Dancing with Death
Page 15
“You open it,” said Badger.
“No, you open it,” said Mrs. Badger. “He’s your professor.”
“I will not open it,” said Badger. “And, anyway, he’s your policeman!”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Mrs. Badger demanded. “Open that door this instant!”
“I will not,” said Badger. “You open it.”
Daly hammered thunderously on the panels of the door and shouted:
“Open up, in the name of the Law!”
There was dead silence inside for a moment. Then a door banged. They could hear heavy breathing. A light was switched on inside and now Mike understood why every sound had come out so clearly, for a long line of light showed at one side of the door where the wood had warped. Then at last the door was opened and there was Mrs. Badger with a smile that looked just a trifle fixed.
“I’m afraid I kept you waiting,” she said. “I didn’t hear the bell at first.”
She took their overcoats and threw them on the back of a chair. Professor Daly’s eyes narrowed with pain as he saw the plight of his beloved Blarney tweed. But he was too polite to protest, and he followed Mrs. Badger into the drawing room with his air of resignation redoubled.
It was a large square room, so sparsely furnished that it looked even larger than it was. The floor was bare boards, except for a carpet which was meant for a much smaller room, and which served as a hearthrug here. The furniture was chipped and battered, and showed clearly by its condition that it was often pushed into unnatural positions for the purpose of building hide-outs on wet days. There were books everywhere, and various Florentine notabilities grinned sardonically down on the Badgers from the relative safety of the walls. There was an Adam chimney-piece, festooned with nude marble ladies who were probably glad of the warmth of the large coal fire that burned beneath them.
At one side of the fire, facing the door, Badger sat in an armchair glooming up at them through his sandy eyebrows and clutching the Times Literary Supplement into a crumpled agony between his hands. Daly stepped across quickly and took it from him, smoothed it out as best he could and laid its battered remains to rest on top of one of the bookshelves. Then he said genially:
“Nice evening, Badger. You met Mr. Kenny at dinner last night.”
While Badger shook Mike’s hand without enthusiasm, Mrs. Badger said:
“I guessed last night that you were not a vocational school inspector. You put up quite a good show, but you couldn’t look like a teacher. They are unmistakable, really. Do sit down. I’ll just get supper.”
Mike sat on the sofa facing the fire and Daly settled himself comfortably in the armchair on his left. Mike said:
“I’m sorry for calling so late. Professor Daly says you don’t go to bed early.”
“That is true,” said Badger with quiet pride. “I find I work better by night.”
They talked about Badger’s habits until the door opened and Mrs. Badger pushed in a trolley whose wheels squealed so loudly that no further conversation was possible until they were silent. Then they had supper of weak bottled coffee, utterly tasteless, of Mrs. Badger’s own economical one-egg boiled porter-cake, and of her special biscuits made of cornflakes and melted chocolate. Professor Daly moaned gently as he drank his coffee, but otherwise he did not complain. Even if he had wished to do so, Mike could not have begun to discuss Bradley’s death, because Mrs. Badger kept up a loud discourse on every subject possible, from the recipes of her abominable cakes to her difficulties in bringing up her children. Her voice rose higher and higher, until Daly and Mike both began to fear that she was on the brink of a fit of hysterics. Then Badger suddenly took charge. He sat up straight on the edge of his chair and emitted one word:
“Mother!”
She collapsed slowly, like a motor tyre with a minor puncture. Badger kept his eye on her until he was sure that she was quite flat. Then he said:
“You can clear away now.”
Meekly she collected their cups and squealed her trolley out of the room.
“Now,” said Badger, sitting back in his chair again, “I know what brought you here. Fox told you I was looking through letters in the President’s office.”
“That is so,” said Mike.
“Things are never as simple as they look,” said Badger earnestly. “Each factor must be examined carefully before a solution is reached. Never jump to the obvious conclusion. That must be understood before any progress can be made.”
“There are one or two other things to be understood too,” said Mike grimly. “One of them is that I dislike having the course of my enquiries hampered by irresponsible gossip. Everywhere I have been today you have been there before me, handing out inaccurate information, spreading panic, inducing quite innocent people to become secretive and frightened — why did you do that?”
“One has a sense of responsibility,” Badger spluttered. “This is a very serious matter for the College — ”
“I’m afraid it will be a serious matter for you,” said Mike, “if it does not stop. Did you find them?”
“Find what?”
“The anonymous letters in the President’s office.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The anonymous letters that you wrote to the President about the Leahy money and various other things,” Mike explained carefully. “You just thought you’d slip in and get them back before Daly would have had time to find them.”
“Badger!” Daly sat up straight and looked at his old student in amazement. “You writing anonymous letters. I can’t believe it.”
“Why not?” Mike asked quickly.
“It’s not true, anyway,” said Badger.
“Why not?” Daly’s voice rose to a squeak. “Because Badger never does anything anonymously. He’s celebrated for the — for the reverse of anonymous letters! If Badger thinks a man is doing wrong, he seeks him out, seizes him by the lapel of his coat, backs him into a comer from which there is no escape, and tells him all about it with quotations from every philosopher from Saint Thomas Aquinas downwards. That is the secret of Badger’s reputation. Isn’t that so, Badger?”
“In my youth,” Badger intoned, “I made the discovery that falsehood and insincerity were nibbling at the roots of society. I determined then that I would never tolerate either of these vices, neither in myself nor in any of my associates. Not even when they are clothed in the guise of charity and toleration will I put up with them. These are only euphemisms for a dangerous liberalism which is hurling the world to destruction — ”
“It’s all right, Badger, old chap,” said Daly kindly. “You are among friends now.”
“He is no friend,” said Badger, pointing a quivering, indignant forefinger at Mike. “He came here to arrest my wife!”
There was a little silence charged with shock. Then Badger’s eyes grew suddenly round. They could see his mind swiftly leaping through every point of the explanation that would have been necessary for an ordinary man. Then he gave a little tired shrug and said: “Now that all is discovered I had better tell you the whole story.”
“I should recommend that,” said Daly, and Mike said: “If you please.”
They waited then, while Badger thought long lugubrious thoughts. Presently Mike was beginning to doubt whether he would be able to resist leaping upon Badger and clumping his head for him. Outwardly he succeeded in keeping an appearance of impenetrable calm, with his long, fine fingers just touching each other at the tips as he sat back easily on the sofa. His discomfort was increased by the fact that some small, hard object was making itself felt beneath him, but he feared to create a diversion by removing it. He occupied himself with trying to diagnose its shape. Was it a toy motor-car, or a lead soldier? Yes, a lead soldier, surely, with fixed bayonet, exacting revenge for his disturbance of the Badger household. It was just possible that it was a gunboat, however. Fortunately Badger’s powers of speech returned to him just then, so that Mike was saved from further speculati
on.
“My wife is devoted to me,” Badger began, waving a deprecating hand.
“Silly little woman,” said Daly under his breath.
Fortunately Badger did not hear this. He went on:
“Perhaps I made a mistake in taking her into my confidence, but I have always done so, and I had no premonition that she would take it all so seriously.”
“Take what so seriously?” asked Daly. “Explain yourself, man! Be clear and cogent, not cryptic.”
Badger cocked a tired eye at him, but he did not seem offended as he said:
“When Bradley became President at first, as you have probably heard, he seemed to feel a special responsibility for the work of each member of the staff. He was never done reproaching them for lack of devotion to their work, accusing them of cutting lectures, urging them to wilder and more impossible feats of research. He seemed to want glory for himself, by way of the College. He reduced everyone to a state of nervous exhaustion, while he became every day more smug and fat and comfortable. He drove poor old Delaney quite mad, which I thought need never have happened.”
“You think Delaney is really insane?” asked Mike, who had suddenly realized that for all his odd appearance and habits, Badger had a sharp, well-balanced mind.
“Yes, Delaney is quite insane now,” said Badger. “He was a border-line case for a great many years, but that in a professor is scarcely noticeable.” A gleam of humour lit up his cold eyes for a moment and was gone. “He was always able to lecture, and he dug up half the countryside in his zeal, but he was just a little cracked, and Bradley didn’t like that. He destroyed Delaney’s self-esteem and for that I can never forgive him.”
“How?”
“He used to write to Delaney whenever any notability was coming to the College and ask him to stay out of sight that day.” Mike could not restrain a slight exclamation of shock. “Yes, that was bad. Delaney has got it into his head that he must do the College one great service before retiring, so that everyone will have to admit his value. He is like a slighted child, awkwardly looking for his parents’ attention. That, of course, is why he keeps on talking about rats. You may not know it, but Delaney sees rats when no one else does. He insisted to me the other day that there was a procession of them marching two and two across the museum floor. There was nothing there, of course. Well, some months ago I went to see Bradley to tell him that I thought he was treating Delaney badly. I said I thought he was treating everyone badly, but that it was having a particularly bad effect in Delaney’s case. I told him he had received his power from God, and that if he continued to misuse it in this fashion, God would doubtless make him pay for his fun in the next world. He got quite cross, I remember, and ordered me out. I wouldn’t go, of course. I just repeated what I had said, with further embellishments. I refused to leave, in fact, until he had agreed to let Delaney alone.”
“And did he?” Daly asked, eyeing Badger with respect and clearly appreciating why Bradley had capitulated.
“He stopped annoying Delaney and he began on me,” said Badger.
“Bradley was unconquerable, then,” said Daly.
“He had more spirit than I had given him credit for,” said Badger grudgingly. “Before I left that day I told him that I would call on him every week until I was sure that Delaney was safe from him. That put an idea into his head. Every few days he would send a message saying that he wanted to see me in his office. He knew my principles would not allow me to make a personal issue of our disagreement over Delaney. When I would arrive he would just look up blandly and say he had not sent for me at all. When this had happened three or four times I ignored the summons, and of course it turned out that he had a world-famous literary historian that I would have given my eye to meet, sitting over in his office waiting for me. It happened like that several times, until I hardly knew what I was doing, for brooding on it. What made it so galling was that Bradley loved celebrities and was delighted to have them all for himself. I complained about him to my wife, of course, and she was very sympathetic, as she always is. I said some wild things about Bradley — that he would like to get his hands on Leahy’s money — that sort of thing, quite without foundation, just to relieve my feelings.” He looked anxiously at Mike’s face for comfort, but did not find it. Then he went on disconsolately: “What was my horror yesterday to find a document on my wife’s writing-table, in her handwriting, listing these — crimes, and with a silly little drawing of a tombstone at the foot of the page, with Bradley’s name on it. I saw at once what she was at, and I told her that she must not think of sending it. Only then did I discover that she had been sending — communications of this nature to Bradley for months past. One every week, she told me. She used to write it while she was preparing the laundry list, and post it late in the evening. She is a very methodical person.”
“Evidently,” said Mike without expression. “What did you do?”
“I’m afraid I rather lost my head,” said Badger. “We were going to dinner with Bradley in the evening. There was nothing strange in that. Bradley believed in entertaining friend and foe impartially. I was not sure whether he was going to amuse himself by insulting me there, but I rather thought he wouldn’t on account of Daly being present. He had a great respect for you, Daly, for some reason. He seemed anxious that you should approve of him.”
“I have been known to produce that effect quite spontaneously,” said Daly solemnly, “but in this case the explanation was that Bradley wanted me to help him to find out who was writing the letters, as we must call them, threatening his life.”
“Threatening his life? Oh, you mean the tombstone,” said Badger uneasily. “And Mrs. Badger is a graduate in science and a former student of Milligan’s.” His voice rose. “And we were at dinner with him and took part in that awful business of the biscuit — ”
“Come back to what you did when you found out that your wife was threatening the President’s life,” said Mike firmly.
“She said she only wanted to frighten him,” said Badger piteously. “She said that people like Bradley felt that they are exceptions to the general rule that we must all die, sooner or later. She said he was too healthy and had never had a proper fright to teach him respect for his fellowman. She said that after a few more weeks she had intended to send only one letter a fortnight, and then gradually to drop them altogether. I told her she had done a terrible thing, and though she couldn’t help being pleased with herself, she agreed at last not to send any more. Then, this morning, we heard that Bradley was dead and Mrs. Badger said that I should try to get the letters back. She said that if the new President found them there might be trouble. If I had known that you would take over, Daly, I should probably not have bothered to burgle the office at all. I should simply have asked you for them.”
“Did you find them?” Mike asked for the second time, and this time Badger answered:
“No. But I had not got very far when Foxy came along. Foxy is very righteous.”
“What did you do when Fox came in?”
Badger looked uncomfortable.
“Oh, I just said I had been looking for the President, and Foxy said in a nasty way: ‘He would hardly fit in the filing cabinet.’ So I said I was looking for a letter I had written to Bradley and wanted to get back. I came away then because I could see it was no use trying any more that time. Really, Fox takes too much on himself.” Badger’s face reddened at the recollection. “He stood at the window with his hands under the tails of his coat, watching me go away, as if he thought I would try to duck back in again somehow — ”
“No doubt you were a bit sensitive,” Daly murmured, without any intention of being unkind.
“Where did you go last night after you left Bradley’s house?” Mike asked, after a little pause.
“We walked home,” said Badger. “You saw us go. We have no car. It takes a quarter of an hour to walk here from College. Why do you ask? What are you driving at?”
“Never mind,” said Mike. He s
tood up briskly, his weariness forgotten and his long thin features alert and watchful as he said: “Do you care for music, Professor Badger?”
“Of course,” said Badger, surprised at the abrupt change of subject. “We are both very fond of music.”
“You go to concerts, then?”
“We manage to get to nearly every good concert.”
“What part of the house do you favour?”
“The gods,” said Badger sharply. “Has no one told you that we have seven children? They all like music, too, but we have had to make a rule never to bring more than two with us.”
He looked at Mike with anxious, raised eyebrows, but Mike only thanked him for the information and started for the door. Daly got up slowly and began to follow him. Badger’s expression showed the smug disillusion of a man who has been preaching disaster for years and who has at last been proved right. Daly looked at him anxiously and said:
“I would never have told Bradley if I had found out who was writing the letters.”
“Thank you,” said Badger, but he looked no happier.
When they came into the hall Mrs. Badger moved towards them from the gloom at the back.
“Must you go so soon?” she twittered, and stopped dead as if a hawk had got her in mid-song, as she caught sight of her husband’s face.
Daly and Mike thanked her gravely for her hospitality, and then Badger let them out into the garden. Before they had time to move off the steps they heard the voices of the Badgers as clear as Sunday bells through the defective panels of the door.
“Did they know all about the letters?” asked Mrs. Badger in a dull, rasping voice.
“They knew some and I told them the rest,” said Badger.
“You told them!”
“Yes. It’s always better to do that,” said Badger.
“There’s one good thing anyway,” said Mrs. Badger. “Nothing can bring Bradley back to life again. Put out the light.”
Daly took Mike’s elbow and marched him down the path to the gate. There they looked back and saw the lights go on upstairs.