Go Away to Murder

by John Creasey

  He held the receiver in his hand for a few moments, then slowly replaced it. He rubbed the back of his neck when his hand was free, and looked at the others as if he did not know that they were near. An explosive ‘Well?’ from Paula made him start and widen his eyes.

  Janet saw a peculiar thing: the smile which he had shown when he had talked to Marion had grown set: it was not a reflection of relief or of pleasure; the smile was very nearly tense, as if he did not feel as happy at hearing from her as he might have done.

  ‘Well, what did she say?’ demanded Paula impatiently. ‘Mark, you are impossible.’

  ‘Yes, aren’t I?’ said Mark slowly. ‘It’s a queer story. I’d better put a call into Roger straight away. Where do you think I’m likely to get him?’

  ‘He’ll sleep at the Yard,’ said Janet confidently.

  Mark put a call through to Whitehall 1212, was told that there was up to an hour’s delay, and failed to convince the operator or the supervisor that the call should have priority. He was tempted to make contact with the Dorchester police and to ask them to telephone the Yard, but was anxious to explain to Roger exactly what Marion had told him. So he put up with the unavoidable delay, and returned to the lounge, while Paula declared in clear undertones that some people had no consideration for anyone. And: ‘What did happen to her, Mark?’

  ‘She doesn’t know.’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Janet and Paula, as in one voice.

  ‘She says that she doesn’t know, I mean,’ corrected Mark. ‘She came to the cottage for her handbag and found it on a seat in the loggia, and then she went back to the Manor. While walking through the grounds she saw the tramp, and she went a long way round to try to avoid him. And then—’ Mark drew a deep breath and rubbed the back of his head again – ‘then someone came out of the copse near where she was walking, and all she remembers is feeling a sharp pain in her arm.’

  ‘Mark!’ gasped Paula. ‘It couldn’t have been just like that!’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Mark. His smile had grown set. Against his inclination he must have seen the possibility that Marion’s story was not true. ‘There are drugs which can send you to sleep in a few seconds,’ he added, ‘including one or two in regular use today. Regular medical use, I mean.’

  ‘But what happened afterwards?’ demanded Paula.

  ‘Marion says she came round this afternoon, finding herself in a country district which she didn’t recognise,’ replied Mark. ‘She had her handbag with her, and her money hadn’t been touched. She walked for an hour or more, and then managed to get a lift into the nearest village, a place called Woodhill. It’s on the Newbury side of Reading. She was famished; and needed a wash, and stopped at the pub in the village, where she had some food and a bath. And then—’ again he paused, and Janet imagined that this was the part which puzzled him most. ‘She fell asleep. She didn’t wake up until about half an hour ago, then she put in the call. I wish the Yard would come through,’ he added irritably.

  ‘What are you going to do, Mark?’ asked Janet, bringing the conversation back to a more practical plane.

  ‘I promised I’d phone Roger before doing anything on my own,’ said Mark.

  Then the London call came through – but proved an anticlimax. Inspector West was not in but was expected back soon. Disappointed and dissatisfied, Mark left a message for Roger to ring him back, and then telephoned the private number of Cartwright, the Dorchester Inspector. Cartwright had not gone to bed, and he listened to the story carefully, making notes and asking for occasional sentences to be repeated. When Mark had finished, Cartwright said: ‘What have you in mind, Mr Lessing?’

  ‘Nothing very much,’ said Mark. ‘I think it would be a good idea to get in touch with your Reading people, and ask them to send a couple of men to watch the hotel in Woodhill. We don’t want anything else to happen to Miss Byrne.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ promised Cartwright. ‘I’ll ring through right away. Anything else, Mr Lessing?’

  ‘Not now, thanks,’ said Mark.

  It was a thoroughly unsatisfactory situation, and was not improved by a long wait for Roger’s call. At half-past twelve the two girls went to bed, Paula declaring that she felt nervous and that she would like Janet to sleep with her. Mark was determined to wait until a call came through from London, but the last sound he remembered was the dining room clock striking the hour of two.

  When he awakened it was with a start and a puzzled glance about the room. The door was ajar, and light was coming through it, while there was an edging of daylight at the windows. He felt stiff and cramped, and grunted in disgust when he realised that he had fallen asleep in the easy chair. He wondered what had disturbed him, then heard footsteps somewhere in the house.

  His lips tightened, and he got up from the chair, only to collapse again as pins and needles struck his legs. He kept pushing his legs outwards to ease the nerves, but the pain continued. The noise of someone moving about was unmistakable. He thought of Riordon, told himself that he was a fool, then heard a muttering voice. It was low-pitched and seemed to come from a long distance off; undoubtedly it was a man’s. It continued for a long time, until he was able to move freely. He looked about the room, picked up a poker, and crept towards the door.

  Footsteps came from the kitchen, and he saw who it was.

  Quickly, Mark withdrew into the dining room, grinning ruefully at the unnecessary alarm. It was the little servant, and he remembered Paula telling him that she liked to start work at half-past six so that she could be free all the afternoon. The voice was that of a BBC announcer giving a foreign broadcast.

  ‘But confound it,’ he said abruptly. ‘Roger hasn’t been through or I would have heard the telephone.’

  He waited until the maid had returned to the kitchen, then went upstairs. A quick shower refreshed him. He found that he was able to use his right hand much more freely than had been possible for some days past. He had to wait until after the girl had brought up some tea before he had any shaving water, but was shaved and feeling much better before either Janet or Paula left their room. Janet was anxious to know whether Roger had been through.

  ‘No,’ said Mark. ‘I’ll ring him about eight.’

  ‘He couldn’t have had your message,’ said Janet. ‘I hope—’ she broke off abruptly.

  Mark needed no telling that she was thinking that Roger might not have returned to the Yard at all. Mark went to take a turn round the orchard before breakfast, and he was some distance from the house when he heard a faint sound, different from the flitting of the birds, the distant noise of a plough, or the even beat of an aeroplane engine high in the sky. It came from close at hand.

  He looked about him, and could see nothing, although he was filled with vague alarm. The noise was repeated several times, and for the life of him he could not prevent himself from thinking that it sounded like a quick blast on a mouth organ. The refrain of the Warsaw Concerto passed through his mind several times, and when eventually the tune did come softly towards him from the trees, he was uncertain whether it was real or whether it sprang from autosuggestion. His uncertainty faded; the tune was unmistakable, and it came from above his head.

  He looked upwards, his heart beating fast, and moved towards a gnarled apple tree, scores of years old, subconsciously feeling that he could get more cover from it. The tune persisted, although he knew that it would not be heard at the house; it was almost as if this rendering was for his especial benefit. He told himself that he would not have minded so much had it come from the ground, but it was being played amongst the branches of a tree which had branches almost touching the ground, an old favourite which Paula refused to have pruned.

  Then he saw a grotesque little creature, no more than two feet tall, standing on one of the branches. The dwarf was holding a mouth organ with two tiny hands, and the instrument poked out either side of his
face like a monstrous clipped moustache.

  The tune went on and on.

  Mark Lessing and the Dwarf

  Mark did not look away from the creature in the trees.

  After the first shock he realised that, unexpected though it was, there was nothing particularly scarifying in the sight of a dwarf. Nor was there the slightest hint that the little man threatened danger, except that tune which went on and on as if it had no end. The mouth organ moved from side to side, the tiny, well-shaped hands seemed overburdened with it.

  As his heart grew steadier, Mark studied the dwarf.

  He was certainly little more than two feet tall, dressed in lounge clothes which fitted him well but made him look unreal. His face was round and red, and the features were broad; he looked more like a ventriloquist’s dummy than a human being. His hair was thin and grew well back on his head; had he been normal Mark would have judged him a man in the middle-forties.

  Mark waited until at last the dwarf removed the harmonica from his mouth and tucked it away inside his coat. Then he looked down at Mark, with his head on one side. He balanced without the slightest difficulty on the frail tree branch.

  After what seemed a long time, Mark said: ‘Good morning.’

  He had no time to reflect on the absurdity of the comment, for the dwarf smiled: that startled him.

  ‘Good morning to you. You are Mr Lessing, Mr Mark Lessing.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mark.

  ‘I am glad to meet you,’ said the dwarf. ‘My name is Richardson.’ His voice was not deep but its tone was good and the words might have come from a man of normal size; true, the timbre was on a high pitch, but there was nothing else unusual in it. There was even a hint of mellowness. ‘I nearly had that pleasure in Fulham, but I hurried away with Count Riordon.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mark blankly.

  ‘Of course you are surprised,’ said the dwarf: he looked saddened, even troubled. ‘Not only by my appearance here, but also by my admission that I am acquainted with Riordon. As a matter of fact I have worked for Riordon for many years; think it is almost true to say that he would be helpless without me. He has grown used to me and to my protection, and – as he takes so much – he now takes me for granted. Have you ever thought, Mr Lessing, that it is a mistake to take anyone for granted?’

  Mark drew a deep breath. ‘It’s a favourite opinion of mine.’

  ‘I am not surprised,’ said the dwarf. ‘Mr Lessing, I played the Concerto just now because I was anxious to attract your attention and to offer you something in the way of proof that I am associated with Riordon. You have no doubt about that, have you?’

  ‘None – none at all,’ said Mark with an effort.

  ‘You do not sound very certain,’ said the dwarf.

  ‘I’ve no doubt,’ Mark assured him more firmly.

  ‘I am glad, because a great deal depends on your faith in me,’ said the dwarf. ‘I am talking to you because I believe that it will bring more results than if I talk to the police. I am an odd little creature, I know. I am a freak, and the trouble is that so many people are apt to look upon dwarfs just as that – as freaks whose minds are as diminutive as their bodies. It is not so, Mr Lessing. Our minds work on very similar lines to yours, and we have similar standards, similar hopes and ambitions. Like you, we fall in love, and, like you, we have our disappointments.’

  Mark said: ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  The dwarf paused, and Mark took his cigarette case from his pocket, opened it, and proffered it. The dwarf leaned down, and with fingers little larger than the cigarettes themselves, took one and put it in his lips; it looked much as a very long cigar would look on a normal man. He accepted a light gravely, and kept the cigarette in his mouth.

  Mark had wanted a few seconds to pull himself together, but the casual manner in which the dwarf who called himself Richardson took the cigarette prevented him from doing so. He felt quite out of his depth, and could not make his mind work evenly.

  The dwarf said: ‘Thank you. I have told you those few things, Mr Lessing, to make you understand what I am going to do more clearly. I will add a little. I listen to the wireless, just as you, and I read the newspapers. I have political opinions, like most people, and I know the difference between right and wrong. I am not very interested in that difference, and as I have worked for Riordon for a long time I must be classified as a criminal. In fact I have helped him with most of his crimes.’

  Mark’s throat felt dry, and he said nothing in the pause which followed.

  Richardson went on: ‘Perhaps I ought to explain even more fully. There are only a few dozen people of my stature in this country. We like to live together, or some of us do, but I have always been something of an adventurer on the modest scale on which dwarfs can become adventurers. And the theatrical business has never interested me. Posturing in front of ordinary people is nauseating! It is like an exhibition of nakedness in a Soho striptease club, but worse. It is making capital out of our misfortunes and our freakishness. I was on the stage for a short while and I grew to hate the people in the auditorium. Their titters, their so-called sympathy, their laughs – how would you like to be a subject of amusement, of ridicule, just because of a mischance in your selection of parents, if I may put it that way?’

  ‘I shouldn’t like it,’ said Mark slowly.

  ‘Of course you would not. And you can imagine, Mr Lessing, that I grew to hate ordinary people. I mean hate them as I understand the word hate. I resented everything about them, their very normality, their huge, hideous, dull-witted faces, their cumbersome bodies. Oh, I hated them, Mr Lessing. Is it any wonder that I became antisocial?’

  ‘No,’ said Mark, with an effort.

  ‘When I first met Riordon,’ went on the dwarf, ‘we were both in a mood of acute depression. My wife had died, and I was very lonely. And Riordon had a grudge against the world. All people who have grudges against the world become lonely, Mr Lessing: it is an invariable rule. I will not bore you with a history of our early association. I will tell you that Riordon was at first vastly amused by me, but there was a rough kindliness about the man which attracted me to him. It was soon evident, moreover, how easy it would be for me to hide myself in the houses of people whom he wished to victimise, and obtain information which led to blackmail. You can imagine that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mark stiffly.

  ‘Don’t imagine that I regret that,’ said the dwarf in his level, matter-of-fact voice. ‘Riordon rarely victimised the pure in heart, and those whom he blackmailed deserved their fleecing. I would have been quite happy to continue working with him, without any compunction whatsoever, but there were limits to the degree of the crimes which I would permit. It was not until a few days ago that I discovered the hideous fact that he is dealing with Russia, or with Russian agents, Mr Lessing.’

  Mark drew a deep breath, and said: ‘Go on.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Richardson inclined his head. ‘I was shocked, but I did not reveal what I felt at first. I decided to ponder over it, and to try to find the easiest way in which to prevent Riordon from bringing his plans to full fruition. I have continued to work under his orders, and of course I am in a unique position to discover just what he is doing. I have not yet been admitted to his private counsels, but I can get into what he might call the council chamber whenever I wish. There is some degree of risk, just as there is some risk in approaching the police. I will admit that what I have seen of West I rather like. You see, I do not condemn every member of the community but form my own opinion. But I did not feel that I could tell the police, but I could tell you. You have advantages which West has not. You do not owe allegiance to any regulations or to any leader. You are able to take chances which West cannot, and I imagine that is one of the reasons why, between you, you have contrived to solve so many problems which the police themselves could not have done. S
o I make you an offer, Mr Lessing. I am prepared to tell you where to find Riordon’s real headquarters.’

  Mark said slowly: ‘In return for what, Mr Richardson?’

  Gently, almost sorrowfully, the dwarf shook his head. ‘You do not really understand me, I see. I suppose that is asking too much. I am not making a deal with you, Mr Lessing. I want nothing in return for my confidences, except—’ he paused for a moment, and threw the cigarette away: until then he had kept it between his lips. ‘Except your assurance that you will do everything in your power to prevent Riordon from succeeding in making further contact with Russia.’

  ‘That goes without saying.’

  ‘Good! I felt that, of course, but I wanted to make myself quite clear. Before I go on, I would like to ease your mind of one thing.’ He gave a grotesque smile which made Mark’s heart turn over. ‘Concerning Miss Byrne. She did leave the Manor the other morning to come for her bag. I followed her, and I know. Riordon was here, or in the neighbourhood, and he told me to see what she was doing. Later I came here and took the map from Sir Guy’s pocket. That astonishing, conceited creature asked for nothing else.’

  Mark said quickly: ‘Go on.’

  ‘I knew that this news would make you much happier,’ smiled the dwarf. ‘And here are the other details. The tramp, Parker, was foolish enough to imagine that he could get the better of Riordon. No ordinary man can do that, Mr Lessing. At one time they were associated, and Parker imagined that he had been cheated by Riordon, so there was something of a feud between them. Riordon, who in many ways is a great man, brushed Parker aside much as you would a tiny insect. But Parker persisted. There is no doubt that he was going to try to bargain with you, offering you news of Riordon in return for money, but he did not know where Riordon had his headquarters. He had to find that out. He knew about me, of course, and thought that I would lead him to the place. He followed us here, and the only reason we came here in the first place was to find you and the map – you see, we thought you had it. Riordon, who is always prepared to look for new ways of increasing his income, learned that Colonel Byrne is a wealthy man and went to the Manor to try to find what he could amongst Byrne’s papers – I had forced a way in, and admitted him; that has always been very easy. Unfortunately Parker knew that Riordon was inside, and went after him. It was very foolish of Parker. He went into the house by a door which Riordon had left open to make good his escape, and then came away a little later, not knowing that he had been seen.’