He was tempted to have a go, but this was not the time.

  Olwen, still in her pyjamas, was in the far corner, on her knees with a bucket, sniffing in time to the rhythm of her scrubbing brush. She didn’t respond to Johnny at first.

  ‘Olwen?’ he said. ‘It’s me. Johnny. Olwen! I need your help.’

  Gradually her scrubbing slowed and she looked up, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist. ‘Why should I want to help you? Why should I want to help anyone? All my people are dead, and no one here cares. They don’t even want to know anything about it.’

  ‘I care, Olwen,’ said Johnny. ‘I really do. And there’s someone else too. She’s bound to want to help you. I tried to tell you before. It’s Mrs Langford, the doctor’s wife from Stambleton. Or widow, I should say.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Do you remember the doctor who came to take your sister off to the sanatorium?’

  ‘Of course I do. He’s the one who sent me back to Wales. He said it was for my own good. But my uncle didn’t want a child in the house, and he was scared that I was bringing germs with me. So as soon as I caught a cold, he put me in here and then he moved away. Do I remember that doctor? If it wasn’t for him I’d never have been dumped here. I wish he was dead.’

  ‘He is dead, Olwen,’ said Johnny. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you about it ever since I got here. Dr Langford was murdered.’

  ‘Serves him right.’

  ‘Olwen! How can you say that? He was a nice man. He was good to me, and I know he must have thought he was doing the best for you.’ Johnny told Olwen about the murder. ‘Anyway,’ he said, drawing his explanation to a close, ‘Dr Langford’s wife is here. She’s calling herself Mrs Morgan, and she’s the person I’ve been looking for.’

  ‘So?’ Olwen was still dazed by her own news.

  ‘Mrs Langford’s in trouble, Olwen. We have to help her. There’s a man called Dr Howell. He’s the real murderer, and he’s holding her prisoner.’

  ‘Dr Howell?’ Olwen was shocked. ‘But he’s really kind. He didn’t make a fuss at all when the nurse told him I’d taken his coat. I think she was really disappointed. She says she’s going to report me to Professor Campbell instead.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Professor Campbell. He’s in charge of the whole hospital. The nurse said she’ll recommend a very severe punishment.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Olwen, but if you ask me, Dr Howell’s only pretending to be pleasant. Mrs Langford seemed really scared of him. Your problem with Professor Campbell isn’t nearly as serious as what he might do to her.’

  ‘But what’s that got to do with me? Or you, for that matter?’

  ‘I told you. Everyone thinks my mother killed Dr Langford. She’s in prison, and only Mrs Langford can put her in the clear. If she doesn’t, do you know what will happen to my mother?’

  ‘Just think yourself lucky you’ve got a mother,’ snarled Olwen. ‘I haven’t. Not any more!’ She started crying, and Johnny knelt down on the wet floor to try to comfort her.

  ‘I know,’ he said, ‘and I’m truly sorry. But if I don’t do something to stop it, my mother will be found guilty. Do you know what that means? It means that they’ll hang her. They’ll make her stand with a noose round her neck and then they’ll open a trapdoor so that she falls through and is strangled by the rope. Her body will be left swinging there, dead, and afterwards she’ll be buried in an unmarked grave. And then I won’t have a mother either. Is that what you want? I’m sorry you’ve lost your family, but why should I lose my mother too? You must be able to imagine how that will make me feel.’

  Olwen’s voice softened. ‘I dare say I can.’

  ‘Then help me.’

  ‘How? What on earth can I do? I’m stuck here scrubbing the floor.’

  ‘We’ve got to call the police. And we must go to that man – that Professor Campbell you talked about. We can tell him the truth about Dr Howell. But the police first. We need a telephone. Do you know if they have one here?’

  ‘There must be one in the office, I suppose. I don’t know. I’ve never been in there.’

  ‘But you know where the office is, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Well, show me, please. I’ve got to meet Mrs Langford there after the pantomime’s started. If I get there first I can use the phone before she comes. And while I’m doing that, you can find Professor Campbell and tell him that Mrs Langford – Mrs Morgan – is in danger. Say that he’s got to protect her from Dr Howell.’

  Olwen tried to protest: ‘He won’t take any notice of me. If that nurse has already told him about the coat, he’ll think I’m just trying to get out of trouble.’

  Johnny was desperate. ‘But he might believe you. Olwen, you’re my only hope. There may not be time for me to phone the police and find Professor Campbell. I don’t even know what he looks like. Please. Do this for me, and when we’ve dealt with Dr Howell – or even if it all goes wrong and I get caught – I’ll tell the professor everything that’s happened to you. I promise. I’ll make sure he does something about it. Now come on. I’ve got to make that phone call.’

  ‘All right,’ Olwen sighed. ‘I’ll show you the way to the office. Then I’ll try to find Professor Campbell. But we haven’t got long for that either. He’s in the pantomime, you know. He’s one of the Ugly Sisters. He’s probably getting into his costume now.’ She dropped her scrubbing brush into the bucket and Johnny helped her to her feet. ‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘It’s dark enough for us to take a short cut across the courtyard. But keep your head down. We don’t want anyone to see that we’re there.’

  Chapter 37

  THE OFFICE

  Johnny and Olwen cut across the yard. Olwen pulled him into the bushes beneath the office window. ‘Lift me up,’ she said. ‘I’ll look in and see if there’s anybody there.’

  ‘Climb on my back,’ said Johnny, crouching down in the mud; and Olwen stepped on him and pulled her chin up to the level of the windowsill.

  ‘The lights are off,’ she whispered. ‘There’s nobody inside. But there is a telephone. I can see it on the desk by the typewriter.’

  ‘Right. Tell me which door it is and I’ll go in,’ said Johnny.

  ‘What if it’s locked?’ said Olwen. ‘And what if someone sees you in the corridor?’

  ‘I could go in through the window. Can you get it open if I raise you a bit higher?’

  Olwen pushed at the window, and it started to lift up.

  ‘Swap over,’ said Johnny. ‘I’ll stand on you and climb in.’

  Neither of them was very big, but somehow they managed to launch Johnny over the sill. He dropped down onto the floor inside the room. As soon as he landed he knew it would be hard to climb back out. But he’d deal with that later. The important thing now was to phone the police. He picked up the receiver and dialled the operator. It seemed to take ages for the mechanism to click and whir its way to a connection, but at least that gave him time for a brainwave. He breathed deeply, and when a response came from the other end he spoke calmly, in his most adult high-pitched voice:

  ‘Hello. My name is Mrs Ada Fortune. I’m calling on behalf of Professor Campbell at the Craig-y-Nos sanatorium. We need the police here on a matter of the greatest urgency and importance.’

  The operator wanted more details.

  ‘I’m afraid I am not at liberty to go into the particulars. Suffice it to say that this is a matter of life and death. Hurry, please.’

  Johnny slammed down the receiver, hoping that would help convince the operator that something serious had happened, and rushed to the door. Olwen was right. It was locked. He dragged the chair from the desk to the window, but it swivelled beneath him when he tried
to jump up, and without Olwen to give him a push he couldn’t manoeuvre his body over the sill. He looked around for something higher and more stable to climb on. There was only the desk; but it was at least three times the size of his kitchen table at home and, with rows of drawers on both sides, far too heavy for Johnny to pull across the room.

  He was stuck there. He turned on the desk lamp and looked around, hopelessly searching for another way out. It was a drab, functional place. There was a bookcase full of files, an etching of the King on the wall, and a notice board covered with lists of staff and their rotas. Johnny saw that Dr Howell was on duty that night. Alongside was a newspaper cutting about a huge donation raised for the hospital in a local collection at Christmas. Johnny’s eye was naturally pulled to the small ads at the side of the page. A sheepdog needed a new home. Someone else was selling an unused wedding dress. And then he saw it: his own advert, Change Your Appearance Permanently. That must be where Mrs Langford had seen it. It explained why she hadn’t answered the personal message in the same edition appealing for news of her whereabouts. That must have been printed on a different page.

  There was nothing Johnny could do except wait for Mrs Langford to come. He pulled the chair back to the desk and sat down, wondering whether to phone Hutch, if only to let him know that he was safe (so far), but that would mean talking to the operator again, and he didn’t want her to get suspicious. The desk was littered with piles of paper. There were brown envelopes, just like the one Mrs Langford had sent to Johnny, and leaflets everywhere, some in English, some in French. All of them seemed to be about TB. Many were annotated in Mrs Langford’s snail-shell handwriting. It reassured him that he was in the right place. This definitely was her office. What a relief! With luck, it wouldn’t be long before the police arrived and she could tell them the truth about the murder. Dr Howell would be arrested, and Mrs Langford and his mother would both be safe. Johnny leaned over to read the sheet of paper that was sticking out of the typewriter. It was headed The War Against Tuberculosis. On the next line it said: