The Devil's Caress

by June Wright

  “Oh no, Doctor,” Miss Jennet replied confidently, “you’re wrong. Kate would never do that to me.”

  Marsh gave up. She settled herself in a chair at the table to watch Shane. Miss Jennet chattered to herself under her breath and made clicking noises of expostulation.

  “He looks like a dead man,” she whispered presently, peering over the girl’s shoulder.

  “He’ll be all right,” Marsh answered shortly.

  “You know, Doctor, I’ve been thinking. If he were dead he wouldn’t be able to talk about putting Kate in gaol, would he?”

  Marsh sighed resignedly. “No,” she agreed.

  “Don’t you think—I mean, I wouldn’t mind a bit going back to the laboratory in the dark to get whatever you need. Perhaps you could make it look as though he died from drink. That was the way Isabella killed her husband in The Widow of Westlea.”

  “Don’t talk foolishly,” the girl said harshly. “We’re not living in one of your erotic radio serials.” She glanced over her shoulder. Miss Jennet’s plump face was bedewed with perspiration and her eyes were excited. “You must face facts,” she told her more gently. “Katherine Waring has already murdered two people—her husband and Sam. Maybe poor Betty is another victim, but there must be no others. When Shane recovers we’ll go with him to the police. He has positive proof that Sam was murdered that will make Walker believe our story.”

  “Oh no, no!” the woman whispered.

  Marsh sank her head into her hands. “I’m sorry. There is no other course to take. Please try not to be distressed.”

  “You can’t do it!” Miss Jennet moved about behind the girl’s chair in agitation. “I must think. What will I do? What—” she broke off.

  Marsh stared dully at the wall in front of her, where the woman’s shadow was thrown. She saw the shadow come across hers and only comprehended what the upraised arm meant as something struck the base of her skull. She sank forward over the table, unconscious.

  IV

  When she came back to her senses she was still sitting at the table, but her arms had been hooked around the chair and tied together. She opened her eyes and saw that Shane was now awake, but heavy-lidded and blinking dazedly at the rope that secured him to the couch as he lay.

  Before Marsh had time to speak, Miss Jennet came bustling into the room carrying a jug of water.

  “You’ve come to, have you? I was getting worried. I was just going to try throwing water over you both.” She giggled. “Shall I? I’ve always wanted to do it to someone.”

  “Undo my hands at once,” Marsh ordered coldly.

  The woman cocked her head on one side, her eyes bright with a silly mischief. “No, I won’t. You think you’ve been awfully clever, Dr. Mowbray, but you’ve been very stupid really.”

  “Shane!” Marsh said. “Tell her about Sam’s death. Tell her how serious the position is.”

  “Oh, I know all about that beastly boy. I should.” She gave a sly sidelong glance.

  The girl’s mouth went dry. The pieces of the pattern had suddenly been whirled into confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Miss Jennet held up one plump hand, inspecting it nonchalantly. “I killed him,” she announced.

  Marsh was stunned with shock, but Shane let out a short laugh.

  “It wasn’t funny,” the woman reproached him. “It really took all my nerve. You see, he knew I had taken Kingsley’s box of glucose. In fact, he took it from where I had hidden it behind the radio. To make matters worse, that nasty Arkwright woman made him give it up to her. But I paid her out for her interference by using her knitting-needle to kill Sam. I wanted her to get the blame. She was always annoying Kate, you know. But Commander Arkwright threw Sam’s body in the sea. I overheard him telling you that in Sam’s bungalow,” she added, turning to Marsh.

  Marsh tried to moisten her dry lips. Almost at once she had realized the position she and Shane were in. The pattern had fallen into a simple outline after that first confusion. She had been blind—stupidly blind. Miss Jennet was the real killer. Katherine Waring had been protecting her.

  “Mr Waring,” she managed to ask. “What happened?”

  Miss Jennet seated herself comfortably near the door. “Yes, we may as well get things straight,” she said in a satisfied tone. “I tied you up very securely and no one will even come within shouting distance of us. I am glad you suggested coming here, Doctor. Now, let me see! Oh yes, King. You know, I really hated him. He treated Kate abominably and was always so rude to me. I heard him speaking so unkindly about me to Kate. He said I was simple—like Sam.” Her voice was incredulous.

  “He was an unkind person,” Shane said, and caught Marsh’s eye as he had intended. She gave him a look of sullen despair and he frowned. “Go on,” he urged Miss Jennet.

  She wagged a finger at them. “Now don’t you two start exchanging glances,” she warned them brightly.

  “You don’t miss anything,” Shane observed, in a complimentary tone. Dully Marsh hated him for his sang-froid.

  “Nothing,” Miss Jennet agreed in delight. “It was because of the chance seeing Betty tampering with King’s hypodermic that my whole plan started. Betty wasn’t really the cause of King’s death, you know. I think she only wanted to give him a fright. I did most of the work—the vital part. I even prepared the wrong dinner, so that he didn’t eat much. I need hardly tell you how insulin works on an empty stomach. I told you I knew a lot about medical matters once, didn’t I, Dr. Mowbray?”

  Marsh nodded. Her long fingers had been trying to reach the knot in the cord that tied her wrists.

  “I nearly died laughing sometimes,” the woman recalled. “Time and time again I let something fall that you should have noticed. Remember your first morning when I gave you a cup of tea in the kitchen? I counted the cups and named everyone but King. I knew he’d be dead by then—or just about. And then when you were asking me about the ones who went to the laboratory. You didn’t seem to think it important that I was one. But I mustn’t waste any more time chattering. Where do you keep the oil for your lamps?” she asked Shane.

  He stared up at her, quite sober now. “Find it yourself,” he said coolly.

  She leaned over him and slapped him across the face sharply. “I’ve always wanted to do that, too,” she said, and giggled uncontrollably. “I bet it is in your kitchen.”

  “What are you going to do?” Marsh asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “You can’t possibly get away with—with—”

  “Oh yes, I can,” Miss Jennet nodded. “I have a wonderful plan this time.”

  Marsh put all the force of command into her voice. “Stop this nonsense at once. Do you think Dr. Kate will keep on protecting you for ever?”

  The woman opened her eyes wide. “Of course. Years ago when Kate took me in she said: ‘Don’t ever worry about anything, Jen. You are my responsibility and I will always look after you.’”

  “Miss Jennet, you must not—”

  “Oh, let her go,” Shane interrupted wearily.

  Marsh turned her head. “Do you know what she is going to do? Can’t you guess?”

  “Shut up, girl!” He lowered his voice. “Listen closely. Is there any chance of getting your hands free?”

  She reached for the knot desperately, and then shook her head, slumping against the table edge.

  “The chair is heavy, I know, but you should be able to edge nearer to me, so that I can get your hands undone. We’ll have to wait until that crazy creature goes or she may see our plan and cap it with one of her own.”

  “There won’t be much time,” Marsh said, her voice quivering.

  He looked at her closely. “Time enough for you to get out.”

  “No, Shane. I can’t do that. I’ll get you free somehow.”

  “Don’t be a fool, girl, and do as I say. Get back to Dr. Kate and tell her I
made up for thinking ill of her all these years by saving your life.”

  “Ah, don’t joke!” Marsh said, with a little moan. “We have such little time.”

  “Do you want me to indulge in heroics? Hush, here she comes.”

  Miss Jennet came in carrying two kerosene tins. “You shouldn’t keep them with your horse,” she said reproachfully. “Supposing something happened and his shed caught fire?”

  “Miss Jennet,” said Marsh, breathing quickly. “You must not do this terrible thing.”

  “I must, I must!” she cried shrilly. She opened the front door and the wind swept in, making the hanging lamp swing. “See! I will start it on the verandah and the smoke will soon suffocate you. You won’t feel the fire.” She carried the tins outside.

  Marsh struggled in her chair. Her face was wet with a sweat of fear; a fear such as she had never conceived possible.

  “Don’t, girl!” Shane said gently. “You’ve got a chance, a good one. Don’t panic.”

  “I won’t leave you,” she replied, through her clenched teeth.

  “You’re a fool. I never thought I’d admire a fool.” Then he spoke sharply. “Start moving. Quickly!”

  A soft explosion had sounded, then a crackle as the dry old weatherboards caught. A weaving mist of smoke rushed into the room. They could hear the crazed woman calling: “You won’t feel a thing. It will all be over soon.”

  Marsh lunged sideways to get free of the table. Her movement was too fast and, bound to the chair, she fell heavily.

  “Up!” Shane ordered. “Hurry!”

  The crackle of fire was louder now. Smoke gushed into the room. Slowly and laboriously Marsh dragged herself to her knees and edged forward. She was at the other side of the table now, where Shane’s bookcase stood. The chair was heavy and awkward on her back, and she fell on to her face again as one leg caught in the table. She tried to pull herself free, but the passage was too narrow.

  “I can’t get through,” she cried, coughing. It was becoming difficult to breathe. She glanced back. The door of the cottage was edged with flames. “It’s no use, I can’t move.”

  Her head started to drum unpleasantly and black shadows seemed to creep up the corners of her vision. Somewhere, far away, she heard Shane’s voice, but she did not try to follow what he was saying. The smoke was suffocating her as Miss Jennet said it would. She fell forward for the last time, unconscious.

  Chapter Eleven

  I

  It was so good to breathe the fresh, salt-laden air again. Marsh sighed and turned her head on its pillow from side to side.

  “Marsh!” said a voice above her head. She opened her eyes, but everything was dark. “I can’t see,” she whispered, very afraid.

  Katherine Waring’s cool hand took hers in a gentle clasp. “It’s all right, my poor brave child. You are quite safe. It’s only dark because it is night.”

  Then she realized she was lying in the open outside the burnt-out cottage. There was a coat over her and another under her head. She struggled to sit up, her head swimming. Dimly through the dark she could see Shane and Simon Morrow standing a little way off. Between them on the ground lay another figure, silent and shrouded.

  She turned back to Katherine Waring, whose grip on her hand had tightened. “Miss Jennet?” she asked jerkily. The other nodded, but did not speak. Later Marsh learned what had happened.

  Not long after she had escaped from Reliance, taking Miss Jennet with her, Katherine discovered their flight. Sick with fear at the danger the girl might be in, she called Simon Morrow.

  It was Morrow’s idea that the girl would have gone to Shane’s as the only place possible. Her car was still in the yard, and he himself had just returned from the Tom Thumb where Betty Donne had fled in a fit of hysterical self-pity. A discreet call to Walker proved that Marsh had not gone to the police, and as the mail-car had left the township in the afternoon the chances were that she and Miss Jennet were still in Matthews.

  After these inquiries they both set out for Shane’s cottage, Katherine hurrying ahead with an instinct of impending disaster. The sight of the cottage with the verandah ablaze drew from her a gasp of horror.

  “Jennet!” she screamed wildly, running forward.

  “In through the back way,” Morrow ordered. Neither of them paid any heed to the whinnying, plunging horse in the adjoining shed. They thought the terrified screams came from the house.

  Miss Jennet had left the kitchen door open. Covering his mouth and nose with his hand, Morrow dashed through to the smoke-filled room where Marsh lay unconscious on the floor.

  “Get a knife from the kitchen,” Shane managed to gasp through the suffocating atmosphere. “We’re tied up. The girl is here on the floor.”

  The flames were creeping into the room, making it intensely hot. With the sweat pouring from his face, Morrow managed to free Marsh.

  “Get her out first,” Shane said. “She’s fainted, I think.”

  Katherine bent over him, slashing at the cords that bound him. Through the smoke he looked up at her set face. The flames crept nearer but she did not falter.

  Then Morrow was behind her, a wet handkerchief tied over the lower part of his face. “Outside.” His muffled voice was curt.

  He had Shane free just as the front wall of the cottage collapsed, showering them with sparks. Slapping at their clothes, the two men dived at the door.

  “Saracen,” Shane said, as soon as they were outside. “He’s mad with fright. I’ll have to get him out. The shed will catch soon.”

  Morrow followed him. The door of the stable was ajar and the horse, eyes rolling and ears laid back, was dashing himself against the barrier of his stall. The glow of the fire lighted the inside of the shed with an ominous red.

  “Look!” said Morrow, clutching the other man’s arm. Just inside the stall lay a dumpy, huddled shape. Even as they saw her, Saracen reared up again. One hoof came down on the blood-soaked hair.

  “She must have been trying to get him out,” Shane said in a hard voice. “She didn’t mind us burning to death, but the horse touched her sentimentality.”

  “You know, then?” Morrow asked quickly.

  Shane nodded, and began to coax the terrified animal.

  Morrow stood aside as he led him, kicking and plunging, into the cold free air. Then bending down, he gently gathered up the battered body and carried it outside to Katherine.

  II

  Simon Morrow took Shane to his own house, but Katherine and Marsh went back to Reliance. There, exhausted and grimed, the girl was unable to rest until she knew the full story.

  “All my life,” Katherine explained to her, “I have had responsibilities thrust on me. Sometimes I accepted them as tributes, precious to anyone’s ego, but other times they have been burdens. Either way I regarded them as obligations. The habit to shoulder other people’s mistakes and problems became so strong that it formed part of my existence.

  “I have tried to be patient, just, farseeing—and above all, tolerant. Such an existence earns few friends and many enemies, for the world does not accept the ideals it seemed to force on me. It sneers at them, jibes at them and whispers maliciously.

  “And yet I could not change and would not change, for in that way I thought I was happy.

  “Kingsley was my greatest responsibility. In many ways he was like a child; anxious to know and do everything, ignoring the confusion he created, the mistakes he made, and shelving responsibility. King’s talent lay in only one direction, medically speaking. He was a surgeon, and nothing else. Time and time again I covered up for him, when he wantonly dabbled outside his métier—as in the case of Sam.

  “King brought this imbecile into the house. I don’t know where he got him, but it amused him for a while trying to develop that poor brain. Very soon the novelty faded and I had to step in to carry on when King suddenly
lost interest.

  “A similar incident happened with the case Dr. Shane told you about. That patient was King’s and not mine, as he told Shane. Again I covered up for him, but I made it the end of our partnership. A patient had died and a young doctor’s reputation had been smirched without any sense of guilt or responsibility on King’s part. I could not continue with him professionally.

  “He was terribly hurt at my decision and the reason for it. He never would admit later that our break was the starting-point of his successful career as a surgeon. He harboured a grudge continually and never lost an opportunity to try and revenge his wounded pride by sly slandering and subtle innuendoes.

  “This almost diabolical cunning lost me Michael, friends and even nurses I employed in my rooms, for he had a tremendous charm which most people took for integrity.

  “I could do nothing, for time and time again he would come back asking forgiveness and making liberal promises. Perhaps I knew he would never change, but he was my responsibility and I accepted him.

  “Then he became poor in health. He hated that. That was why I thought he had planned suicide. I was shocked and bewildered at first. For a moment I even considered it might be better to let him do what he wanted. But when he died thinking I had caused his death, and then Sam was killed immediately afterwards, I knew what had happened. The new responsibility was mine, for in effect I had caused both murders.

  “To Jennet, my life with King seemed intolerable and Sam an unnecessary obligation. She had killed them both for my sake. What could I do but protect her from the consequences of her drastic thoughtlessness? Once all the talk had died down, my idea was to get her away to some remote spot where she could do no further harm.

  “And there was Betty, too, to consider, for although she played a part in King’s death she never had the intention to murder him. The shock when he did die almost unbalanced her. She became so bad that I decided to make her hate me. In that way she lost the guilt complex which was associated only with her adoration. Simon says she seems to have settled down with the Bannisters.”