by John Creasey
“What is Lidgett?”
“He’s a research worker, second— second to Paul.”
“All right,” Woburn said abruptly. “Your room, in a quarter of an hour or so. Will it be locked?”
“I never keep it locked, it wouldn’t be any good around here,” Ruby said. “Paul can open any of the doors, he has a master key. Don’t think a lock will do you any good, except to give you a few seconds warning.” She was standing up now, and quite magnificent, but she had forgotten the game of let’s pretend, had forgotten everything but the desperate, forlorn, hope. “You’ll have to make him talk quickly, and get away. If you don’t—”
“I’ll make him talk,” Woburn said.
He had to make this Lidgett tell him what he needed to know.
Ruby was slipping into the dress again, quite unselfconsciously.
“I don’t think any of the others could,” she went on. “Paul wouldn’t, and Gaspare is dumb and Klein doesn’t speak English. Do you speak German?”
“No.”
“Then there’s only Lidgett,” Ruby said,” and if you can’t make him talk, do you know what you’ve got to do? You’ve got to kill them. Before they can start anything. Kill them all. Kill Paul first and then the others and let that sadistic old devil see you. Every time I think of him I’d like to cut his throat. He’s evil itself! He—”
“Ruby,” Woburn said, “there isn’t much time.”
She sobered on the instant.
“No,” she agreed, “there isn’t. There’s a gun in my handbag. I won’t need it, but you might.”
He hesitated. Ruby took the gun out, and thrust it into his hands. He put it into his pocket, then he opened the door for her. She went out.
He turned back to his room. He broke the gun, and saw that it was loaded, snapped it together again, and moved towards the window. It was still lovely outside, and the sun was casting the shadow of the wall over the orchard, the farm, and the animals. He could see some of the animals, several of the wild ones out of their cages. At any other time that would have been fascinating in itself. Lion and lamb, remember, tiger and buck.
He thrust the thought aside.
Eve had told him that they always dined at eight; that if he felt inclined he could join her in the little room at half past seven, for a drink. He was to seek her there if he wanted anything. He wondered what she would think of this new development, and how far she would trust Ruby.
How far would Ruby trust her?
Ruby’s room was on this floor; he knew exactly how to reach it. There was a picture of an old monk hanging just by the door, she had told him, and he couldn’t mistake it; it was the third door on the right beyond the stairs. He judged that Ruby had been gone ten minutes. He went out, quickly, closing his own door.
The great house seemed silent.
He walked towards the staircase, which led to one side of the big gallery. He could see very little, except this passage and the staircase. He heard nothing. He reached the third door on the right, and there was a picture of a monk in a scarlet habit, a round face, a hint of laughter in his wise eyes.
Woburn turned the handle of the door and pushed. The door wasn’t locked.
He opened it wider and stepped inside swiftly - and stopped absolutely still, the door still open, and every muscle in his body stiff.
Ruby lay on the near of twin beds.
She had been strangled.
16
Woburn thought he heard a sound on the stairs, and that jolted him out of the paralysis of shock. His arm sagged. He backed into the passage and looked round, but saw no one. He went inside, closed the door, and banged it; he wasn’t yet in complete control of his nerves. He hurried across to Ruby Faversham, to her body lying so still and relaxed. The sun dress coat lay on the floor. One strap of the dress had been torn, and the skirt was caught up near her waist. There were puffy red marks at her throat. Her lips were slightly open, the Cupid’s bow ill-formed; her eyes were just open.
He reached her, and felt for her pulse; there wasn’t a sign of life.
Could he save her?
Could anyone save her?
Did it matter whether she lived or died, with all the other danger to mankind? Did it matter? He could convince himself that it didn’t matter at all, and yet still find himself wondering if artificial respiration would help; or heat; brandy; anything.
Forget it; she was dead.
Had she told the man Lidgett? Was he on his way here? Or had Faversham been lying in wait for her, stung by a jealous passion which she had not suspected.
Woburn dropped the limp arm.
There was no time to think about her, only time to be afraid that the one chance might have been lost before it had really arisen. He could only wait. He moved away from the bed - and then went back to it. Her body was warm; if he could forget the slack mouth, the puffiness at the neck and the swollen lips, he could imagine that she was asleep. A dead woman. He steeled himself to move her, so that she lay with her back to the door, one arm beneath her, one hanging over the bed, as if she were asleep. He straightened her legs, then bent them a little at the knees.
He moved to the door.
Anyone coming in would think that she was asleep; would not get the slightest shock.
How long should he wait?
It was ten minutes to seven; twenty minutes had gone since Ruby had left his room. Life to death, in twenty minutes. Hope to despair. Fear to terror. And it could happen to great multitudes of people.
He stiffened.
Footsteps were sounding outside, and drawing nearer. Quick and hurried and quiet, almost stealthy. Would Lidgett be stealthy? Would he come sneaking to her room? Or was this someone else, someone who—
The handle turned and the door opened.
A middle-aged man came in, saw Ruby, and stood just inside the room, grinning. It was the man who had given Woburn the injection. He closed the door softly behind him. He didn’t look towards Woburn, obviously not dreaming that anyone else was there, and moved on tiptoe across the room. He couldn’t know how ludicrous he looked, in his shapeless linen coat, poking out at the big paunch, the set, lascivious grin at the loose mouth, fat hands moving forward one at a time, as if it were pulling himself close to the bed.
Woburn waited.
The newcomer drew very close to the bed. He still didn’t suspect anything was wrong. Ruby was lying with her face on the pillow, as one might if one were half asleep. The uncanny thing was the silence with which the man moved; the hideous thing, the fact that she was dead and he was approaching her as if she were alive - and waiting for him.
He stopped by the side of the bed, and moved his right hand forward, stealthily. Woburn almost called out. The newcomer actually raised Ruby’s dress a few inches, so that her thigh was exposed, and slowly and with a relish which was a kind of sadism, he pinched the pale flesh.
When she didn’t start, or twist round, or cry out, he stood staring, his hand held back in a way which a pianist might have, fingers poised above a keyboard which was producing strange notes. Woburn heard his breathing. Woburn moved towards him, the gun in his hand. The man was so shocked that for several seconds he didn’t move or speak; his breathing was loud and clear, as if he were choked with catarrh.
“Ruby,” he whispered, and when she didn’t stir, he repeated hoarsely: “Ruby, wake up.”
Woburn was only a foot behind him. He thrust the muzzle of the gun into the flesh-covered ribs, and, as the big body made a convulsive movement, he said quietly: “She won’t wake up. And you’re going to join her.”
Lidgett tried to turn his head. He couldn’t, without moving his whole body, because his neck was so fat and stiff. Woburn had a glimpse of small eyes, the pupils in the corners because the man was trying so hard to squint round.
“Wha— wha’s that?”
“I said you’re going to join her,” Woburn breathed into Lidgett’s ear. It was a big ear, with a thick, red, fat lobe. The gun ground into the
ribs, and Lidgett was already beginning to shake. Ruby had summed him up well; physically the man was a coward. Woburn had come across the kind before. There were the men who had to screw themselves up to some great effort and who sometimes cracked in the attempt; no one could blame them. And there were the true cravens, who flinched at the first prospect of danger and made no attempt to fight against their weakness.
“I— I haven’t done anything,” Lidgett gasped.
“So you haven’t done anything. You’ve been downstairs helping to make the murderous octi, and you haven’t been doing anything! How many people died in the village? Remember?”
“I— I didn’t know—” Lidgett began, but he was trembling too much to finish. “I thought— I thought “I’m just a man who doesn’t like murderers,” Woburn said. “I can’t see any other way of stopping you, so I’m killing the household off one by one. Every man and woman here.”
“You— you must be mad!”
“Oh, I’m mad,” Woburn sneered. “I just want to save the lives of a few million odd people, including my friends. That’s how mad I am. There’s just one way, and that’s by wiping out the lot of you.”
Lidgett didn’t try to speak, but stopped twisting his neck round, so as to look at Ruby. He was obviously thinking that the man with the gun in his ribs had already started; had killed her. Now, it would be obvious to him that she was dead. In fact he could see the puffiness at her neck; and that stillness spoke for itself.
“Unless you’d care to help me,” Woburn said.
Lidgett jerked his head round as far as it could go.
“I’ll do anything! I didn’t know what they were going to do, I would have been against it, but— I can’t help myself! Davos is a devil, he’s the Devil himself! He just grinds you down and down, makes you do what he wants, he hasn’t any heart at all. I wouldn’t have joined him if I’d known what he was going to do. He’s crazy, that’s the only explanation, he must be crazy, but he’s got us where he wants us—”
“Why?” Woburn asked. The answer didn’t come at first.
Woburn was at too much physical and mental tension to keep it up for long. And although he believed that Lidgett would crack easily, there was no safety here. A maid might come in. Or Faversham. Had Faversham killed her? That didn’t matter, the thing that mattered was to make Lidgett talk - but it wasn’t safe here.
Lidgett blurted out: “I did a few experiments on some African women, and had to run for cover. He— he gave me a job. That’s how it began. Then he told me of his plans - his big ideas. I— I’m a scientist, not a sentimentalist! But I didn’t think it meant mass murder, the murder of millions! I—”
“Is there anyone in the laboratory now?” Woburn interrupted abruptly. “Eh?”
“Is there anyone in the laboratory?”
“Not to my knowledge, even when we’re busy we always have a couple of hours off for dinner, but—”
“We’re going down there,” Woburn said, very softly. “You’re going to take me. If there’s any trouble and we can’t fool your friends, I’ll shoot you first and the others afterwards. Don’t make any mistake.”
Lidgett was almost sobbing. “I tell you I want to get out of here as much as you do! It’s got too big for me. But we can’t, he’s sent a radio message to London, saying if anyone comes near by ship or by air, he’ll flood all England. They daren’t attack, they just daren’t!”
Lidgett could hardly go on, he was gasping so painfully for breath.
“And— and we can’t get out. There’s a guard round the coast, and invisible rays which give the alarm. We can’t get away, but— but listen, Woburn, listen! He— he’ll let you live, you’re a good specimen, he’ll find you a good mate, a— a young—”
Woburn said harshly: “Where’s the radio transmitter?”
“Down— down in the laboratory, with all the controls,” Lidgett stammered, “but I tell you - we may not be able to get down there. Take my advice, and—”
“If you want a chance to live,” said Woburn, “you’ll take me to the laboratory and the transmitter.”
Lidgett gulped, as if it hurt him.
And he gave way.
“Until yesterday there was electric control in the lab, and only Faversham and that devil could use it, but today it’s been relaxed,” he babbled. “I think that’s because we’re cut off and no one can get off the island. But if we’re caught—”
The man was sobbing for breath.
“Unless you want to leave feet first, you’ll do exactly what I tell you,” Woburn said. It was the only kind of talk that would affect the other. “We’ll take the lift and go straight down. No tricks, no shouts for help.”
“I swear I won’t! But—”
Woburn said: “I’ll walk just behind you, with my right hand in my pocket.” He drew back, caught Lidgett’s right wrist, and thrust his arm upwards behind him. Lidgett groaned. Woburn thrust upwards farther, forcing the man to bend forward from the waist. Lidgett squealed. “Go ahead and open the door,” Woburn said.
“You— you’ll break my arm!”
“Be careful I don’t crack your skull.”
Lidgett gave a little moaning sound as he moved forward. Woburn maintained the grip until the door was open, then let go. Now he was walking into the unknown which might mean disaster. Death. As if death mattered to him, or to any single individual. Think of Reggie, Naomi, the floating bodies in the village, East Anglia, Holland—
The passage was empty.
The lift was on the other side of the staircase; a long walk. It had to be made. In a deathly silence, they went on. Their footsteps sounded clearly on the parquet flooring. Once, Lidgett slipped. They reached the head of the stairs, and looked down. The butler was standing in the hall, looking round as if to make sure that every piece of furniture was in the right place, and every speck of dust banished. He was just a pompous little man.
What would he be like if he knew what Ruby knew?
They passed three doors, and none opened.
They reached the lift, and stopped.
“Press—” began Woburn, and then broke off. One of the little press-buttons was illuminated. It read: ‘Lift Ascending’. Ascending. It might be here now, the door might be flung open at any moment. There was nowhere to hide. By himself, Woburn could have slipped into one of the other rooms, but at the best of times Lidgett wouldn’t be quick moving. He stood to one side, his hand on Lidgett’s wrist again. Anyone with their eyes open would take one look at Lidgett and then shout ‘trouble’.
Any second now . . .
He heard a faint humming sound, then noticed a small hole which he hadn’t seen before. It was about the size of a two-shilling piece, and showed up pale yellow. Of course, the light was on in the lift! That—
The light faded.
The door didn’t open. A moment later, the light at ‘Lift Ascending’ went out. So someone had gone to the Tower Room.
To gloat?
Lidgett muttered: “Shall— shall I press again?”
“Yes.”
This time the lighted sign said: ‘ Lift Descending’. The little spyhole appeared, in yellow, and the lift stopped. Lidgett opened the door, and the lift was empty. Woburn wanted to push the man inside, but Lidgett stumbled. They were in at last, with the door closed and Woburn pressed: ‘Cellar’, and gritted his teeth until that long, slow journey downwards began.
Could the lift be stopped at any of the other floors? It hadn’t stopped when going up, but there might be a way.
Down they crawled.
There was a click, for the first floor; a click, for the ground floor. Then, they slid slowly to a standstill. The only sound was the wheezing of Lidgett’s breath and the murmur of his own.
“Open the door, damn you, don’t wait to be told!”
“S-s-sorry,” Lidgett muttered.
He opened the door. No one was in sight when they entered a passage rather like the one on the bedroom floors, circular, and with a num
ber of doors leading off. There was strip lighting with a greenish tint which made Lidgett look like some throwback to the troglodyte age. Over each of the doors was an illuminated sign. One read Stores, another Main Laboratory, a third Aquarium. Woburn didn’t read the others.
“Laboratory,” he said sharply.
He could ask again if anyone was likely to be there, and simply tell Lidgett that he was living on his nerves. He watched the man put his hand to his pocket. For a key? Yes, just a key. Unsteadily, Lidgett inserted the key, and turned it.
Would there be anyone in a locked room?
The door opened, slowly; everything moved slowly. Inside there was just a dim, bluish light. No one could work in a light so dim, could they?
Could they?
Next moment, they were inside, the door was closed, and Lidgett had put on a switch. Brighter light from powerful strips in the ceiling came on. Woburn took one swift glance round, and saw that the laboratory was empty - but he also saw doors leading off it. The top halves of the doors were of glass, but there was no light against them. Written in black on one door was: Sir Gabriel, in old English lettering. On the other was: Dr. Faversham.
Woburn said: “Can we lock the laboratory door so that no one else can get in?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s crazy to stay here!”
“Lidgett,” Woburn said stonily, “you’ve got to get one thing clear in your mind There isn’t much between you and your Maker.” He took the automatic pistol out of his pocket. “We’re going to stay here as long as I think necessary, and no one is going to come in. Understand that?”
“Yes! I— I’m sorry.”
Woburn moved away from him, but kept watchful. He trusted Lidgett as fully as he would trust the panther outside. The door had no bolts, though; that was certain. Near it was a heavy-looking stool, in front of one of the long benches. He moved towards this, picked it up, and jammed it beneath the handle of the door. It was about the right height. He pushed it more tightly. He couldn’t be sure that it would withstand attack, but there was a good chance. He turned round. Lidgett had done nothing; the man was just craven, only in desperation would he be stung to any attempt to turn the tables.