The Fiend

by Margaret Millar

  When breakfast was over, Mary Martha sat on the window seat in the front room with the cat, Pudding, on her lap. She wasn’t supposed to get her hands dirty or her dress wrinkled but she needed the comfort of the cat, his warm body and soft fur, his bright eyes that seemed to be aware of so many things and not to care about any of them very much.

  In a little while she saw Mac and the lieutenant emerge from the fog and come up the front steps. She heard her mother talk­ing to them in the hall, at first in the low, careful voice she used when meeting strangers, later in a higher, less restrained and more natural voice. She sounded as if she was protesting, then arguing, and finally, losing. After a time the two men came into the front room alone, and Mac closed the door.

  “Hello, Mary Martha,” Mac said. “This is Lieutenant Gallantyne.”

  Still holding the cat, Mary Martha got up and executed a brief, formal curtsy.

  Gallantyne bowed gravely in return. “That’s a pretty cat you have there, Mary Martha. What’s his name?”

  “Pudding. He has other names too, though.”

  “Really? Such as?”

  “Geronimo, sometimes. Also King Arthur. But when he’s bad and catches a bird, I call him Sheridan.” She switched the cat from her left shoulder to her right. It stopped purring and made a swift jab at her ponytail. “Do you have any medals?”

  Gallantyne raised his bushy eyebrows. “Well now, I believe I won a few swimming races when I was a kid.”

  “I mean real medals like for killing a hundred enemies.”

  The men exchanged glances. It was as if they were both think­ing the same thing, that it seemed a long and insane time ago that men were given medals for killing.

  “Lieutenant Gallantyne is not in the army,” Mac said. “He’s a policeman. He’s also a good friend of mine, so you needn’t be afraid of him.”

  “I’m not. But why does he want to see me instead of my mother?”

  “He’ll talk to your mother later. Right now you’re more im­portant.”

  She seemed pleased but at the same time suspicious. “Why am I?”

  “We hope,” Gallantyne said, “that you’ll be able to help us find your friend, Jessie.”

  “Is she hiding?”

  “We’re not sure.”

  “She’s an awfully good hider. Being so skinny she can squeeze behind things and under things and between.”

  “You and Jessie play together a lot, do you?”

  “All the time except when one of us is being punished.”

  “And you tell each other secrets, I suppose?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you promise each other never to reveal these secrets to anyone else?”

  Mary Martha nodded and said firmly, “And I’m not going to, either, because I crossed my heart and hoped to die.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can keep a secret very well,” Gallantyne said. “But I want you to imagine something now. Suppose you, Mary Martha, were in a dangerous situation in a place nobody knew about except you and Jessie. You’re frightened and hun­gry and in pain and you want desperately to be rescued. Under those circumstances, wouldn’t you release Jessie from her prom­ise to keep the name of that place a secret?”

  “I guess so, only there isn’t any place like that.”

  “But you have other secrets.”

  “Yes.”

  Gallantyne was watching her gravely. “I believe that if Jessie could communicate with you right now, she’d release you from all your promises.”

  “Why can’t she comm—communicate?”

  “Nobody’s seen her since last night at ten o’clock. We don’t know where she is or why she left or if she left by herself or with someone else.”

  In a spasm of fear Mary Martha clutched the cat too tightly. He let out a yowl, unsheathed his claws and fought his way out of her grasp, onto the floor. She stood, very pale and still, one hand pressed to her scratched shoulder. “He hurt me,” she said in a shocked voice. “Sheridan hurt me.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”

  “He always means to. I hate him.”

  “You can cry if you like,” Gallantyne said. “That might help.”

  “No.”

  “All right, then, we’ll go on. Is that O.K.?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Did you and Jessie ever talk about running away together? Perhaps just in fun, like, let’s run away and join the circus.”

  “That would be plain silly,” she said in a contemptuous voice. “Circuses don’t even come here.”

  “Times have changed since I was a boy. The only thing that made life bearable when I was mad at my family was the thought of running away and joining the circus. Did Jessie often get mad at her family?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly at Mike, her older brother. He bosses her around, he’s awfully mean. We think a bad witch put a curse on him when he was born.”

  “Really? What kind of curse?”

  “I’m not sure. But I made one up that sounds as if it might work.”

  “Tell it to me.”

  “‘Abracadabra,

  Purple and green,

  This little boy

  Will grow up mean.’”

  “It should be said in a more eerie-like voice, only I don’t feel like it right now.”

  Gallantyne pursed his lips and nodded. “Sounds pretty au­thentic to me just the way it is. Do you know any more?”

  “‘Abracadabra,

  Yellow and brown,

  Uncle Howard’s the nastiest

  Man in town.’”

  “That one,” she added anxiously, “isn’t so good, is it?”

  “Well, it’s not so much a curse as a statement. Uncle How­ard’s the nastiest man in town, period. By the way, who’s Uncle Howard?”

  “Mr. Arlington.”

  “Why do you think he’s so nasty, Mary Martha?”

  “I don’t. I only talked to him once and he was real nice. He gave me fifty cents.”

  “Then why did you make up the curse about him?”

  “Jessie asked me to. We were going to make up curses about all the people we hate and she wanted to start with Uncle—with Mr. Arlington.”

  “Who was next on the list?”

  “Nobody. We got tired of the game, and anyway my mother came to pick me up.”

  “I wonder,” Gallantyne said softly, “why Jessie felt that way about Mr. Arlington. Do you have any idea?”

  “No, sir. That was the first day she ever told me, when we were at the playground with Mike.”

  “What day was that?”

  “The day my mother and I went downtown to Mac’s office.”

  “Thursday,” Mac said.

  Gallantyne thanked him with a nod and turned his attention back to Mary Martha. “Previous to Thursday, you thought Jessie and the Arlingtons were good friends?”

  “Yes, on account of the Arlingtons were always giving her presents and making a big fuss over her.”

  “Both of the Arlingtons?”

  “Well—” Mary Martha studied the toes of her shoes. “Well, I guess it was mostly Aunt Virginia, him being away so much on the road. But Jessie never said anything against him until Thursday.”

  “Let’s assume that something happened, on Wednesday per­haps, that changed her opinion of him. Did you see Jessie on Wednesday?”

  “Yes, I went over to her house and we sat on the porch steps and talked.”

  “What about?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “Name one.”

  “The book Aunt Virginia gave her. It was all about glaciers and mountains and rivers and wild things. It sounded real inter­esting. Only Jessie had to give it back because it cost too muc
h money and her parents wouldn’t let her keep it. My mother,” she added virtuously, “won’t let me accept anything. When Sheridan sends me parcels, I’m not even allowed to peek inside. She sends them right back or throws them away, bang, into the garbage can.”

  Gallantyne looked at the cat. “I gather you’re referring to another Sheridan, not this one.”

  “Cats can’t send parcels,” Mary Martha said with a faint giggle. “That’s silly. They don’t have any money and they can’t wrap things or write any name and address on the outside.”

  Gallantyne thought, wearily, of the anonymous letter. He’d been up all night, first with the Brants and Mrs. Arlington, and later in the police lab examining the letter. He was sure now that it had been written by a man, young, literate, and in good physical health. The description fitted hundreds of men in town. The fact that Howard Arlington was one of them meant nothing in itself.

  He said, “Mary Martha, you and Jessie spend quite a lot of time at the school grounds, I’m told.”

  “Yes. Because of the games and swings and jungle gym.”

  “Have you ever noticed anyone watching you?”

  “The coach. That’s his job.”

  “Aside from the coach, have you seen any man hanging around the place, or perhaps the same car parked at the curb several days in a row?”

  “No.” Mary Martha gave him a knowing look. “My mother told me all about men like that. They’re real nasty and I’m sup­posed to run home right away when I see one of them. Jessie is, too. She’s a very good runner.”

  Perhaps not quite good enough, Gallantyne thought grimly. “How are you going to recognize these men when you see them?”

  “Well, they offer you things like gum or candy or even a doll. Also, a ride in their car.”

  “And nothing like this ever happened to you and Jessie?”

  “No. We saw a mean-looking man at the playground once, but it was only Timmy’s father, who was mad because Timmy missed his appointment at the dentist. Timmy wears braces.”

  One corner of Gallantyne’s mouth twitched impatiently. So Timmy wears braces, and he has a mean-looking father and I am getting exactly nowhere. “Do you know the story of Tom Sawyer, Mary Martha?”

  “Our teacher told us some of it in school.”

  “Perhaps you remember the cave that was the secret hide-out. Do you and Jessie have somewhere like that? Not a cave, par­ticularly, but a special private place where you can meet or leave notes for each other and things like that?”

  “No.”

  “Think carefully now. You see, I and a great many other people have been searching for Jessie all night.”

  “She wouldn’t hide all night,” Mary Martha said thoughtfully. “Not unless she took lots of sandwiches and potato chips along.”

  “There’s no evidence that she did.”

  “Then she’s not hiding. She’d be too hungry. Her father says he should get a double tax exemption for her because she eats so much. What’s a tax exemption?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” Gallantyne turned to Mac, who was still standing beside the door as if on guard against a sudden intrusion by Kate Oakley. “Have you any questions you’d like to ask her?”

  “One or two,” Mac said. “What time did you go to bed last night, Mary Martha?”

  “About eight o’clock.”

  “That’s pretty early for vacation time and daylight saving.”

  “My mother and I like to go to bed early and get up early. She doesn’t—we don’t like the nights.”

  “Did you go to sleep right away?”

  “I must have. I don’t remember doing anything else.”

  “That seems like logical reasoning,” Mac said with a wry smile. “Did you get up during the night?”

  “No.”

  “Not even to go to the bathroom?”

  “No, but you’re not supposed to talk about things like that in front of strangers,” Mary Martha said severely.

  “Lieutenant Gallantyne is a friend of mine.”

  “Well, he’s not mine or my mother’s.”

  “Let’s see if we can change that,” Gallantyne said. “Ask your mother to come in here, will you?”

  “Yes, sir. Only—well, you better not keep her very long.”

  “Why not?”

  “She might cry, and crying gives her a headache.”

  “We mustn’t let that happen, must we?”

  “No, sir.” Mary Martha executed another of her stiff little curtsies, picked up the cat and departed.

  “She’s a funny kid,” Gallantyne said. “Is she always like that?”

  “With adults. I’ve never seen her in the company of other children.”

  “That’s odd. I understand you’re the old family friend.”

  “I’m the old family friend when things go wrong,” Mac said dryly. “When things are going right, I think I must be the old family enemy.”

  “Exactly why did you invite yourself to come with me this morning, Mac?”

  “Oh, let’s just say I’m curious.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “All right. The truth is that Kate Oakley’s a very difficult and very vulnerable woman. Because she is difficult, she can’t ask for or accept help the way an ordinary vulnerable person might. So I’m here to lend her moral support. I may criticize her and give her hell occasionally but she knows I’m fond of her.”

  “How fond?”

  “She’s twenty years younger than I am. Does that answer your question?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Then I’ll lay it on the line. There’s no secret romance going on between Kate Oakley and myself. I was her father’s lawyer when he was alive, and when he died I handled his estate, or rather the lack of it. I am officially Mary Martha’s godfather, and unofficially I’m probably Kate’s, too. That’s the whole story.”

  “The story hasn’t ended yet,” Gallantyne said carefully. “Surely you’re not naïve enough to believe we can write our own endings in this world.”

  “We can do a little editing.”

  “Don’t kid yourself.”

  Mac wanted to argue with him but he heard Kate’s footsteps in the hall. He wondered what her reaction would have been to Gallantyne’s insinuations: shock, displeasure, perhaps even amusement. He could never tell what she was actually thinking. When she was at her gayest, he could feel the sadness in her, and when she was in despair he sensed that it, too, was not real. Everything about her seemed to be hidden, as if at a certain period in her life she had decided to go underground where she would be safe.

  He thought about the wild creatures in the canyon behind his house. The foxes, the raccoons, the possums, the chipmunks, they could all be lured out of their winter refuge by the promise of food and the warmth of a spring sun. There was no spring sun for Kate, no hunger that could be satisfied by food. He watched her as she came in, thinking, what do you want, Kate? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you if I can.

  She hesitated in the doorway, looking as though she were try­ing to decide how to act.

  Before she had a chance to decide, Gallantyne spoke to her in a quiet, confident manner, “Please sit down, Mrs. Oakley. We’re hoping you’ll be able to help us.”

  “I hope so, too. I was—I’m very fond of Jessie. If anything’s happened to her, it will be a terrible blow to Mary Martha. Do you suppose it could have been a kidnaping?”

  “There’s no evidence of it. The Brants are barely getting by financially, and they’ve received no ransom demand. We’re pretty well convinced that Jessie walked out of the house volun­tarily.”

  “How can you know that for sure?”

  “There were no signs of a struggle in Jessie’s bedroom, the Arlington’s dog didn’t ba
rk as he certainly would have if he’d heard a stranger, and the back door was unlocked. It’s one of the new kinds of lock built into the knob—push the knob and it locks, pull and it unlocks. We think Jessie unlocked the door, accidentally or on purpose, when she went out. I’m inclined to believe that she unlocked it deliberately with the intention of re­turning to the house. Someone, or something, interfered with that intention.”

  He paused to light a cigarette, cupping his hands around the match as though he were outside on a windy day. “We’ll as­sume, then, that she left the house under her own power and for a reason we don’t know yet. The two likeliest places she might have gone are the Arlingtons’ next door, or this house. Mrs. Arlington claims she didn’t see her and you claim you didn’t.”

  “Of course I didn’t,” she said stiffly. “I would have phoned her mother immediately.”

  “What I want you to consider now is the possibility that she might somehow have gotten into the house without your seeing her, that she might have hidden some place and fallen asleep.”

  “There’s no such possibility.”

  “You seem very sure.”

  “I am. This house is Sheridan-proof. My ex-husband acquired the cunning habit of breaking in during my absences and helping himself to whatever he fancied—liquor, furniture, silver, and more liquor. I had a special lock put on every door and window. When I go out or retire for the night, I check them all. It would be as much as my life is worth to miss any of them.”

  “Jessie knew about these locks, of course?”

  “Yes. She asked me about them. It puzzled her that a house should have to be secured against a husband and father. . . . No, Lieutenant, Jessie could never have entered this house without my letting her in.”

  That leaves the Arlingtons, he thought, or someone on the street between here and the Arlingtons’ house. “Would you call Jessie a shy child, Mrs. Oakley?”

  “No. She has—had quite a free and easy manner with peo­ple.”

  “Does that include strangers?”

  “It included everyone.”

  “Have you had any strangers hanging around here recently?”