The Flesh of The Orchid

by James Hadley Chase

  He reached a window, lowered Frank to the sloping roof, scrambled through the window himself.

  Frank lay on the tiles, only half conscious.

  “I’m blind!” he moaned. “My eyes . . . she got my eyes . . . !”

  CHAPTER VI

  ON a dull, airless afternoon, a month after the death of Steve Larson, a battered Cadillac swept up the drive and came to rest before the front door of the house on Grass Hill.

  Veda, who had been watching from a window for the past half-hour, came quickly out on to the terrace and ran to meet Magarth as he climbed from the car.

  “Hello, honey,” he said, pulled her to him and kissed her. “I’ve got it all fixed up for her, and it’s been some job.” He linked his arm through hers and walked with her into the house. “How has she been?”

  “Just the same,” Veda returned unhappily. “You’d never believe it was the same girl, Phil. She’s grown so hard and strange. She rather frightens me.”

  “That’s bad. Does she still sit around brooding and doing nothing?” Magarth asked, taking off his hat and coat and following Veda into the sitting-room.

  “Yes, and I can’t interest her in anything. I tried to keep the newspapers from her, but she managed to get hold of them, so she knows now about herself. It’s awful, Phil. After she read the papers she locked herself in her room, and I heard her pacing up and down for hours. I’ve tried to persuade her to confide in me, but she so obviously wants to be left alone that I haven’t the heart to worry her.”

  “She was bound to find out sooner or later, but it’s bad she had to find out through the papers. They didn’t pull any punches,” Magarth said, frowning. “Well, I’ve fixed everything up for her now. The money’s hers. She’ll have about four million bucks, which isn’t so bad. Hartman has been helping himself, but we were in time to save the bulk of it.”

  “Any news of him?”

  “He’s skipped. He knew the game was up when we began the investigation. The Federal agents are after him, but I bet he’s out of the country by now. Well, I’d better go up and see her.”

  “Now she has her freedom and her money I have a feeling she plans to leave us,” Veda said. “I do hope she won’t go just yet. Will you try to persuade her to stay a little longer? She’s not fit to be on her own, and she has no friends and nowhere to go. Do be firm with her, Phil.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I have no hold on her. She’s free to do what she likes now, you know.”

  “Well, do try. It’d worry me to death to think of her on her own with all that money and no one to advise her.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Magarth returned. “Has Dr. Kober seen her?”

  “Only for a few minutes. He’s uneasy about her and suspects bone pressure after that truck accident, but she refused to be examined. Dr. Travers has also been here, but I wouldn’t let him see her. He says he won’t be responsible for what may happen if she is allowed to be free. I told him I didn’t believe she’s dangerous. But I do think she’s become a little queer, Phil. She’s not a bit like she was when we first saw her.”

  “I’ll go up.”

  He found Carol alone in her big, restful room. She was sitting by the window, and she didn’t turn her head as he came in. There was a cold stillness about her that made Magarth uneasy. He pulled up a chair near her, sat down and said with forced brightness: “I have good news for you, Carol. You’re a rich young woman now.”

  At the sound of his voice she gave a little start, turned. Her large green eyes stared mechanically at him.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said in a flat, hard voice. “Did you say good news?”

  Magarth gave her a quick searching glance. The changeless stillness on her white face and the icy blankness in her eyes perplexed and worried him.

  “Yes, very good news. The money is now in your name. I have all the papers with me. Would you like to go through them with me?”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh, no,” she said emphatically, paused, then went on: “You say I’m rich? How much is there?”

  “Four million dollars. It is a lot of money.”

  Her mouth tightened.

  “Yes,” she said, laced her slim fingers and stared out of the window. There was a bitter, brooding look in her eyes now, and she remained so still and silent that Magarth said quietly: “Are you pleased?”

  “I’ve been reading about myself in the papers,” she said abruptly. “It’s not pretty reading.”

  “Now, look, Carol, you mustn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers . . .” he began, but she silenced him with a movement of her hand.

  “I’ve learned things about myself,” she said, still staring out of the window. “I am insane. That was news to me. I am also the daughter of a homicidal degenerate who caused the death of my mother. I have been in an asylum for three years, and if it wasn’t for the law of this State I’d be there now.” She suddenly clenched her hands. “I’m dangerous. They call me the homicidal redhead. They write of my love for Steve, and say that, if he had lived, I could never have married him. They describe that as a lunatic’s tragic love affair—”

  She broke off, bit down on her lip and the knuckles of her hands showed white.

  “Please, Carol,” Magarth said. “Don’t torture yourself like this.”

  “But you tell me you have good news . . . that I’m worth four million dollars, and you ask me if I’m pleased. Yes, I am; very, very pleased,” and she laughed, a cold bitter laugh that sent a chill up Magarth’s spine.

  “You mustn’t go on like this,” he said firmly. “It’ll get you nowhere. Veda and I want to help you—”

  She turned, caught hold of his wrist.

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll do something evil to you?” she demanded. “They say I am dangerous . . . like my father. Do you know what they say of my father? It’s here in the paper. I’ll read it to you.” She picked up a creased and badly folded newspaper that was lying on the floor by her side. “This is what they say:

  “Slim Grisson was a killer: born a mental degenerate, his love of cruelty got him into trouble at an early age. His schoolmaster caught him cutting up a live kitten with a pair of rusty scissors, and he was expelled from school. When he was fifteen he abducted a little girl, who was found a week later half crazed with terror. She had been a victim of a particularly brutal assault. But Grisson was never caught, for his mother, the notorious Ma Grisson, smuggled him out of the town.

  “Ma Grisson built her son into a gangster. At first he made mistakes and drifted in and out of prison on short sentences, but Ma Grisson would wait patiently until he was free and then continue her coaching. He learned not to make mistakes and got in with a powerful gang, working bank hold-ups. He climbed slowly into the saddle of leadership by the simple method of killing anyone who opposed him, until the gang finally settled down and accepted him as their leader. There has never been in the history of American crime a more vicious, more deadly, more degenerate criminal than Slim Grisson—”

  “Stop,” Magarth said sharply. “I don’t want to listen to any more of that. Carol, do be sensible. Where is all this getting you?”

  She dropped the newspaper with a little shudder.

  “And he was my father. . . . I have his blood in my veins. You talk about helping me. How can you help me? How can anyone help me with a heritage like that?” She got to her feet and began to pace up and down. “No . . . please don’t say anything. I know you mean to be kind. I’m very grateful to you both. But now . . .” She paused, looked at him from under her eyelids. There was a cold menace in her stillness that startled Magarth. “Now I must be alone. Perhaps I am dangerous . . . as my father was. Do you think I want to endanger the lives of people like you and Veda?”

  “But this is nonsense, Carol,” Magarth said sharply. “You have been with us for more than a month, and nothing has happened. It only makes things worse if you—”

  “I have made up my mind,” Ca
rol said, interrupting him. “I leave here tomorrow. But before I go there are things I want you to do.”

  “But you mustn’t go . . . not yet, anyway,” Magarth protested. “You’re still suffering from shock. . . .”

  She made a quick, angry gesture of impatience and the right side of her mouth began to twitch.

  “I have made my plans and no one will stop me,” she said, a curious grating note in her voice. “For a month I have sat here making plans. I would have gone sooner if I had money. Now I am ready to go.”

  Magarth saw it was useless to argue with her. She was in an implacable mood, and, looking at her, he realized that Dr. Travers had some foundation when he said she was dangerous.

  “But where are you going?” he asked. “You have no friends, except Veda and I. You have no home. You can’t go off into the blue, you know.”

  Again she made the angry, impatient gesture.

  “We are wasting time. Will you take over my affairs? I know nothing about money and I don’t want to know anything about it. I have talked with the lawyer. He tells me I should appoint someone to look after my investments and to represent me. My grandfather had a number of business activities that have come to me. Will you represent me?”

  Magarth was startled.

  “I’ll gladly do what I can,” he said, “but I have my other work “

  “You will be well paid. I have made all the arrangements with the lawyer,” she went on in the same cold, impersonal voice. “You can give up your newspaper work. You and Veda can marry. You want to marry her, don’t you?”

  “I guess so,” Magarth said, ran his fingers through his hair. The turn of the conversation embarrassed him.

  “Then you will see my lawyer? You’ll discuss it with him?”

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded.

  “All right,” he said, added, “but what do you intend to do?”

  “When can I have some money?” she asked abruptly, ignoring his question.

  “As soon as you like . . . now, if you want it.”

  “Yes, now. I want two thousand dollars, and I want you to arrange that I can draw cash anywhere in the country at a moment’s notice. I want you to buy me a car and have it here by tomorrow morning. Go and see the lawyer and bring me the necessary papers to sign so you can take over my affairs immediately. I wish to leave here tomorrow morning.”

  “Won’t you wait a little longer?” he asked. “You’ll be all alone. . . .”

  A sudden glow like fever came into her cheeks.

  “Please do what I say or I must find someone else,” she said with raised voice. “Where I am going and what I intend to do is my affair.”

  Magarth shrugged.

  “AH right,” he said unhappily, got to his feet. “I’ll do it.”

  She put her hand on his arm, and for a moment the hardness in her eyes softened.

  “You are very kind,” she said in a low tone. “Don’t think I’m ungrateful. I don’t know what I should have done without you and Veda. I hope you will both be very happy.”

  “That’s O.K.,” he said, and managed to smile. “You know how I feel about you. I do wish you’d think again. Veda and I want you to stay with us. I don’t know what you are planning to do, but I have a hunch nothing good will come of it. . . ;”

  “I have made up my mind,” she said quietly and turned away. “Will you leave me now? Will you please tell Veda that I am leaving tomorrow morning? I don’t want to see anyone tonight.”

  Magarth made a final appeal.

  “Won’t you take me into your confidence, Carol?” he pleaded. “I might be able to help you. Why do you insist on going off on your own, when you have two people who would do anything for you? Tell me what you plan to do, and I’ll help you.”

  She shook her head.

  “No one can help me,” she said. “What I have to do can only be done by myself, and alone. Please leave me now.”

  “All right,” Magarth said, admitting defeat, and he crossed to the door.

  When he had gone Carol went to the window and sat down. She remained motionless for some moments, her cold, clenched hands pressing against her temples.

  “Wherever you are, Steve, my darling, love me,” she said softly. “I am so lonely and afraid, but I will find them. They will not escape me, and I will make them pay for what they did to you. I will be as ruthless and as cruel to them as they were to us. I have nothing left to live for but to make them pay.”

  She was still sitting before the window when the pale autumn light faded, and rain, which had been threatening all the afternoon, began to fall.

  * * *

  Rain was still falling the next day, and dirty grey clouds, lying low on the hills, formed belts of mist that brought darkness to the late afternoon.

  A black Chrysler coupe, its fenders splashed with mud, nosed its way up the steeply rising by-road which led to the old plantation house so recently occupied by Tex Sherill.

  Carol stopped the car before the crumbling porch, got out and stood for a moment while she surveyed the dark building for any sign of life.

  The rain dripped dismally from the eaves on to the wooden stoop and made a soft whispering sound. The blank face of the house was tight in darkness, and Carol wondered if it were empty.

  She mounted the wooden steps and tried the door-handle. The door was locked. .She rapped with her knuckles on the hard panel and waited. She had to rap several times before she heard a faint step on the other side of the door. She rapped again insistently, and the voice of Miss Lolly came through the letterbox, “Who is it?”

  “Carol Blandish. I want to speak to you.”

  She heard Miss Lolly catch her breath, then the door opened a few inches, stopped as the chain on the inside prevented it opening further.

  “Why have you come back?” Miss Lolly asked out of the darkness.

  “I want to talk to you,” Carol said, leaning against the doorpost and speaking close to the narrow opening.

  “But you can’t come in,” Miss Lolly said. “I want to be left alone.”

  “You helped me before. I was hoping you would help me now. I am looking for the Sullivans.”

  Miss Lolly drew in a sharp breath.

  “What do you want with them?” she asked fiercely. “They are hunting for you, you little fool. Leave them alone!”

  “They shot my lover,” Carol said in her hard flat voice. “Do you think I’m going to leave them alone after that?”

  “Oh!” There was a moment’s silence. “Revenge?” Miss Lolly asked, a new and eager note in her voice. “Is that what you want?”

  “I want to find them,” Carol said.

  The chain grated, then the door opened.

  “Come in,” Miss Lolly said out of the darkness. “I am alone here now. Mr. Sherill left soon after you did.”

  Carol followed her down the long dark passage into the back room, where a lamp burned brightly on the table. The room was full of old, shabby furniture, and it was not easy to move about without touching something.

  Miss Lolly kept in the shadows. Carol could see her big tragic eyes looking at her. Around her throat was twisted a white scarf, hiding her beard.

  “Sit down,” Miss Lolly said. “So you are looking for them? If I were younger I would look for them too.”

  Carol opened her light dust-coat, pulled off her close-fitting hat. She shook out her hair with a quick movement of her head.

  “Do you know where they are?” she asked as she sat down.

  “But what can you do to them if you do find them?” Miss Lolly said, a note of despair in her voice. “What could I do? They are so cunning, so quick, so strong. No one can do anything to them.”

  Carol turned her head, and for a moment the two women looked at each other. Miss Lolly was startled to see the hard, bitter expression on Carol’s face, and the icy bleakness of her eyes.

  ? “I will make them pay,” Carol said softly, “no matter how cunning and quick and strong they are. I will m
ake them pay if it takes me the rest of my life. I have nothing else to live for.”

  Miss Lolly nodded, and her fingers touched the scarf at her throat.

  “I feel like that too,” she said, and two tears ran out of her eyes and dropped on to her hand. “You see, Max cut off my beard.”

  Carol didn’t move nor did her expression change.

  “Why did he do that?” she asked.

  “Because I let you go,” Miss Lolly said, clasping her hands. “I would rather they had killed me. I’m a vain old woman, my dear: it may seem horrible to you, but I loved my beard. I have had it a long time.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Miss Lolly drew up a chair, again adjusted the scarf round her chin, sat down. She put out a hand hopefully, but Carol drew away, her face cold and hard.

  “Tell me,” she repeated.

  “They came back two days after you had gone. Frank remained in the car and Max came in here. I was a little frightened, but I sat where you are sitting now and waited to see what he would do to me. He seemed to know you had gone, for he didn’t ask for you. He asked for Mr. Sherill, and I told him he had left here. He stood looking at me for a long time, then he asked why I hadn’t gone too, and I told him there was nowhere for me to go.” Miss Lolly fidgeted with her scarf, then went on after a long pause: “He hit me over the head, and later when I came to they had gone. He had cut off my beard. You may remember it?” She looked wistfully at Carol. “It was a very beautiful beard, and he burnt it. He’s a devil,” she said, raising her voice. “He knew nothing would give me more pain than that.”

  “And Frank?” Carol asked.

  “He remained in the car,” Miss Lolly said, looking bewildered. “I don’t know why, for he is cruel, and it is not like him to keep away when someone is going to be hurt, but he remained in the car.”

  Carol smiled. Looking at her, Miss Lolly felt a chill run down her spine.

  “He stayed in the car because he is blind,” Carol said. “I blinded him after he had killed Steve.”

  Miss Lolly remained still. She was surprised that she felt a shocked kind of pity for Frank.