Murder Gone Mad

by Philip MacDonald

  And then, as suddenly as if it had burnt him, he dropped it. He had seen that the middle one of the seven elephants upon the coverlet was not wholly blue.

  The blood drained away from his face. His hand came straight out and hovered over the coverlet. It swooped with a sudden decision and drew the coverlet away.

  For a moment a blackness descended upon Pike’s world, and there was a roaring in his ears … Slowly he drew the coverlet back until now he drew it so that it covered not only the small body but also the head.

  CHAPTER XIV

  I

  THE grandfather clock on the landing of Number Twelve Fourtrees Road was striking noon as Pike came out of the room in which, with Dr Jack and Miss Marable in attendance, lay Molly Brade. An hour before Molly Brade had been a charming and healthy and smiling young matron of something under thirty. Now, upon the bed in her darkened room, she was a dumb and shivering creature who might have been any age over forty-five. Since she had been put, outside The Market, into a car commandeered by Pike, no word—nor even any sound—had escaped her. But she shook, she shook unceasingly. She shook so that her legs would not support her nor her hands obey her. Even as he came out of the room and closed the door softly behind him, Pike could hear the rattling of the frame of her bed as it knocked against the wall.

  There was a man waiting for Pike downstairs. It was Curtis, who, having meant to speak so soon as he saw his chief, was, experienced though he might be, stricken for a moment into silence by the sight of his chief’s face. Curtis said, after that pregnant instant:

  ‘It’s all right, sir, we’ve got him. Found him at The Carters up on Burrowbad Hill. He’s very drunk; leastways he’s acting very drunk. Dunno which myself …’

  ‘Get a doctor!’ Pike’s words came out like small, keen bullets.

  ‘Got one, sir,’ said Curtis. ‘First thing I did. Dr Seneschal. With him now—’

  ‘What’s he say?’ Once more Pike’s words cut across the other’s talk like a sharp knife through soft material.

  ‘Didn’t wait, sir.’ Now Curtis was gathering something of his chief’s urgency; his words were coming quicker and faster and clearer. ‘Came to report. Blaine went down to The Market with Jeffson and four men. Farrow and Davis are there, too. They’re following your instructions and letting the catch out one by one and searching ’em.’ Curtis shrugged. ‘But somehow I don’t fancy, sir, they’ll get anything.’ He shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. It seemed to him that the eyes of Superintendent Pike were like red-hot gimlets boring right through him.

  But Pike, for a long moment, said nothing. When he did speak it was in a voice subtly altered; a voice which showed at least its owner’s effort for calmness and normality. He said:

  ‘What’s that row outside?’

  Curtis seemed startled. ‘Row, sir?’ He turned, craning his head to listen. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Did see one or two people sort of … sort of staring at the house as I come in just now … Don’t know what they were at, I’m sure.’

  Pike snatched his hat from the chair upon which it lay. ‘Come on!’ he said. ‘Got the car out?’

  Curtis nodded. ‘Ready waiting, sir. Where’re we going?’

  ‘Market,’ said Pike and in two strides was at the front door and had it open.

  He left the house, Curtis on his heels, as if he would take the flagged path to Miss Marable’s gate in four strides. And probably he would had he been able. But he was not able. There were obstructions between him and the car; obstructions even between him and the gate. And the obstructions were people. He had spoken to Curtis just now of a ‘noise outside,’ but his mind had been so busy that, once having asked the question, it had switched off even the continued and growing existence of the noise so that when, with the opening of the door and his appearance, a strange, snarling cry from perhaps thirty throats smote the air, he was as astonished as if he had had no warning …

  The crowd—for although there were well under fifty people in it, it seemed like a crowd—was unequally divided between the sexes. Fully four-fifths of it were women and it was this which made Pike halt. Before the gate and in the path, blocking his way, they were all women. Had they been men, his present mood and temper, added to experience, ability and a natural love of physical strife, would have taken him through them like a needle through sacking. But they were not men …

  He checked in his rush which had been almost a run, walked steadily but slowly. He saw their faces like uncouth, writhing gargoyles mouthing at him. He heard their cries like animal execrations. He halted. He said, and his tone was the tone of that young police constable Arnold Pike who, twenty years before, had moved along his first street crowd somewhere in Rotherhithe:

  ‘Now, what’s all this!’

  The screaming and shouting went on. The gargoyles mouthed ever louder but ever more incoherent. Behind the gate two of the few men brandished walking sticks and upon the inner side the gate one of the women waved a steel-ferruled umbrella and, detaching herself from her fellows, rushed at Pike—and the astonished Curtis behind him—with bony fingers hooked like claws. This one was gargoyle indeed. The mad stress of unusual and terrific emotion distorted what once had been a pleasant and even motherly face into that of a wry-mouthed and fanatical ghoul …

  She came straight for Pike. Her hands worked in the air, promising themselves his face. White crusting foam flaked at the corners of her mouth, whose lips were stretched back from yellow irregular teeth. Her shapeless hat had been pushed to the back of her head and from under its brim, which should have been down over her eyes, escaped four streaming strands of greyish, lack-lustre hair …

  Pike stood his ground. He waited, hands at his sides. With one half of his vision upon this advancing Fury he yet kept the other half upon the other momentarily less active furies behind. And now he saw that beside the waving sticks and the first waving umbrella were now arms being brandished and at the end of most of the arms were other sticks, other umbrellas, other rude and homely clubs. If he had not seen what he had just seen; if he had not been through what he had just been through; if what he had seen and been through during the past hour had not momentarily taken away his sense of humour, he would have smiled and the smile would soon have turned into a laugh … But the Fury was upon him. He was forced to save his face from those itching, clawing fingers. He caught the bony wrist and twisted it just once and said: ‘Be quiet now … What’s all this!’

  She screamed at him, bellowing a thin, high, piercing bellow of which not a word was audible.

  Seeing her in the clutch of the figurehead upon whom their temporary and utterly unusual rage had made them wish to vent their vengeance, many of the supporters moved up. Those upon the inner side of the gate pressed forward. Those upon the outside of the gate thrust the gate open and, jamming themselves in its narrow opening, began to pour through.

  Pike stood his ground. Still calmly, but a great deal more fiercely than it seemed, he gripped the now helpless Fury’s wrist. From behind Pike Curtis came and stood himself to face the oncoming rush.

  ‘Now then!’ said Curtis. ‘Now—then! What’s all this! What’s all this!’

  The onrush checked. One man alone came charging forward. He brandished in his right hand a thick walking stick of oak. Curtis, without even the slightest hesitation, let fly. His fist, which was like the knee of an ox, caught the attacker squarely upon the point of the chin, and the attacker went backwards to crash amongst the greenness of Miss Marable’s neat box hedge.

  ‘Now then!’ said Curtis again. ‘Now then! Any more for any more?’

  Apparently there were not. Now sticks were lowered and umbrellas and all those other club-like things which had been waved. Once more the curious snarling sound of the mob’s voice filled the air. But now Pike and Curtis were able to distinguish, if not the words, at least the main purport …

  ‘You don’t want,’ said Pike to the woman whose wrist he was holding, ‘to be so silly!’

&
nbsp; ‘All right!’ said Curtis. ‘All right! Stop your shouting. Speak one at a time. All come along here if there’s any more for any more!’

  ‘At first,’ said Pike to the woman whose wrist he was holding, ‘I didn’t know what all of you were driving at, but I’ve got it now. You don’t want to be so silly! Everybody’s doing their best—including myself.’ His face took on suddenly an even leaner aspect, harsh and fierce and somehow a little wild. He said, after a pause:

  ‘I know what’s got you, all of you! It’s because it was a child … I knew that child. Understand that! … I was doing my job and I’ll do it still in the same way, but if anything I’m going to do it harder and better than I did before. Got that? … What’s the good of you people coming and trying to put paid to me? Not a scrap! All you’re doing is to make more trouble so that the police can’t get on with the very work you’re wanting them to do …’

  For the first time since he had begun talking the woman spoke. Her words were preceded by a strange, shrill laugh like a humourless neigh. She said, after this sound:

  ‘Work! Police! Call yourself police? Call yourself police! And here you go letting these devils walk about murdering little children …’

  Pike’s face went suddenly ash-white beneath its tan. His grip upon the wrist tightened suddenly and cruelly; tightened and twisted.

  ‘A-ah!’ said the woman.

  ‘Be quiet!’ said Pike. ‘Curtis! …’

  ‘Sir,’ said Curtis turning, but yet, by the attitude of his body, conveying to the crowd behind him that still his challenge of ‘any more for any more’ was open.

  ‘Take this woman,’ said Pike. ‘Keep her in the back of the car while I drive. She’s under arrest. Charges are obstructing the police in the execution of their duty and acting in a manner likely to cause a breach of the peace. Also assault. And Curtis, no bail. She’d better be kept in.’

  ‘Right, sir!’ said Curtis. His round, red, shrewd-looking face gave no indication on its exterior of the smile which was breaking behind it. ‘Any of these too, sir?’ He half turned as he spoke, nodding over his shoulder to the suddenly cooling little crowd of valiants. The man he had hit was now upon his hands and knees just by the box hedge into which he had fallen. He was being very sick.

  Pike, some of the colour back in his tanned face, shook his head. ‘Not unless there’s any more trouble. Tell them!’

  Curtis raised his voice and told them. Curtis added that they had better move along quickly.

  Like sheep they hesitated, staring, the faces now no longer gargoyles but merely and yet rather terribly ovine. And then, still like sheep, they followed the sudden movement of a new leader. One of the men it was this time. The man who had been behind the one whom Curtis had hit. This man left the garden, turned to his right and began, muttering to himself and swinging his stick, to walk down the road towards Marrowbone Lane and, therefore, the police station. Like sheep they shuffled after him and, perhaps even more imitative than sheep, they too muttered among themselves.

  There was no further disorder. The way to the blue Crossley was clear. Curtis took the other wrist of Pike’s prisoner and Pike, releasing his grip, went swiftly to the car and straight to the driving seat. The woman tried to hang back from Curtis’s pull but she was now merely a bewildered and frightened and suddenly awakened lower-middle-class mother. She began to weep softly. Two tears rolled down her roughened, seamed face. She tried to speak but could not. Curtis got her to the car and threw the door open and thrust her inside. She went, not like a sheep, but like a lamb.

  Curtis got in beside her, slamming the door behind him. Pike driving, the blue Crossley purred and was off, passing the now straggled flock who gazed some with angry, some with bewildered, some with terrified eyes at the prisoner within it. But no voice was raised and no movement was made towards the car, though, of Pike’s set purpose, it moved past the flock at no more than ten miles an hour.

  Pike turned left into Marrowbone Lane, accelerating suddenly and, taking the next turning to the right into Collingwood Road, brought the car to a standstill. He turned and spoke to Curtis behind him. ‘Let her get out,’ he said. Curtis, reaching across his prisoner, opened the door next to the left-hand pavement.

  ‘Out you get!’ said Curtis, jerking his thumb at the way of release.

  The woman stared at him vacantly. Her face still worked and unshed tears stood in her tired eyes.

  ‘Out you get!’ said Curtis again.

  But still she made no movement. Pike turned once more in his seat. He said, quietly:

  ‘You don’t want to go to prison, do you? If you don’t, get out. I don’t know your name; I haven’t seen you before; so I can’t come for you later—if you go now.’

  Then she went. As she stood upon the edge of pavement she looked at Pike and said something. They never knew what it was for Curtis’s slamming of the door and Pike’s rather noisy getting into gear drowned her words. She was left standing on the pavement staring after them.

  II

  When they reached it, all the doors of The Market were closed. And all around The Market was a thin, ever-swelling crowd which, having sensed drama from afar, was flocking to gaze with wildly speculating eyes at the blank, white walls and now shrouded windows.

  There are five entrances to The Market and outside each of these entrances was now a uniformed constable. Patrolling the right-angled two sides of public frontage of The Market were two uniformed sergeants of police and these, every now and then, paused in their patrolling and bade the encroaching crowd to ‘move on there.’

  A hard, yellow winter sun was shining upon The Market. The air was crisp and cold and exhilarating like some pleasant, heady wine. The sky was a bright, hard, cheerful blue and the railed-off lawns between The Market and the Holmdale Theatre were green as pantomime emeralds.

  It was upon such days that the winter aspect of Holmdale was at its best. Ordinarily, upon such days, even its most bitter decriers were forced grudgingly to admit that, for the purely temporary visitor, Holmdale might hold a certain play-box charm. And yet, upon this day, something had crept in which spoilt the sunlight and the air and the grass and the cheerful red and white buildings; some intangible, invisible miasma which sapped the beauty from these things and left men with a cold, black cloak of horror and apprehension weighing upon their souls. It was as if all the kindly, gay-seeming of things was staged to vent the bitter mockery of an angry god.

  Pike’s face, as he walked across the pavement from the car to The Market main entrance, was white and grim and set. Even Curtis, that utterly unimaginative person, seemed to walk with a heavier step.

  The policeman guarding the doors saluted. They passed him by. The swing doors rolled round for their entrance. Just within the doors stood Inspector Farrow. At the sight of Pike, his frowning, heavy face took on a look of pleased relief. He touched his cap. Pike nodded.

  ‘Any result?’ said Pike. ‘S’ppose not.’

  Farrow shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘How are you working it?’ Pike was crisp. ‘Didn’t have time to leave full instructions.’

  Farrow consulted the back of an envelope which he held in his hand and upon which he had, apparently, been scribbling in pencil. He said:

  ‘There were a hundred and fifty-three customers in when you had the doors closed; fifty-one assistants and eleven on the manager’s staff, including the general manager himself, Mr Cuthbert Mellon. Blaine’s split the whole lot into two batches. One batch is in the café with a couple of uniformed men watching ’em. The other batch is in the Hairdressing, with the same. Blaine got a couple of sisters from the hospital for searching the women and two of my sergeants are doing the men. As they’re done they’re giving their names and getting passed out through the back way … All right, sir?’

  Pike nodded. ‘Very good. How many’ve they done?’

  ‘I was round there a minute ago, sir, and they’d done seventy-one, they told me.’

  ‘Any t
rouble?’

  Farrow shrugged. ‘Some of ’em were a bit upset like. Some a bit scared. No real trouble. Shall I take you across there, sir? They’re searching ’em in the manager’s suet.’

  Pike nodded. He fell into step beside Farrow and they started to walk, Curtis following like a solid ghost, through the echoing building, threading their way between its now tenantless, well-stocked counters.

  ‘Nothing yet, I suppose,’ said Pike, as they turned out of the Haberdashery and round a corner, right-handed, past Books.

  Farrow shook his head. ‘Nothing, sir.’ He looked curiously at his companion. ‘Would you say yourself that we’ll find anything?’

  Pike was silent. Suddenly, at the end of Books, he halted. He said:

  ‘Café’s behind there, isn’t it?’ He pointed back, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

  Farrow nodded.

  ‘And Hairdressing’s there?’ Pike pointed to his left front.

  Again Farrow nodded.

  ‘Where’re they searching ’em?’

  ‘Just round here, sir.’ Farrow pointed to a door, at the far side of the department labelled ‘Refined Footwear,’ which bore upon it in red and black letters ‘Private—General Manager.’ ‘Blaine arranged that. There’s a suet of rooms there—Mr Mellon’s—and the back way out’s just behind them. There’s one of the nursing sisters using one room and then my two sergeants in the next one, which is bigger.’

  ‘Right!’ Pike strode on; edged his way behind the shoe counter and, reaching the door marked ‘Private’ flung it open to find himself in a narrow, asbestos-sheeting-lined passage. Straight ahead of him another door stood open and through it he could see two blue-clad backs. His long strides took him up the passage far ahead of Farrow.

  He went into the room and, with one of those dramatic coincidences which happen so far more often in real life than the critics would have us suppose, just as he stepped across the threshold there came a crisis in this affair which had promised so dully.