Female of the Species

by Sapper

  “I shall go straight to the police,” I said, “and lodge a summons against you for assault and battery. And as for that cursed ruffian upstairs…”

  “Poor Charles,” he remarked. “You dotted him one with the teapot all right. Well, thank you for your kindly warning. You’ll have some other privileged spectators coming to join you soon – three of them.”

  He strolled to the door, and looked back as he reached it.

  “I can keep no secrets from you, bank clerk,” he said. “You have an indefinable attraction for me. Do you see those little blocks in the seats?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “There is one in yours, just behind you.”

  “I’ve felt it already,” I remarked.

  “Well, be very careful how you feel it,” he said gently. “Do nothing rough with it. Treat it as a mother treats a sickly child – gently and tenderly. Because it happens to be gun-cotton. Admittedly a safe explosive – but one never knows.”

  For a moment I was absolutely speechless.

  “Gun-cotton,” I stammered at length. “Good God! man – are you joking?”

  “Far from it,” he said. “But I can assure you that there’s no chance of it going off – yet.” He smiled genially. “The fact of the matter, is, bank clerk, that you have butted your head into some rather dirty work. I don’t mind admitting that there are moments when I think it is almost too dirty. But” – he shrugged his shoulders – “when the ladies get ideas in their charming heads, who are we to gainsay them?”

  “If by the ladies you allude to that partially demented female who was talking such infernal rot last night,” I said grimly, “I’ll tell you one idea that she has got wedged in hers. She’s got about as much use for you as a Cockney has for a haggis.”

  “I don’t understand you,” he said softly, but I noticed that, of a sudden, he was standing very still.

  “Then I’ll make myself clearer,” I remarked. “You cut no ice with her, Paul: she loathes the sight of your face. I watched her last night when you were pulling out the knee clutching business, and her expression was that of one who contemplates a bad egg from close range.”

  “You are pleased to be insolent, Mr Seymour.”

  He was still standing motionless by the door.

  “I am pleased to be nothing, you flat-headed skate,” I answered. It struck me that a little of Drummond’s vocabulary might assist. “But if you imagine that after you’ve done whatever fool tricks you are going to do, you’re then going to land the beauteous lady, you’re making the deuce of an error. Nothing doing, Paul: you can take my word for it.”

  “But for the fact,” he remarked after a time, “that the death you are going to die is such a particular choice one, I would strangle you here and now for those words.”

  “Doesn’t alter the fact that she loathes the sight of your face, laddie,” I mocked. “And I certainly don’t blame her.”

  He sprang across the room towards me, and I don’t think I have ever seen such a look of demoniacal rage on any man’s face before. In fact but for the interruption I believe he would have carried out his threat. As it was he managed to control himself with a monstrous effort as the door opened and the woman herself came in.

  “Quick, Paul,” she cried. “They are coming – the three of them. Where’s Pedro? Charles is here, but we want the nigger. And gag that fool of a clerk.”

  He stuffed a gag into my mouth, and glared at me.

  “One sound, and I’ll knife you,” he muttered. “Pedro!”

  He looked over my shoulder.

  “Where is the damned fool?” he said irritably. “I’ve hardly seen him the whole day. Pedro!”

  There was a guttural grunt, and then the huge nigger shambled past me. His head was down, and in the dim light he looked a terrifying sight.

  “Get behind the curtains, Pedro. And don’t kill. We want them alive in the chairs. Charles – get the other side of the door.”

  Sick with anxiety I waited. Could nothing be done to warn them? They were walking straight into the trap, and suddenly the full realisation of our position seemed to strike me. All very well to gain a little cheap satisfaction by taunting the man over his love affair, but it didn’t alter the fact that once these three men were caught the odds against us were well-nigh hopeless. Drummond couldn’t fight half a dozen men, especially when two of them had the strength of the Negro and the one called Charles.

  The woman had left the room: the three men were hiding behind the curtains, so to all appearances except for myself it was empty. And then I heard Darrell’s voice in the hall.

  “So we meet again, madame,” he said gravely. “As you probably know we have come without informing anyone, trusting that you will keep your side of the bargain.”

  “Quite like old times seeing you,” she answered. “And Mr Jerningham and Mr Longworth, too.”

  “Shall we cut the conversation, madame?” he remarked. “At your instigation three men – one of whom was Hugh himself – have been foully murdered. So you will pardon me if I say that the sooner you hand Mrs Drummond over to us the better I shall be pleased. In your letter you said that your revenge was sufficient. Let us then be done with it.”

  “We seem much milder than of yore,” she mocked.

  “You have Mrs Drummond in your power,” he said simply. “We have no alternative. Well, madame, we are waiting.”

  “Yes, mes amis, you are right,” she answered after a pause. “We will be done with it. You shall have Phyllis. And believe me I am almost sorry now that I ever started it. Moods change. A few weeks ago there was nothing I desired more than the deaths of all of you. Today I regret the Mere. Come this way.”

  “One moment, madame. Does she know that her husband is dead?”

  “No – she does not. Mr Darrell, it is easy to say, I know, but I wish he were not.”

  “A pity you didn’t think of that a little earlier, madame,” he said grimly. “Where are we to go? Why cannot Mrs Drummond be handed over to us in this hall?”

  “You will soon see why,” she answered, appearing in the door. “Besides I particularly want to show you all this room.”

  I gave an agonised guttural choke but it was no good. As she had doubtlessly anticipated they paused inside the door, completely taken off their guard by the strangeness of their surroundings.

  “What on earth,” began Jerningham, and even as he spoke the three hidden men sprang on them.

  In a few seconds it was all over. Paul had a revolver in Jerningham’s neck. Charles gave the same attention to Darrell. And poor little Algy Longworth was the Negro’s share. He was merely picked up like a kicking baby and deposited in a seat. Then the steel bars were turned and he sat there glowering.

  “You damned dirty nigger,” he shouted angrily.

  “Silence, you little rat,” said Irma. “Get the other two fixed. Shoot, Paul, if they give any trouble.”

  But the muzzle of a revolver in the nape of a man’s neck is a good preventer of trouble, and soon the four of us were sitting there like trussed birds.

  “So it was a trick, was it?” said Darrell quietly.

  The woman began to shake with laughter.

  “You fools,” she cried, “you brainless fools. Did you really imagine that I was going to hand Phyllis over to you and let you walk out of the house? You must be mad.”

  She turned on Charles and the nigger.

  “Go: get out. But be at hand in case I want you. Paul – you can ungag the bank clerk.”

  Her glance roved from one to the other of us.

  “Four,” she said musingly. “And there should have been six. You see, Darrell, that there are six seats prepared for your reception.”

  Her eyes were beginning to glitter feverishly; and as she stood in the centre of the room her body swayed gracefully from side to side as if she was dancing. To me it was not unexpected, but the other three were staring at her in amazement. As yet they had not seen one of her outbursts.


  “Still we must make do with four, I suppose,” she went on. “Unless, Paul, we sent out for two more. No – better not. Let us keep our final meeting as intimate as possible. And we already have one stranger.”

  “Where is Phyllis Drummond?” said Jerningham.

  She turned and looked at him dreamily.

  “Phyllis is waiting,” she answered. “For days she has been waiting for you to come, and now very soon she will join you.”

  “And what then?” snapped Darrell.

  “Why then, mon ami, you shall all go on a journey together. A long journey. Ah! if only Hugh was here: if only my circle was complete. Then indeed the reunion would be a wonderful one.”

  And now the crazy glitter in her eyes grew more pronounced till I marvelled that the man called Paul could ever have hoped for any return for his love. The woman was frankly crazy, and stealing a glance at him I saw that he was staring at her with a dawning horror in his face.

  “Carissima,” he muttered. “I beseech of you, do not excite yourself.”

  “But as it is we shall have to make do with four.” Her voice had risen. “Four instead of six. And the principal guest not here. Why – the whole lot of you could go if only Drummond was here. But I did my best, Carl – I did my best.”

  She had turned to the altar stone, and was speaking to it.

  “I did my best, beloved – I did my best. And his end was not unworthy. Gassed – and drowned like a rat in a trap.”

  She threw herself across the stone, her arms outstretched, and for a space there was silence in the darkening room. Then abruptly she rose and swept to the door.

  “At nine o’clock, Paul, we will begin.”

  “Look here,” I said when she had gone, “Paul – or whatever your name is – what is the good of going on with this?”

  He stared at me dully.

  “The woman is clean plumb crazy. She is as mad as a hatter. So what are you going to get out of it? You can’t marry a mad-woman: you can’t even make love to her.”

  He muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  “For God’s sake, man,” I went on urgently, “pull yourself together. Set us free, and let us go.”

  “She’ll be all right – after,” he said at length. “Quite all right – after.”

  He turned towards the door, and in desperation I played my last card.

  “You poor ass,” I cried, “there isn’t going to be an after for her. When she has finished us, she’s going to commit suicide. And whatever you choose to do with a lunatic, you’re stung good and strong with a corpse.”

  It was no good. He opened the door and went out. In fact I doubt if he even heard what I said, and with a feeling of sick despair I looked at the others.

  “So they haven’t spotted you, Dixon,” said Darrell in a low voice.

  “Not yet,” I answered. “I don’t think it ever dawned on them that I was one of the three they think were drowned at the Mere. But, for a while, they suspected me of being another member of the bunch – a new one. Then Mrs Drummond rode them off.”

  “You’ve seen her?” said Jerningham eagerly.

  “Last night,” I said. “She was brought down here blindfolded, and suddenly confronted with me. And there was no mistake about her failure to identify me being genuine. Not that it matters much,” I went on gloomily. “We’re hopelessly for it, unless Drummond can do something. Why in Heaven’s name did you fellows walk into it so easily?”

  “Because he told us to,” answered Darrell calmly.

  “Told you to,” I echoed in amazement.

  “A short note,” he said. “Just – ‘Follow the messenger – all three of you. Be surprised at nothing. And tell Dixon that he must not reveal my identity until he hears the anthem whistled once.’”

  “He knows I’m here?” I cried. “But I don’t understand.”

  “Frankly – no more do I,” said Algy. “What’s this damned stone quarry?”

  “It’s a model,” I said, “of Stonehenge. Look here, you fellows, I’ll tell you all I know. I can pretend that we are strangers if anyone comes in. But there is no reason why we shouldn’t talk in view of the position we are in – its most damnably serious.”

  “Fire ahead,” said Jerningham quietly.

  I told them everything; what I knew, and what I only suspected. I told them of the dead man at Stonehenge, and the scene of the night before. And they listened with consternation growing on their faces.

  “It was our last hope,” I said, “trying to make that man realise she was mad. But he’s wild about her – absolutely wild.”

  “You really think she’s going to commit suicide,” said Darrell doubtfully.

  “I do,” I answered. “Though the point is of academic interest only as far as we are concerned. She is going to do all of us in first.”

  “Man – but it’s a fearful risk,” said Jerningham.

  “Don’t you see,” I cried, “that she doesn’t care a damn about the risk. What does the risk matter to her if she’s going to join Carl, as she thinks, after? And that poor fish, Paul, is so infatuated with her that he is prepared to run any risk to get her.”

  We argued it from every angle whilst the room grew darker and darker. To them the only thing that mattered was that Drummond had told them to come: that Drummond had something up his sleeve. But try as I would, I couldn’t share their optimism. What could he do alone – or at best with Toby Sinclair to help him? The odds were altogether too heavy. Had we all been free it would have been different. Then we could have put up a good show: as it was the thing seemed hopeless to me. And yet he had deliberately told these three to walk into the trap. It was incomprehensible.

  It appeared that they had not seen him, but had only received the note. And the previous night Algy Longworth had also got a note which explained his movements to me. It had contained instructions to the effect that he was to announce publicly his intention of going to Stonehenge after dinner; that as he valued his life he was not to go but was to take a walk in the opposite direction.

  “If I had gone,” he said, “I suppose I should have shared the fate of the poor devil you saw dead. I wonder who he was.”

  “Ask me another,” I remarked. “He was a complete stranger to me. But he was undoubtedly murdered by that foul brute of a nigger.”

  Conversation became desultory: all our nerves were getting frayed. The light had almost gone; we were just vague shapes to one another as we sat there fastened to those fantastic stones, waiting for nine o’clock.

  “I can’t believe it,” burst out Jerningham once. “Damn it – it’s like a nightmare.”

  No one answered; only the throaty chuckle that I had heard before came from somewhere behind me.

  “It’s the nigger,” grunted Darrell. “Get out, you filthy brute.”

  He chuckled again, and then like some monstrous misshapen animal he began to shamble round the room. I could just see him in the darkness peering first at one thing and then at another. He went to the two unoccupied seats and began fiddling with the mechanism that moved the two curved steel bars. He worked it several times, chuckling to himself like a child, and suddenly came Jerningham’s voice strained and tense.

  “Come and do that to my chair, nigger. I’ll give you some cigarettes and money if you do.”

  But the black man took no notice. He had transferred his attentions now to the black box that lay upon the altar stone. That occupied him for a long while, and all the time the throaty chuckling continued. Every now and then came the chink of tin on stone: then, as silently as he had come, he vanished again.

  It was the suspense of waiting that was so appalling, and I began to long for nine o’clock. A mood of dull resignation had come over me. I felt I simply didn’t care. Anything – so long as they got on with it. And as if in answer to my thoughts the door leading into the hall slowly opened, and a clock outside began to chime.

  “Nine,” muttered somebody.

  The final act was
about to begin.

  Chapter 16

  In which we have a rehearsal

  I think my main feeling was one of intense curiosity. There was no light in the hall, but a faint lessening of the general darkness marked the door. For a time nothing happened, then something white appeared in the opening, and the room was flooded with light.

  The woman Irma was standing there clad in the same white garment she had worn the preceding night. Behind her hovered Paul – his face more saturnine than ever, but it was on her that all our attention was concentrated. In her hands she held some largish object which was covered with a silken cloth, and after a while she advanced to the altar stone and placed it there reverently. Then she removed the wrap, and I saw that it was a full size plaster cast of a man’s head.

  “Dashed if it isn’t our late lamented Carl,” muttered Darrell.

  The woman took no notice, she was staring intently at the cast. Once or twice her lips moved, but I heard no words, and for a time her hands were clasped in front of her as if in prayer. Then quite suddenly she turned her back on the altar and began to speak, whilst we watched her fascinated.

  “A few months ago,” she said, “I stood beside the wreckage of Wilmot’s giant airship, and over the charred body of my man I swore an oath. That oath will be finally fulfilled tonight.”

  Her voice was quiet and conversational.

  “But for an accident last night – a mistake on the part of one of my servants, I should not have sent you three the note I did. But Pedro, whom you have doubtless seen, killed a man at Stonehenge, and that necessitated a hastening in my plans. Why did you not go to Stonehenge, Longworth?”

  “Got hiccoughs after dinner, darling,” said Algy cheerfully. “Tell me, my poppet, is that a new line in nightdresses?”

  And just as Paul became livid with rage when I had jeered at him that morning, so now did the woman turn white to the lips with passion.

  “You dog,” she screamed. “How dare you? Strike him, Paul – strike him across the face.”

  Then she controlled herself.

  “Stay,” she said in a calmer voice. “He is not worth it. I will continue – for there is much to say. But for that accident, I might – in fact I think I would have given you one further clue. And yet I do not know: the game in very truth had begun to pall since Drummond died. You were only the puppies that followed your master. He was the one I wanted – not you. However, it was not to be, and because the finish comes tonight, I thought that Phyllis should have you with her as she cannot have her husband. As yet she does not know that you are here: she does not even know her husband is dead. That she shall learn later – just before the end.”