The Black Lizard Big Book of Locked-Room Mysteries
Page 79
“No use trying to avoid the subject,” he said. “We’re all thinking about it.… If what I saw earlier, and what has just happened here, isn’t due to some form of insanity arising with the utmost suddenness, God knows what it may be.”
Silence again.
White spoke this time, gruffly. “How can a boat drive people insane? Certainly not a hard-boiled old-timer like Duff.”
“Could it, could it be sunstroke?” Valerie asked in a small voice. “It’s awfully hot.”
Tarrant admitted, “There’s no question it’s hot. But I don’t see a sunstroke theory. None of us feel any symptoms, do we? And we have been on the lake longer than any of them were.”
“But what can have made them do it?”
“I don’t know,” said Tarrant in a low tone. “I confess I don’t know.… At first I felt that some deep cause for suicide must be operating in the Black-Constable family. What I saw surely looked like nothing so much as a determined suicide combined with murder, or perhaps a double suicide.… But that’s out now, definitely. This man Duff could hardly be involved in such a thing and, furthermore, I don’t believe for a moment that he had the least idea of doing away with himself when he started that boat down the lake.”
No one had even a conjecture to add. The rest of our return was only the purring of the engine and the slap-slither of the little waves against our boat. As for me, I was completely bewildered. Here were a succession of calamities; first three persons, then two, finally one, who for no reason at all had abruptly cast themselves into the lake to drown. The last two tragedies had been amply witnessed, one by Tarrant himself through the binoculars, the other by no less than four fishermen, friends of the unfortunate man, and this time at a reasonably short range.
One must suppose, at all events, that the first disaster had been similar to its successors, a finding that scarcely did much to account for any of them. The last victim’s relations with the others had certainly not been of a nature so serious as to form a bond of death. What could possibly have caused such different types of people, in broad daylight, on this peaceful lake, and plainly menaced by no danger, to jump and die? Duff’s reported actions, surely, appeared to indicate that, once out of the boat, he was determined to drown. Suicide seemed absurd; and yet his actions had comported with it. Both sight and sound—for his friends had shouted at him—had combined to assure him that help was close at hand. But he had renounced all aid. Involuntarily I shook my head. It just didn’t make sense.
When we landed, Tarrant made an abrupt excuse and hurried off to the house in his bathing suit. Apparently he changed with some speed, for he was nowhere to be found when the rest of us climbed the path.
He was late for dinner. We were half-way through the main course when he came in and sat down at the table. “Glad you didn’t wait for me,” he said, a little absently. On his forehead there still lingered the trace of the frown that always accompanies his most strenuous thinking.
“Didn’t know whether you’d show up or not,” White remarked in explanation. “Where have you been?”
“Looking over that boat.”
“Thought so. Find anything?”
“Not a thing,” answered Tarrant frankly. “That is, if you mean, as I take it you do, anything that throws light on these strange deaths.”
For a time he applied himself to his meal, but when he had caught up with us at its end, he pushed back his chair and addressed us. “I examined this Torment IV from stem to stern. She is a beautiful boat, Morgan, no doubt about it; and she has gotten out of these mishaps herself with no more than a few dents in the bows. And a long gash coming back from the bow on one side where she careened off a rock when grounding on the island. It’s above the water-line and scarcely an eighth of an inch deep. No real harm; but just another item resembling the Mary Celeste. You remember she had strips in her, running back from the bows, too. It’s a strange coincidence how these circumstances match, even down to the condition of the boat—so far as a motor-boat can exhibit the same conditions as a two hundred-ton brig.…”
In the short pause I queried, “Still, that doesn’t get us anywhere, does it?”
He agreed. “As you say. Even if we had reason to believe that the same causes were operating—since several of the same symptoms have appeared—we have no further clue, since we don’t know what could have brought about the situation on the Mary Celeste. And of course we have no right to assume even similar causes; a hundred to one this is merely a superficial resemblance.”
Came one of White’s grunts. “Nothing at all, eh? Nothing? What were you looking for?”
“To tell you the truth,” Tarrant confessed with a smile, “I’m afraid I was looking for some sort of mechanical arrangement. I don’t know exactly what. Something along the lines of Jerry’s idea of a poison gas, possibly. Since it obviously couldn’t come from the motor in the routine way, I considered the possibility of a small, hidden tank concealed somewhere on board. With a blower or insufflator arrangement, of course. Although I have some knowledge of gases and have never heard of one having the observed effects, it is still possible. That would at least indicate malice, murder, in fact; and we should have a reasonable background for these events. Pretty far-fetched, I admit. You see to what conjectures I have been reduced by the apparently inexplicable data.… I have never cared much for supernatural explanations.”
“Hmph. Why ‘apparently’ inexplicable? Looks actually inexplicable to me.”
“Nothing,” said Tarrant shortly, “is actually inexplicable. That is, if you credit Causation. I do. What is loosely called the ‘inexplicable’ is only the unexplained, certainly not the unexplainable. The term is quite literally a mere catchword for ignorance. That’s our present relation to the deaths; we are still ignorant of their cause.”
“Guess we’ll have to remain so this time.”
“Oh, no. After our experience to-day, it’s a challenge I accept.”
Something in his tone interested Valerie. She said, “I’m glad you won’t give it up. But what else can you do now, if you have already examined the boat?”
“I’ve examined the boat. Thoroughly. I even had the floorboards up; I couldn’t take the engine out but I did everything else. Had a boy go under her in the dock and he reported everything shipshape and just as it ought to be along the keel.”
“Well, then,” Val repeated, “what is left that you can do?”
Tarrant smiled. “Now I’m disappointed in you, Valerie. Surely that is obvious. There is something pretty drastic that happens to people in that boat. There is only one alternative left now. With Jerry’s help I propose to find out to-morrow what it is that happens. When we know that, it may be possible for us to deal with it.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Of course. You’re going out in the boat yourself.” Val paused; and added suddenly, “Not with Jerry, you’re not! No, I won’t listen to it. I won’t let Jerry go anywhere near the horrible thing!”
I expostulated. If Tarrant was willing to risk his neck, it seemed only fair that someone else should go with him. Morgan White offered to go immediately, but it appeared that Trevis preferred me for some reason.
“He won’t have to go very near it, Valerie,” Tarrant assured her. “I wouldn’t myself permit him to come with me in the boat. I only want him to follow me at a respectful distance in the Grey Falcon, so that, if I jump over, he can pick me up.… There must be a reason why people jump.”
In the end we persuaded her, though Tarrant did most of it. There are times when Valerie seems hardly to listen to me. He persuaded her not only to permit me to follow him but not to come along herself. As usual, he had his way.
We all went down to the boathouse after breakfast. White explained to me how to run his boat, which was simple enough; and Tarrant and I started off for the Constable’s dock, leaving Valerie and our host behind. He agreed to run Torment IV up and down the lake opposite the boathouse, so that they could observe what happened, if anything.
Naturally my attention was caught by the firearms. “But what can we use those for?” I inquired curiously. “Is there some one to shoot at? But no, there wasn’t any one in the boat except the people who jumped out of it, each time. And this morning you are going alone, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’m going alone, yes. On the other hand, there is certainly villainy of some kind here, and where there is villainy, it has been my experience that there is usually a villain.… I’m glad it turned out a good, hot day again.”
More puzzled than ever, I said, “We threw out the sunstroke theory, didn’t we? What in heaven’s name has a hot day got to do with it?”
“I don’t know, Jerry, honestly I don’t,” Tarrant grinned. “I have the haziest notion about this thing, but it is much too vague for me to tell you. So far as I know, there are only two conditions leading up to these deaths, a ride in Torment IV and a bright, warm day. Since I want to see duplicated whatever happens, I am glad that both conditions are fulfilled.”
There was no time for more, as we had now reached the Constable’s dock. Tarrant, who had taken the precaution of donning his bathing trunks, landed and was admitted to the boathouse by a man who evidently had been waiting for him. After a short delay—no doubt he was making another examination of Torment IV—I heard him start the motor and, a moment later, the ill-omened motor-boat slid slowly out of its shelter.
The events that succeeded constituted a series of complete surprises for me, culminating in sheer amazement. He turned and headed the boat out into the lake, opening her up fairly wide, and I brought the Grey Falcon along in his wake as closely as I dared, constantly alert for any change of direction or other sudden action on his part. Torment IV had a driving seat stretching entirely across the centre of the boat, and my first surprise was to observe Tarrant clamber up on this and crouch there in a most uncomfortable position, as he manipulated the controls. Nothing further happened, however, and while continuing to watch carefully, I could not avoid wondering again for what purpose he had provided the weapons in my own craft.
I realised that it was foolish and yet I could think of no other type of explanation of the tragedies than a supernatural one. A ghost or ghoul? In broad daylight, on a motor-boat? Even so, a shotgun isn’t of much use against a ghost. But of course that was nonsense, anyhow. Even the strange coincidence of sudden, self-destructive madness on the part of these diverse people in similar circumstances was better. And again, you can’t shoot madness. The rope and the axe I abandoned hopelessly.
By now we had reached the centre of the lake and Tarrant motioned to me, without turning around, that he proposed to slow down. As I did so, too, I saw that he had produced a length of stout cord and was lashing Torment IV’s wheel in such a way that the boat would continue forward in a large circle.
When he had done so, he scrambled out of the driver’s seat altogether and, passing right by the rear well-deck with its comfortable chairs, gained the upper decking of the hull itself as far astern as he could get, immediately over the propeller, in fact. There he stood upright, balancing easily on both feet and intently observing the entire boat ahead of him, almost all of which was visible from his position.
And nothing happened. Torment IV continued to circle at a reduced speed and Tarrant continued to watch as tensely as ever. It went on for so long that I am afraid I was beginning to get a little careless. I must have been all of seventy-five yards away when suddenly I saw him stiffen, start to turn away, take one more glance forward—and dive!
I strained my eyes, but I could see no change whatsoever in his boat, which was keeping placidly on her circular course. It certainly looked as if he had seen something, but if so, it remained invisible to me. Abruptly I came to and swung the Grey Falcon towards where he was swimming with more speed than I had thought him capable of. Even yet I was not much concerned. Tarrant was neither a Philadelphian merchant nor a backwoodsman. Furthermore, he was a good swimmer and in his bathing suit. Accordingly my astonishment all but took my breath away entirely when, as I came up towards him, he gave a horrified glance over his shoulder and twisting abruptly away from the Grey Falcon, dug his arms into the water in a panic-stricken Australian crawl!
In that moment I realised we were up against something serious. I threw in the clutch and went after him. Fortunately I could always overtake him with the motor-boat I had; and I prepared to jump in for him if he showed signs of sinking. I was sure that, no matter how good a swimmer he was, he would sink before he reached Winnespequam, some eight miles away, for he was heading up the lake directly towards the town, although the nearest shore was well within a mile.
I was drawing up to him again, but this time, instead of slowing down, I sent the boat past him as closely as I dared. And as I went past, I yelled at the top of my voice, “Tarrant! For God’s sake, what the hell has gotten into you!”
Evidently one of his ears was out of the water, for he hesitated and raised his head. For a moment he regarded my boat and myself without recognition, then he trod water and looked anxiously all about. I was coming about now, having been carried beyond him, and I heard his hoarse shout, “All right. I’m coming aboard.”
He was literally shaking when I helped pull him over the side and for a minute or so he merely stood in the Grey Falcon and gasped. Then he said suddenly, “Where is that devil’s boat?” I was struck by the same expression the old man had used the day before.
“There she is,” he went on. “She’s getting too close in to shore. She mustn’t land again!” In the chase after Tarrant I had almost forgotten Torment IV, but now I saw that she was, in fact, circling closer and closer to the edge of the lake.
“We shall have to get near enough, Jerry, so that I can rope that little mast on her bow,” he grated. “Don’t get any closer than you have to, though.” And he added under his breath, “God, I hate to do this.” Well, I gave up; in view of these unbelievable happenings it didn’t seem even worthwhile asking questions. No matter what occurred, I didn’t think my friend had gone mad.
I settled down to the job and soon made a parallel course with Torment IV. “Not so close, for God’s sake!” yelled Tarrant. I eased off a little; and he threw his coiled rope. The third time he succeeded; the noose settled accurately over the small mast and he jerked it tight. “Make for the centre of the lake now, Jerry. Give it all you’ve got; you’ll have to pull the other boat out of her course. I didn’t dare stop her completely for fear it wouldn’t happen.” As he spoke he was securing his end of the rope to a cleat, and immediately caught up the axe and took his stand above the taut line, looking anxiously along it. So that was why he had brought the axe! Apparently he foresaw the possibility of having to sever the rope even before it could be released. It was hard going, pulling against Torment IV’s powerful engine, but finally we were well out in the lake again. With an audible sigh of relief Tarrant brought down the axe, the rope snapped.
“Now,” he said, “the rifle,” retrieving it from the floor and slipping in a cartridge. It was a regulation Winchester, a heavy weapon. “Go parallel again but at least twice as far away from her,” he admonished me.
When this course had been taken up to his satisfaction and we were a good hundred yards and more from Torment IV, he commenced firing at the empty boat. The shots crashed out over the lake, a round dozen of them, and I saw that he was quite literally attacking the motor-boat itself. A little series of spurts appeared just along its waterline as the bullets punched a neat row of holes through the hull.
“Enough, I guess,” he observed, putting down the rifle and catching up the shotgun, hastily loading both chambers. We waited then, still accompanying Torment IV
at the same distance; and shortly she began to list on the side towards us. This had the effect of straightening her course somewhat but only for a few hundred yards, for she was filling rapidly now and beginning to plough down into the water. Deliberately she settled on her starboard side until the lake poured over her rail; then with a final swirl her stern lifted a little and she went under.
But, just as she did so, something climbed up on her port side and hopped away. At the distance I couldn’t see what it was, except that I should have judged it to be about two feet or more in diameter. It made a dark spot against the bright water, and it did not sink. On the contrary it scrambled over the surface and it was making directly for our boat. “Easy, Jerry,” Tarrant grated, as I instinctively put on speed; “we’ve got to get it.”
Reluctantly I swung to port in order not to catch the thing in our wake. It seemed to be coming towards us with the speed of lightning; I doubt if we could have distanced it, anyhow. Tarrant’s face was white and strained, and a tremor ran over his body as he raised his gun. For a few seconds he waited, then fired. Just behind the creature the water splattered where the shot struck the lake. He had one more shot; the thing was closer now and still coming rapidly. It was so close I could begin to see it clearly—the most repulsive animal I have ever looked at. Spiders always make me creepy, but this monstrous creature with its flashing legs, its horribly hairy bulb of a body, was nauseating and worse than nauseating. There was something so horrifying about it that I very nearly jumped before it reached us. I could see, or imagined that I could, a beady, malignant eye fixed definitely upon me. If Tarrant had missed his last shot I don’t know what would have happened. It’s one of those things I don’t let myself think about.
He didn’t miss. Simultaneously with the roar of the gun, the water about it churned and the monster disappeared, blown to bits.
For the next ten minutes we drifted aimlessly. I was being sick over the side of the Grey Falcon.