Comes the Dark Stranger

by Jack Higgins

  Shane turned on him, his face white and angry. ‘Because I’m insane?’ he demanded loudly. ‘Is that what you mean? Is life imprisonment in Broadmoor a more attractive prospect?’

  The young detective to whom he was handcuffed stirred uneasily and Lomax took Shane by the elbow and said calmly. ‘Now don’t start getting worked up again. I told you before that I thought you’d had a rotten break and I’ve tried to make things easy for you. I’ve done everything I can to help.’

  ‘There’s only one way you can help me,’ Shane told him. ‘Find the person who murdered Jenny Green.’

  Lomax sighed. ‘Now, don’t let’s start going over that again. It’s all I’ve heard for the last two days. You’re a sick man, Shane. You need help - medical help.’

  Shane glared at him contemptuously. ‘I suppose this is what you coppers like - an open and shut case and no need to wear out any shoe leather.’

  He started to turn away and Lomax gripped him by the arm and jerked him round. The policeman’s face was white and there was anger in his eyes. ‘You listen to me,’ he said, ‘and listen hard. It may interest you to know that I’ve spent the last twelve hours checking on your story personally. I’ve visited every person you’ve had contact with since you arrived in this town.’

  ‘And what did you find?’ Shane demanded eagerly.

  Lomax took out his pipe and filled it. ‘That Reggie Steele was still at his cottage when the murder took place. His girl friend swears to that.’

  Shane raised a clenched fist in a gesture of impotent fury. ‘She’d swear her own mother’s life away if she were offered enough. Couldn’t you see that?’

  ‘If it was Steele, how did he get to town so soon after you?’ Lomax said. ‘You took his car, remember?’

  ‘Did you see Adam Crowther?’ Shane asked.

  Lomax nodded. ‘He admitted that he lied to you. He did visit Reggie Steele at the Garland Club, but only to warn him that you were in town and likely to cause trouble. To be perfectly frank, Crowther told me that he formed the opinion that you were unbalanced.’

  ‘But it could have been Crowther,’ Shane said. ‘Everything fits. He’s even lame in one foot - he lost his toes through frostbite in Korea.’

  Lomax shook his head. ‘He was working on something important at the university that night. Admittedly there was no one with him, but I’m satisfied he’s telling the truth.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Shane commented bitterly. ‘That’s bloody good. So you’ll accept his word for it, will you? Why the hell shouldn’t it be him? He’s got a limp and the man who knocked me on the head in the flat had a limp. What makes Crowther so special?’

  Lomax sighed heavily. ‘All right, Shane,’ he said. ‘You’ve asked for it and you’ll get it. I didn’t finally accept Crowther’s story until I’d spoken not only to Reggie Steele but to Charles Graham also. Steele doesn’t have much time for you - he was honest enough to admit that - but Graham has. They both told me the same story - that you’ve been haunted by a memory for years. A memory named Colonel Li. He was the man with the club foot you heard that night in the flat, but he died in Korea seven years ago.’

  Shane’s breath hissed sharply between his teeth. ‘There’s nothing like being able to depend on one’s friends for help. You must thank Graham for me next time you see him.’

  There was anger in the policeman’s eyes. ‘It may interest you to know that Charles Graham is the man who’s retained Sir George Hammond to perform your operation.’

  There was a heavy silence. There didn’t seem anything more to say, and then he remembered the girl. He said slowly, ‘There’s just one more thing I’d like to know, Inspector. Have you seen Laura Faulkner?’

  Lomax nodded. ‘We haven’t bothered her too much. Her father had a stroke yesterday and they had to rush him into hospital. I understand it’s only a matter of time.’

  Before Shane could say anything the older of the two detectives moved forward and doors slammed hollowly along the train. Lomax nodded. ‘Take him into the carriage now.’

  The went towards the door, and as Shane put one foot on the step he hesitated, filled with a sudden wild urge to tell Lomax everything, to fill in all the gaps for him. One of the detectives pushed him firmly forward and the moment passed.

  When they entered the reserved compartment, the young detective produced a key, freed himself from the handcuffs, and secured Shane’s other wrist so that his hands were securely pinioned together in front of him. They pushed him into a corner seat, and one of them put his trench-coat up on the rack while the other knelt down and unlaced his shoes. Lomax stood in the doorway, keen eyes surveying everything. ‘Did they give you a key for the door, Brown?’ he asked the older of the two detectives. The man nodded, and Lomax went on, ‘Keep the door locked at all times. They’ll be waiting for you in London. I’ll see you both tomorrow.’

  As he started to turn away, Shane said quickly, ‘Lomax!’

  The inspector paused and looked over his shoulder. ‘What is it?’

  Shane smiled softly. ‘You’re wrong, you know.’

  Lomax seemed about to speak, and then he shrugged and disappeared along the corridor. A moment later he passed the window and walked back towards the van.

  Somewhere a whistle sounded, and the train seemed to give a long, shuddering sigh, and then they were gliding away from the platform, moving out into the rain and the darkness.

  A feeling of complete panic surged through Shane. He stared down at his stockinged feet, at the handcuffs on his wrists, and a feeling of helplessness took possession of him. It was the end. Whichever way the dice fell he was finished.

  He was brought back to reality sharply. Brown, the detective with the key, had been trying to lock the compartment door, and now he straightened up and turned with a look of disgust on his face. ‘The bloody thing won’t fit,’ he said.

  The other man frowned and put down the newspaper he had opened. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  Brown shrugged. ‘I’ll have to find the guard. He should have a master key.’ He inclined his head towards Shane. ‘Watch our friend here. You never know what his sort will try next.’

  Shane turned and looked out of the window as Brown disappeared along the corridor. There was a slight ache behind his eyes and his guts churned over as the significance of Brown’s words struck home. They thought he was insane. The whole thing was decided in advance. If he lived to stand in the dock, it would probably be the shortest trial on record.

  In the darkness of the window he saw the reflection of the compartment behind him. The detective was watching him carefully, and after a while he moved along the seat and leaned over the lock.

  Shane didn’t even think about it. He swung round quickly and launched himself forward, his clenched fists raised high above his head. Even as the detective started to turn in alarm, they crashed into the back of his neck, and he fell forward from the seat and rolled on to the floor.

  Shane wrench the sliding-door to one side and stepped over the prostrate figure. There was a sudden cry of alarm as Brown appeared at the far end of the carriage and started to run towards him.

  Shane stumbled along the corridor and rounded the corner by the toilet. A door faced him with the communication cord stretched across the top of it. He yanked the cord firmly downwards with all his strength, and as the train started to brake to a halt, he struggled frantically with the handle of the door. It swung backwards suddenly as the wind caught it. He hesitated for a moment, straining his eyes into the blackness of the night, desperately trying to judge the train’s speed. There was a cry behind him as Brown rounded the corner, and he hesitated no longer. As the detective’s hand grabbed for his jacket, Shane jumped out into the night.

  He tucked his head well into his shoulders and rolled over twice. As he tried to get to his feet, his own momentum was still carrying him forward and he fell on his face. The train was slowing to a halt a hundred yards away along the track, and as he struggled pain
fully to his feet he heard cries through the night and saw lanterns coming back along the track.

  Beyond the train he could see the lights of the station in the darkness, and he realized, with something of a shock, that the whole business had happened in a matter of minutes.

  He started to pick his way carefully across the lines, the stones digging into his stockinged feet painfully. He scrambled up a small embankment, and he pulled himself over a six-foot-high wooden fence at the top. He dropped down into a narrow street of terraced houses, and started to run.

  The rain had increased into a solid downpour that bounced from the pavement. He seemed to be moving through an area of decaying slums, and he twisted and turned from one street into another until his lungs were heaving painfully and his throat was dry.

  His head was aching slightly and his feet were torn and bleeding. Somewhere ahead of him he could hear the sounds of traffic, and guessed he was approaching the centre of the town. He paused on a corner and looked desperately about him, uncertain which way to go, and then a car rounded the corner and came towards him.

  There was a narrow, dark opening in the opposite wall, and he crossed the street and plunged into it as the car flashed past. He started to move forward, his manacled hands held out in front of him. There was a lamp fastened high up on the brick wall, and beyond it he could see traffic passing along a busy street.

  He leaned against the wall, his tortured lungs clamouring for air, and as he looked up at the lamp it seemed to float away and become smaller and smaller, and then there was nothing but the darkness and he slid slowly down the wall into unconsciousness.

  15

  IT was quiet in the vestry, and Shane stared out of the window into the darkness. Behind him Father Costello coughed and said softly, ‘Is that all?’

  Shane nodded slowly and turned towards him. ‘That’s it, Father,’ he said. ‘Right up to the moment I awakened behind the dustbin in that alley.’

  The priest frowned, his slender fingers tapping thoughtfully on the desk top. ‘It’s a strange story,’ he said. ‘A very strange story.’

  ‘But do you believe me, Father?’ Shane said desperately. ‘That’s the important thing.’

  Father Costello looked up at him searchingly, and suddenly he smiled. ‘Yes, I think I do. Don’t ask me why, but I don’t think you killed her.’

  Relief flooded through Shane and he sighed deeply. ‘Thank God you do. I was beginning to wonder if they weren’t right about me.’

  Father Costello nodded and said soberly, ‘That’s all very well, but it doesn’t bring us any nearer to a solution. If you aren’t the guilty one, then who did kill Jenny Green?’

  Shane shook his head and sighed. ‘I wish I knew, Father, I wish I knew.’ He started to turn away, and then suddenly a great light burst upon him and he slammed a fist into his hand. ‘There’s just one way I might break this,’ he said excitedly.

  The priest leaned forward, interest leaping into his eyes. ‘Tell me!’ he said simply.

  Shane lit a cigarette and his hand was trembling. ‘If I’m sane and balanced and normal, then the man with the club foot exists. He wasn’t simply a figment of my imagination. It was part of a deliberate attempt to make me think I was going out of my mind.’

  ‘But how does all this help?’ Father Costello demanded.

  Shane frowned. ‘I’ve just thought of a very simple way of finding out who he was.’ He turned quickly and reached for a memo pad and pencil that were lying on the desk. ‘There’s more to it than that, but I haven’t got time to explain now. You’ll have to trust me, Father.’

  He scribbled a name and address on the pad and pushed it across to the priest. ‘I want you to give me exactly one hour, Father. No more, no less. Then I want you to ring Inspector Lomax at the C.I.D. and tell him I’m at this address.’

  Father Costello looked at the address in surprise, and when he raised his head there was puzzlement in his eyes. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’

  Shane nodded. ‘Will you do as I ask?’

  The priest frowned down at the address, and then he sighed. ‘On one condition.’ He looked Shane directly in the eye. ‘No killing. I must have your promise.’

  Shane hesitated, a frown on his face, and then he shrugged. ‘All right, Father. We’ll play it your way.’

  He opened the door and the priest said, ‘Just a moment.’ He took some keys from his pocket and threw them over. ‘You’ll find a car in the yard at the rear of the building. Not a very new model, I’m afraid, but you’ll stand a better chance than you will on foot.’

  Shane tried to speak, but for some reason the words refused to come, and the priest smiled faintly and made a slight gesture with one hand. ‘Good luck!’ he said, and Shane closed the door quickly and turned away.

  He drove rapidly through the quiet streets into the centre of the town, and within minutes of leaving the church he was parking the car outside his hotel. The foyer was empty, and there was no one behind the counter. He moved forward quietly, and gently raised the flap of the reception desk. Someone was humming softly in the tiny office, and he slipped through the half-open door and closed it behind him.

  The girl was standing in front of the mirror, applying a pencil to her eyebrows, and she turned in alarm. An expression of dismay appeared on her face, and her mouth opened to scream.

  Shane jumped forward and clamped one hand over her mouth. ‘Make a sound and it’ll be your last, I promise you,’ he said savagely. He released her, and she fell back against the desk, terror in her eyes.

  She was wearing her new gaberdine suit, and Shane moved forward and fingered one of the lapels. ‘I should have smelt a rat when I saw you wearing this the other day,’ he said. ‘You’ve never earned more than five quid a week in your life, and neither have any of your boy friends.’

  She moistened her lips. ‘It was a man I’ve only just met,’ she said desperately. ‘An older man. He’s got plenty of money.’

  Shane slapped her back-handed across the face. ‘You’re lying, you bitch,’ he snarled. ‘No man with that kind of money would ever give a little tramp like you a second glance. I’ll tell you how you got that suit. Somebody paid you. Somebody who wanted to get into my room. They wanted a master key and you sold them one.’

  Her face crumpled into pieces, and he knew that he was right. He caught hold of her hair and jerked back her head. ‘Who was it?’ he demanded.

  She struggled to free herself, and there were tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t know the name,’ she said. ‘I was just handed the money in cash. I didn’t mean any harm.’

  Shane threw her back against the desk. ‘Give me a description,’ he said.

  Slowly and hesitatingly, stumbling over her words, she began to speak. When she had finished, he sighed deeply and reached for a cigarette. The girl was crying, great sobs racking her body, and he looked at her coldly. ‘Maybe this will teach you to keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you in future.’ He opened the door and said over his shoulder in a voice of deliberate venom, ‘If you get on to the police about this, I swear I’ll come back and cut your throat if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.’ She gave a little moan and sank down in the chair, and he closed the door and went outside to the car.

  He drove boldly along the main street leading from the station, passing two policemen standing on a corner, and turned the car into St Michael’s Square. The Garland Club was in darkness, and when he got out of the car and approached the entrance he found a notice on the door which stated that the club was closed temporarily.

  He walked along the alley at the side of the building and tried the staff door, but it was locked. He frowned, anxiety tugging at his heart, and moved into the yard at the rear of the building. As he looked up, a smile of relief appeared on his face as he saw the light showing through a chink in the curtains that covered the window of Steele’s office.

  Shane climbed on to a dustbin and jumped for the edge of the flat roof of the kitchens
and pulled himself over the edge. He walked forward until he was standing outside the lighted window. There was a slight gap at the bottom and he listened, his ear close to it, for a second. There was no sound. He quietly inserted his fingers into the crack, took a deep breath and flung the window up. In almost the same instant he ripped the curtains aside and tumbled head first into the room.

  Steele was sitting at the desk, and he turned in alarm, his hand dipping into a half-open drawer. Shane launched himself forward and rammed the drawer shut, trapping Steele’s hand. Steele screamed and tried to rise, and Shane pulled open the drawer and slammed a fist into his face, knocking him to the floor.

  His Luger was lying in the drawer, and he took it out and hefted it into his hand, his eyes on Steele. ‘You never thought you’d see me again, you bastard - did you?’

  Steele staggered to his feet, nursing his bruised hand, and his face was curdled with fear. ‘I’ll give you anything,’ he said frantically. ‘Anything you like. I’ll help you get away. Out of the country even. I’ve got friends. Only don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!’

  He babbled on for several moments while Shane regarded him contemptuously, and finally he was silent, no more spirit left in him. Shane pushed him roughly towards the door. ‘You and I are going for a little ride,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. A good friend of mine. I think that between us we should manage to get the truth out of you.’

  When they reached the car Shane told him to get behind the wheel and he sat in the passenger’s seat beside him, a cigarette between his lips, and watched him carefully.

  Steele didn’t make the slightest attempt to resist as the car moved out through the suburbs and turned up the hill, leaving the lights of the city far behind in the rain. He followed Shane’s orders implicitly, and when he turned off the engine of the car outside their destination he sat mutely behind the wheel waiting for further orders.

  Shane opened the door and pulled him out, and together they mounted the steps to the front door. Steele looked ghastly. His mouth was smashed and bleeding, and the front of his shirt was soaked in blood. There was a kind of hopelessness in his eyes, and he leaned against the wall, his breathing shallow and irregular and waited as Shane rang the bell.