by Andrew Garve
“I don’t suppose they will come back,” said Susan, thankful that Garland’s interest had switched away from her. “Anyway, I’m ready for breakfast.” She was just going to move when she caught his expression, and something in it froze her. She was used to his hard cold stare, which she had come to regard as no more than a mannerism, but this was something different. It was a look almost of madness. She said, “Dr. Garland, are you ill?”
He didn’t answer. Alarm seized her and she looked around for Obadiah. It was absurd, she told herself, to think that Garland could intend to harm her, but now there was no mistaking the menace in his face. His eyes were narrow slits, and his features were contorted with the intensity of his purpose, like those of a man making a supreme physical effort. His body seemed braced to lunge at her. She met his gaze, knowing rather than seeing that his hand was on the cutlass. Still she couldn’t believe it. What had she ever done to him? She saw him raise the cutlass. God in Heaven, he was going to kill her! She shouted, “Obadiah!” at the top of her voice and thrust herself back, away from him. It was too late to run for it—he was going to strike! She covered her face with her hands.
An age of seconds passed, but nothing happened. Then she heard Garland’s voice saying, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I frightened you. I was only trying the cutlass. Dangerous weapons, aren’t they?”
She looked up and saw that his face was pouring with sweat and quite grey. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Garland slumped down beside the cutlass and the tension was broken. Susan found that the power of movement had not after all deserted her. She turned for the house and ran as though all the demons of hell were after her.
Garland himself still sat beside the cutlass, mopping his face. Another second, and it would have fallen on her neck as he had intended it to do. He had braced himself, clothing her in his imagination with the beach wrap and the mask and the white kerchief. But the picture had gone wrong. The hand with which Susan covered her eyes had a white cross of sticking plaster on it—quite a big cross. And in that moment of faltering, Garland remembered Susan’s accident. At the time of Fiesta her hand would still have been heavily bandaged. But the other hand hadn’t been bandaged. It had been smooth and golden, like the arms that had rested on the table. The enemy was still at large. And it wasn’t Susan.
Chapter Twenty-four
Martin had finished shaving and was carefully knotting his tie when there was a sound of rapid footsteps at the door, and a distraught Susan almost fell into the room.
“Martin!” she gasped, and the next moment she was in his arms. She was fighting for breath and could hardly speak. Her hair felt damp against his face. He held her close to him, fiercely protective, his own heart hammering at the thought of some unnamed calamity. “There, there,” he said soothingly, as though she were a child. “Whatever it is, you’re all right now.”
“Oh, Martin,” she said again, and clung to him. “Thank goodness you were here!”
“What is it, darling? Tell me.”
She released herself, still trembling, and sank into a chair with a long sigh. She looked exhausted.
“Can I get you anything?” asked Martin anxiously.
She shook her head.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Just give me a cigarette. I’m sorry to be such a weak fool. Martin, Garland’s mad! Absolutely insane! He’s just nearly killed me.”
Martin stared at her incredulously. “Susan! Darling!”
“I know it sounds fantastic but I swear to you that he’s just made a very nearly murderous attack on me. What stopped him I don’t know, but thank God something did. Another second, and I’d have been a nasty sticky mess, quite defunct.” She laughed shakily.
“Better tell me from the beginning,” said Martin gently. “And take your time.”
“Well,” Susan began, “I got up early and went off with Obadiah to see the alligators …”
With a tense, grave face, Martin listened while she told her story, watching her closely.
When she had finished he said, “Darling, I hate to sound unbelieving, but are you sure you’re feeling quite well? You know I’m not very keen on Garland, and God knows I’ve no reason to take his side in anything, but it is an extraordinary story and a frightfully serious matter. You couldn’t have made a mistake, could you? You’re sure you didn’t imagine that he was going to attack you?”
“Quite sure,” said Susan. “If you think I’m suffering from a touch of the sun, you’re wrong. I tell you Garland sent Obadiah away on purpose, and when he picked up the cutlass he meant to use it. If you had seen the expression on his face, Martin, you wouldn’t have been in any doubt either. I was petrified. So completely frozen that I just stayed there like a little rabbit, waiting for the blow to fall. Only it didn’t. And when I could move—well, I didn’t know I could ran so fast. The dignified Miss Anstruther! Oh, Lord, you must think I’m a frightful coward!”
“That’s absurd. An experience like that would shake anyone. It’s shaken me just hearing about it.” Martin was still looking at her as though he’d like to give her a thorough overhaul, but she seemed quite composed now and he had to believe her.
“Well,” he said finally, “if everything you’ve told me is true, it’s obvious that Garland has become a dangerous lunatic. There can’t be any other explanation.”
“I’m sure he has,” said Susan. “I wonder what’s happened to Obadiah. I hope Garland isn’t going to run amuck. Not that he looked capable of it when I left him. He seemed just about all in.”
“I’d better go and find him,” said Martin. “He may need help. I’ll take one of the other fellows along with me in case he isn’t co-operative. You’d better have some coffee—and don’t worry any more. I won’t be longer than I can help.” He got up. “There have been signs of this coming on, I suppose,” he said, as though trying to convince himself. “His behaviour to me after the storm, for one thing.”
“And he did tell you himself that he felt tired and overworked,” said Susan. “I dare say we ought to feel sorry for him, though I must say it’s rather difficult just at the moment.”
“Very difficult,” said Martin grimly. He paused at the door, seemed about to depart, and then half turned as though something was still on his mind, “Susan, I suppose he is mad?”
She looked startled. “You just said yourself that there couldn’t be any other explanation.”
Martin walked slowly back from the door. “I know—but there’s something about his behaviour that doesn’t strike me that way. His conversation with you, for instance; it had a sort of pattern. Not a very clear pattern, I admit, but he seemed to be driving at something.”
“That’s what I feel,” said Susan. “When he made that remark about my beach wrap, out of the blue, I thought he was just being come-hitherish, but he’s never been the least bit that way with me before, and now I can’t believe it was that at all. He gave the remark such significance.”
“I can’t think why,” said Martin.
“Nor I, but he did. And the other things he said too—they sounded as though he wanted some information. Something is nagging at him. I’m sure. All those innuendoes about what you and I were doing at Fiesta! I could understand Celeste taking a morbid interest, but why should Garland? And that last remark of his: ‘What exactly is this game you’re playing?’ Why, I hardly know him. I’ve met him at parties and in public quite a few times, but that’s all. What game could I be playing? It didn’t make any sense to me at all, but it must have done to him.”
“Of course,” said Martin, “if he’s a homicidal maniac with delusions there’s no point in trying to find a rational explanation. But is he? I’m blessed if I know what homicidal lunatics talk about before they kill their victims, but I should have expected some stronger indication of an unbalanced mind. Something more than systematic curiosity, anyway.” He frowned. “Susan, I don’t like it. I don’t like it a bit. I suppose he couldn’t have had a rea
son for wanting to kill you, could he? Deliberately, I mean.”
“But that would be murder,” said Susan, staring.
“That would be murder,” said Martin.
Susan shook her head. “I’m sure he couldn’t. As I told you, we’ve had hardly anything to do with each other. It would be different if I’d had an affair with him or anything like that, but I haven’t.”
“I should think not,” said Martin indignantly.
A smile flickered over Susan’s face. “Honestly,” she said, “I can’t think of the faintest reason why he should have a grudge against me.”
Martin shrugged. “If he did what he did without a reason, then he is mad. I dare say that is the answer. After all, he showed the same carelessness about human life over those chaps on Tacri. There couldn’t have been any intention to murder there.”
“I think he ought to be shut up at once,” said Susan. “He seems to be a danger to everybody.” She followed a train of thought. “You know,” she said, “a thing like this makes one wonder about other things.”
“Could you be less cryptic?”
“I was thinking of that servant of his who was drowned—Johnson Johnson. I suppose it was an accident?” She tried to recall details of the case. “Yes, it must have been—I remember now, he tried to rescue Johnson. He was a hero.”
“H’m.” Martin had a reflective look in his eye. “There was only Garland’s word for what happened. The only actual fact was that he brought the man ashore, dead.”
“It was a bit odd,” Susan mused, “that a boat should sink so suddenly in a calm sea. You’d think that the two of them together could have plugged the leak. And Garland’s a magnificent swimmer. Still, why on earth should he want to kill that inoffensive little man?”
“Why should he want to kill you? We’re back where we were. I suppose homicidal maniacs have a catholic taste. I certainly can’t imagine any link between you and Johnson that would give Garland a sane reason for wanting to kill you both.”
Susan agreed. “I only saw Johnson once in my life, and then he was asleep. There couldn’t possibly be any connection. I think we’d better forget Johnson; we’ve nothing to go on at all.”
Martin tried another tack. “Why do you suppose Garland changed his mind at the last moment about using the cutlass?”
“I just can’t imagine,” said Susan. “It was certainly nothing that I did or said.”
“There must have been something. Some check to the homicidal impulse, perhaps—or some sane reason? If we only knew what it was that was worrying him!”
“Well, we know roughly. The main thing on his mind was that you and I had been together at the Blue Pool, seeing lots of interesting things without anyone knowing who we were. That was the theme.”
Martin chewed that over. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why should Garland be interested in our Fiesta activities, particularly after all this time? Did the subject come up naturally?”
“Good gracious, no,” said Susan. “Garland plunged straight into it as soon as we were alone, and he went on asking questions even when I made it as plain as I could that I didn’t like them.”
“It’s very strange,” said Martin. “The Blue Pool—why should he bother about the Blue Pool? Did anything happen at the Blue Pool during Fiesta time that could concern Garland in any way?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Susan. “It was hardly the sort of place he’d have any associations with.” A startled look leapt into her eyes. “Eke was killed there, of course. Dubois.”
“Dubois! Good Lord!” Martin’s voice had an edge of excitement “That’s an association, anyway. His right-hand man. There’s a peculiar element of coincidence creeping into this affair. There’ve been two unnatural deaths and a——”
“A near miss,” shivered Susan.
“Exactly. And Garland is connected with them all. What’s more, Dubois’ death at least wasn’t the result of any crazy impulse. He was deliberately murdered.”
“Garland wasn’t in town over Fiesta,” said Susan. “He was on his boat, fishing. Don’t you remember Celeste told us when we dropped in on her that day?”
“How do we know he was fishing?”
“Well, he was certainty out of town. He wasn’t around any of the usual haunts. We’d have heard.”
“He might have been disguised,” said Martin. “Almost everybody was. Didn’t the chap who killed Dubois wear a turban and a robe?”
“And a mask, yes.”
“There you are then. What could be easier than for Garland to rig himself up in a costume of that kind? On his boat he could have done it at leisure. And there was certainly nothing to prevent him coming secretly into town on Fiesta night if he wanted to. By Jove, Susan, if he did do that, and he killed Dubois, it’s not surprising he should show an interest in what we were doing at the Pool.”
“He’s taken his time,” said Susan. “And if he was in disguise I don’t see why he should be worried.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t too happy about his disguise. Still, this is all speculation. If only we could find out whether he was in town over Fiesta—that would be a start.”
“I think we might do that,” said Susan.
“How?”
“Well, Garland keeps his boat at Darwin Bay and the only way to reach it is to drive through the Base. They take the numbers of all cars—they’ve taken mine often enough—and I expect they keep their records for a little while. We can probably discover how many times he made the journey.”
“Would the Base people tell us?”
“I’m sure I could find out,” said Susan. “I know some of them. Of course, even supposing there is anything fishy about his journeys, he’s bound to have an explanation.”
“He’ll need to have,” said Martin. “We’ll face that when the time comes.”
“We haven’t got very far, have we?” said Susan. “I’m just bursting with questions we can’t answer. Why should he want to kill Eke? What connection could there possibly be between Eke and Johnson and me? And you were at the Pool too—why should he concentrate on me? Oh, and lots more.”
“I know,” said Martin. “Perhaps we’ll get to them in time.”
“Meanwhile, what do we do?”
“I think I’m going to talk to Garland.”
“Oh, Martin, is that wise?”
“I’ll be careful. It’s just possible he might make a false move if he thinks we’re on his trail. He’s obviously pretty rattled already.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. He must be quite desperate. I’m almost sorry I came to you.”
“Now you’re being absurd again. Who else should you have gone to? Susan, darling——”
“Yes?”
“Oh, Lord, what a morning this is!” Martin sighed, and ran his fingers wildly through his hair. “It isn’t at all what I planned. You know, Susan, I lay awake last night imagining myself making a pretty speech to you. I was all set to do it, and then we got plunged into this wretched business.”
“Does that mean I’m to be deprived of the speech?”
“I’m afraid it does. It wasn’t a very good one. Susan, will you marry me? I’m terribly in love with you.”
“I expect I will,” said Susan. “Even if it does mean living on Tacri!”
“It won’t,” said Martin. “I’ve made up my mind. Either Tacri goes or we go. We’ll fight it out together once we’ve settled this thing with Garland. Susan—darling!”
He kissed her and she clung to him. The tie between them seemed all the stronger because it had nearly been cut. For a while they forgot Garland and Tacri and everything but each other.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. The little black maid peered in and then precipitately withdrew.
“Good Heavens,” cried Susan, “what on earth am I thinking about? It’ll be all round town that we spent the night together.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Martin, striding purposefully toward the outside of the hous
e, came upon Garland by the station wagon, having his luggage put in.
“I thought you weren’t leaving till to-morrow,” he said.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Garland shortly. “I’m off right away.”
“Without saying good-bye?”
Garland scowled. He was evidently in the worst of tempers. “What the devil do you expect me to do? Go round and kiss the maids?”
“Nothing that you did would surprise me, said Martin.
Garland glared. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“I’m thinking of your strange behaviour this morning. Susan tells me you threatened her.”
“Threatened her? What nonsense! She must be out of her mind.”
“On the contrary, she gave me a most lucid and circumstantial account of what happened. I want an explanation.”
“You won’t get one. I don’t like your tone. Clear off, West, I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”
“Perhaps you’d prefer to talk to Superintendent Jarvis?” said Martin.
Garland came up menacingly. “You damned young puppy! What are you insinuating? I’ve a good mind to knock your head off.”
“Haven’t you been violent enough for one morning? Susan says you brandished a cutlass at her. Why did you do it?”
“She’s imagining things,” said Garland. “The heat must have affected her. I happened to pick up the cutlass to have a look at it, that was all. Why should I threaten Susan? Don’t be a damned fool.”
“I suppose you ‘just happened’ to send Obadiah out of the way before you examined the cutlass?”
“I won’t discuss the matter with you. Susan’s making herself ridiculous over a trivial incident. The whole thing’s quite absurd. I warn you, West, if you try to make trouble about this imaginary occurrence, you’ll regret it.”
“I am going to make trouble about it—as much trouble as I can. I’ve come to the conclusion, Dr. Garland, that you’re a very dangerous man. I’m sorry to have to say it, but I think you intended to kill Susan this morning. I don’t know what’s going on in your mind. If you’re ill, of course—if you’re conscious of being ill—we’ll all help as far as we can. It’s up to you.”