The Hollow Man

by John Dickson Carr

  'Eh? Why?'

  'I mean, always provided the Dumont woman is telling the truth,' Hadley amended. 'You seem to think she is. But, as I've heard the thing, wasn't Mangan here tonight at Grimaud's request, in case the visitor should drop in? Yes. Then he seems to have been rather a tame watch - dog. He was sitting in a room near the front door. The door - bell rings - if Dumont's not lying - and enter the mysterious visitor. All this time Mangan doesn't show any curiosity; he sits in the room with the door shut, pays no attention to the visitor, and only kicks up a row when he hears a shot and suddenly finds that the door has been locked. Is that logical?'

  'Nothing is logical,' said Dr Fell. 'Not even - But that can wait.'

  They went down the long hall and Hadley assumed his most tactful and impassive manner when he opened the door. It was a room somewhat smaller than the other, lined with orderly books and wooden filing cabinets. It had a plain rag carpet on the floor, hard business - like chairs, and a sickly fire. Under a green - shaded hanging - lamp Mills's typewriter desk was drawn up directly facing the door. On one side of the machine neat manuscript sheets lay clipped in a wire basket; on the other side stood a glass of milk, a dish of dried prunes, and a copy of Williamson's Differential and Integral Calculus.

  'I'll bet he drinks mineral water, too,' said Dr Fell, in some agitation. ' I'll swear by all my gods he drinks mineral water and reads that sort of thing for fun. I'll bet -' He slopped at a violent nudge from Hadley, who was speaking to Rosette Grimaud across the room. Hadley introduced the three of them.

  'Naturally, Miss Grimaud, I don't wish to distress you at this time - '

  'Please don't say anything,' she said. She was sitting before the fire so tense that she jumped a little.' I mean - just don't say anything about that. You see, I'm fond of him, but not so fond that it hurts terribly unless somebody begins to talk about it. Then I begin to think.'

  She pressed her hands against her temples. In the firelight, with her fur coat thrown back, there was again a contrast between eyes and face. But it was a changing contrast. She had her mother's intense personality shaped into blonde, square - faced, rather barbaric Slavic beauty. Yet in one moment the face would be hard and the long hazel eyes gentle and uneasy, like the curate's daughter. And in the next moment the face would be softened and the eyes brilliantly hard, like the devil's daughter. Her thin eyebrows turned a little upwards at the outer corners, but she had a broad, humorous mouth. She was restless, voluptuous, and puzzling. Behind her stood Mangan in gloomy helplessness.

  'One thing, though,' she went on, pounding her fist slowly on the arm of the chair - 'one thing I've got to know, though, before you start your third degree.' She nodded towards a little door across the room, and spoke breathlessly. ' Stuart's - showing that detective of yours up to the roof. Is it true, is it true what we hear about a man getting in - and out - and killing my father - without - without -?'

  'Better let me handle this, Hadley,' said Dr Fell, very quietly.

  The doctor, Rampole knew, was firmly under the impression that he was a model of tact. Very often this tact resembled a load of bricks coming through a skylight. But his utter conviction that he was doing the thing handsomely, his vast good nature and complete naivete, had an effect that the most skilled tact could never have produced. It was as though he had slid down on the bricks himself to offer sympathy or shake hands. And people instantly began to tell him all about themselves.

  'Harrumph!' he snorted. 'Of course it's not true, Miss Grimaud. We know all about how the blighter worked his trick, even if it was done by somebody you never heard of.' She looked up quickly. 'Furthermore, there'll be no third degree, and your father has a fighting chance to pull through. Look here. Miss Grimaud, haven't I met you somewhere before?'

  'Oh, I know you're trying to make me feel better,' she said, with a faint smile. 'Boyd has told me about you, but -'

  'No, I mean it,' wheezed Dr Fell seriously. He squinted at memory. 'H'm, yes. Got it! You're at London University, aren't you? Of course. And you're in a debating circle or something? It seems to me I officiated when your team debated Woman's Rights in the World, wasn't it?'

  'That's Rosette,' assented Mangan gloomily. 'She's strong feminist. She says -'

  'Heh - heh - heh,' said Dr Fell. 'I remember now.' He was radiant, and pointed with a vast flipper. 'She may be a feminist, my boy, but she has startling lapses. In fact, I I member that debate as ending in the most beautiful and appalling row I ever heard outside a Pacifist meeting. You were on the side for Women's Rights, Miss Grimaud, and against the Tyranny of Man. Yes, yes. You entered very pale and serious and solemn, and stayed like that until your own side began to present their case. They went on something awful, but you didn't look pleased. Then one lean female carried on for twenty minutes about what woman needed for an ideal state of existence, but you only seemed to gel madder and madder. So when your turn came, all you did was rise to proclaim in silvery ringing tones that what woman needed for an ideal existence was less talking and more copulation.'

  'Good God!' said Mangan, and jumped.

  'Well, I felt like it - then,' said Rosette hotly. 'But you don't need to think - '

  'Or perhaps you didn't say copulation,' ruminated Dr Fell. 'Anyway, the effect of that terrible word was beyond description. It was as though you had whispered "Asbestos!" to a gang of pyromaniacs. Unfortunately, I tried to keep a straight face by swallowing water. This, my friends, is a practice to which I am unaccustomed. The result had the general aspect, to eye and ear, of a bomb exploding in an aquarium. But I was wondering whether you and Mr Mangan often discussed these subjects. They must be enlightening talks. What was the argument about this evening, for instance?'

  Both of them began to speak at once, chaotically. Dr Fell beamed, and they both stopped with a startled expression. 'Yes,' nodded the doctor. 'You understand now, don't you, that there's nothing to be afraid of in talking to the police? And that you can speak as freely as you like? It'll be better, you know. Let's face the thing and clear it up sensibly now, among ourselves, hey?'

  'Right,' said Rosette. 'Has somebody got a cigarette?'

  Hadley looked at Rampole. 'The old blighter's done it,' he said.

  The old blighter was again lighting his cigar while Mangan fumbled in his haste to produce cigarettes. Then Dr Fell pointed.

  'Now, I want to know about a very rummy thing,' he continued. 'Were you two kids so engrossed in each other that you didn't notice anything to - night until the rumpus started? As I understand it, Mangan, Professor Grimaud asked you here to - night to be on the look - out for possible trouble. Why didn't you? Didn't you hear the door - bell?'

  Mangan's swarthy face was clouded. He made a fierce gesture.

  'Oh, I admit it's my fault. But at the time I never gave it a thought. How was I going to know? Of course I heard the door - bell. In fact, we both spoke to the fellow - '

  'You what?' interrupted Hadley, striding past Dr Fell.

  'Certainly. Otherwise you don't think I'd have let him get past me and upstairs, do you? But he said he was old Pettis - Anthony Pettis, you know.'

  CHAPTER 7

  THE GUY FAWKES VISITOR

  'OF course we know now that it wasn't Pettis,' Mangan pursued, lighting the girl's cigarette with an angry snap of his lighter, ' Pettis must be all of five feet four inches tall. Besides, now that I think back on it, it wasn't even a very exact imitation of his voice. But he sang out and spoke in words Pettis always uses ...'

  Dr Fell scowled. 'But didn't it strike you as queer that even a collector of ghost stories should walk about dressed up like a Fifth of November Guy? Is he addicted to pranks?'

  Rosette Grimaud looked up with a startled expression. She held out her cigarette level and motionless, as though she were pointing, and then twitched round to look at Mangan. When she turned back again there was a narrow flash of those long eyes, a deepness of breathing like anger or cruelty, or enlightenment. They had shared a thought - and Mangan was much t
he more disturbed by it. He had the air of one who is trying to be a good fellow and at peace with the world, if the world would only let him. Rampole had a feeling that this secret thought did not concern Pettis at all, for Mangan stumbled before he could recapture Dr Fell's question.

  'Pranks?' he repeated, and passed a hand nervously over his wiry black hair. 'Oh! Pettis? Good Lord, no! He's as correct and fussy as they make 'em. But, you understand, we didn't see his face. It was like this:

  'We'd been sitting in that front room since just after dinner -'

  'Stop a bit,' interrupted Hadley. 'Was the door to the hall open?'

  'No. Hang it all,' said Mangan in a defensive tone, and shifted, 'you don't sit in a draughty room on a snowy night with the door standing open; not without central heating, you don't. I knew we could hear the bell ring if it did ring. Besides - well, honestly, I didn't expect anything to happen. The professor gave us the impression at dinner that it was a hoax, or that it had been adjusted somehow; anyway, that he had been inclined to get the wind up over nothing...'

  Hadley was looking at him with hard, bright eyes. 'You got that impression, too, Miss Grimaud?'

  'Yes, in a way ... I don't know! It's always hard to tell,' she answered, with a faint anger (or rebellion?), 'whether he's annoyed or amused or just pretending both. My father has a queer sense of humour, and he loves dramatic effects. He treats me as a child. I don't think I ever in my life saw him frightened, so I don't know. But for the past three days he's been acting so dashed queerly that when Boyd told me about the man in that pub - ' She lifted her shoulders.

  'In what way was he acting queerly?'

  'Well, muttering to himself, for instance. And suddenly roaring out over trifles, which he seldom does. And then again he would laugh too much. But most of all it was those letters. He began to get them in every post. Don't ask me what was in them; he burnt all of them. They were in plain penny envelopes ... I shouldn't have noticed at all if it hadn't been for a habit of his.' She hesitated. ' Maybe you'll understand. My father is one of those people who can never get a letter in your presence without your instantly knowing what it's about or even who it's from. He'll explode, "Damned swindler!" or "Now there's impudence for you!" or, genially, "Well, well, here's a letter from old So - and - so!" - in rather a surprised tone, as though he expected somebody in Liverpool or Birmingham to be at the other side of the moon. I don't know if you understand -'

  'We understand. Please go on.'

  'But when he got these notes, or whatever they were, he didn't say anything at all. He didn't move a muscle. Yet, you see, he never openly destroyed one except yesterday morning at the breakfast table. After he'd glanced at it he crumpled it up, got up from his chair, and went over in a thoughtful sort of way and threw it in the fire. Just at that second Au -' Rosette glanced quickly at Hadley, seemed to discover her own hesitation, and blundered into confusion. ' Mrs - Madame - oh, I mean Aunt Ernestine! Just at that second she asked him if he would have some more bacon. Suddenly he whirled round from the fire and yelled, "Go to hell!" It was so unexpected that before we had recovered our wits he'd stamped out of the room, muttering that a man couldn't have any peace. He looked devilish. That was the day he came back with that painting. He was good - humoured again; he banged about, chuckling, and helped the cabman and somebody else cart it upstairs. I - I don't want you to think -' Evidently the memories were crowding back again to this complex Rosette; she began to think, and that was bad. She added, shakily, 'I don't want you to think I don't like him.'

  Hadley ignored the personal. ' Did he ever mention this man at the public - house?'

  'Off - handedly, when I asked him. He said it was one of the quacks who often threatened him for jeering at - the history of magic. Of course I knew it wasn't merely that.'

  'Why, Miss Grimaud?'

  During a pause she looked at him unwinkingly. 'Because I felt that this was the real thing. And because I have often wondered whether there was anything in my father's past life which might bring something like that on him.'

  It was a direct challenge. During a long silence they could hear muffled creakings and flat, heavy footsteps shaking on the roof. Some change moved and played like fire - light on her face - fear, or hatred, or pain, or doubt. That illusion of the barbaric had returned - as though the mink coat should have been a leopard - skin coat. Crossing her legs, she leaned back voluptuously, wriggling into the chair. She tilted her head against the back of the chair, so that the fire - light gleamed on her throat and in her half - shut eyes. She regarded them with a faint, fixed smile; the cheek - bones were outlined in shadow. All the same, Rampole saw that she was trembling. Why, incidentally, should her face seem broader than it was long?

  'Well?' she prompted.

  Hadley appeared mildly surprised. 'Bring something on him? I don't quite understand. Had you any reason to think so?'

  'Oh, no reason! I don't think so, really. Just these fancies -' The denial was quick, but the sharp rise and fall of her breast had quietened. ' Probably it's living with my father's hobby. And then my mother - she's dead, you know; died when I was quite a kid - my mother was supposed to have second - sight.' Rosette raised her cigarette again. 'But you were asking me -?'

  'About to - night, first of all. If you think it would be helpful to go into your father's past, the Yard will certainly act on your suggestion.'

  She jerked the cigarette away from her lips.

  'But,' pursued Hadley in the same colourless voice, 'let's get on with the story Mr Mangan was telling. You two went to the drawing - room after dinner, and the door to the hall was shut. Now, did Professor Grimaud tell you what time he expected a dangerous visitor?'

  'Er - yes,' said Mangan. He had taken out a handkerchief and was mopping his forehead. Seen sideways in the fire - light there were many small wrinkles across the forehead of the thin, hollowed, sharp - angled face. 'That was another reason why I didn't tumble to who it might be. He was too early. The professor said ten o'clock, and this fellow arrived at a quarter to.'

  'Ten o'clock. I see. You're sure he said that?'

  'Well - yes! At least, I think so. About ten o'clock. Wasn't it, Rosette?'

  'I don't know. He didn't say anything to me.'

  'I - see. Go on, Mr Mangan.'

  'We had the radio on. That was bad, because the music was loud. And we were playing cards in front of the fire. All the same, I heard the door - bell. I looked up at the clock on the mantel, and it said a quarter to ten. I was getting up when I heard the front door open. Then I heard Mrs Dumont's voice saying something like, "Wait, I'll see", and a sound as though the door slammed. I called out, "Ahoy there! Who is it?" But the radio was making such a row that I naturally stepped over and shut it off. And just afterwards we heard Pettis - naturally we both thought it was Pettis - call out: "Hullo, children! It's Pettis. What's all this formality about seeing the Governor? I'm going up and break in on him."'

  'Those were his exact words.'

  'Yes. He always called Dr Grimaud the Governor; nobody else had the nerve to; except Burnaby, and he calls him Pop ... So we said, "Righto," as you do, and didn't bother any more about it. We both sat down again. But I noticed that it was getting near ten o'clock, and I began to be watchful and jumpy, now that it was coming towards ten o'clock -'

  Hadley drew a design on the margin of his note - book.

  'So the man who called himself Pettis,' he mused, ' spoke to you through the door without seeing you? How did he know you two were there, do you think?'

  Mangan frowned. 'He saw us through the window, I suppose. As you come up the front steps you can see straight into the front room through the nearest window. I always notice it myself. In fact, if I see anybody in the front room I usually lean across and tap on the window instead of ringing the bell.'

  The superintendent was still drawing designs, meditatively. He seemed about to ask a question, but checked himself. Rosette regarded him with a sharp, unwinking gaze. Hadley merely said:


  'Go on. You were waiting for ten o'clock -'

  'And nothing happened,' Mangan insisted. 'But, a funny thing, every minute past ten o'clock I got more nervous instead of more relieved. I told you I didn't really expect the man would come, or that there would be any trouble. But I kept picturing that dark hall, and the queer suit of armour with the mask out there, and the more I thought of it the less I liked it ...'

  'I know exactly what you mean,' said Rosette. She looked at him in a strange, rather startled manner. 'I was thinking the same thing. But I didn't want to talk about it in case you called me a fool.'