by David Case
John looked up, startled, then belatedly leaped back with the drunkard’s delayed reaction. I exhaled with relief. John shook his head and blinked vacuously; he started to wave the automobile past but then leaned closer, peering through the windshield. He hadn’t understood who was in the car or where I had gone. He had simply been staggering back to his room, already befuddled by brandy. Now he recognized Mallory. His lips drew back and his eyes blazed as if the alcohol he’d consumed had suddenly ignited within his skull, burning behind his eyes with a furious glow.
He advanced on the car, blocking the exit.
I rushed up to intercept him.
Mallory leaned out the window.
“Stand aside,” he commanded.
John placed one hand on the hood of the Bentley and leaned down toward Mallory.
“You,” he said.
“You are in my path, sir,” sneered Mallory.
“And I’ll damned well stay in your path,” John seethed. He suddenly had become the man I’d known before, quite capable if necessary of violent action. “Is it true, Mallory? What you told Ashley?”
He hadn’t noticed me.
I started to grasp his arm, then halted, my hand extended. I couldn’t blame him; why should I stop him? Mallory stared at him with a strange expression, not quite pity, but not precisely disdain. Then Mallory spoke softly. “As it happens, it is true,” he said. “Now, my man, will you stand aside?”
John frowned and remained where he was.
“You are disgustingly drunk,” Mallory said.
John blinked as if he couldn’t believe this. Then, moving with alacrity, he grasped Mallory by the collar and threw open the door. Mallory squawked. His sudden affright pleased me, and I stepped back, unwilling to play his savior. A powerful man, John Cunningham wrenched him from the car and turned him in one motion against the wall. He held him there. Mallory was tall and his body bent, describing the curve of the stone arch at his back. His long black coattails flapped like a raven’s wings, and his fingers writhed in wild gesticulation. John held him with one hand and doubled the other into a fist.
“Now you’ll answer me with a civil tongue, you bastard,” he cried.
Mallory’s mouth worked, but he was not replying to John. He uttered an incoherent cry, obviously terrified far more than the circumstances justified.
I smiled.
Then Sam moved.
He had been so still, a mindless mass of inorganic matter, and now he was instantly transformed into a thing of blinding motion. He groped across the front seat and up from the door, rising behind John on taut thighs. His countenance was still idiotic, but now some terrible light had animated his eyes.
I shouted a warning.
John half turned, and Sam struck him across the jaw. It was an openhanded blow, hardly more than a slap in the dynamics of such motion, and yet John was hurled from his feet. He flew through the air, his hand still clenched at Mallory’s collar so that a banner of black cloth was torn away, fluttering behind him.
I moved to catch him before he struck the ground, and he rammed into me with great force. I am as strong as the next man, but I could not halt that impetus. I fell backward with John sprawled crosswise over my knees. The cobblestones grated against my back. I was stunned. I placed my hands beneath me and levered myself into a sitting position with John still lying across my lap.
I looked up into the most fearsome sight I have ever beheld—
Sam was crouched over us.
His face was now beyond the idiotic, beyond even the bestial. It was superhuman. His mouth was still open but no longer slack. It was drawn into a hideous grimace. His nostrils flared wide, black. His eyes were suffused with some dark unnatural lust. As I gazed into this terrible face, my flesh froze, I could not move. John groaned weakly. Sam grasped for my throat—
His hands came out, fingers drawn into talons, and fastened on my neck. They closed with tremendous power, wrenching me from my stupor. I started to resist, but his strength was incredible. He drew me up from the ground. John tumbled from my legs. Sam hauled me upward as though I were weightless; lifted me up toward that fiendish face, those bared fangs—I cried out, but the sound came smothered as his fingers dug into my throat. My mind spun in terror. My vision blurred, background fading, so that only an inhuman face was in focus, lowering closer, closer, turning slightly to commit his mouth to my throat.
Then I was on the stones, trembling.
Mallory was standing over me, one hand on Sam’s chest, holding him back and shouting wordlessly, a command more primitive than the verbal. Over his shoulder I could see Sam’s face. His countenance dissolved slowly, by degrees, eyes dimming and mouth growing slack, until once again he had assumed the aspect of an imbecile.
When Mallory pointed to the car, Sam turned docilely and staggered in.
“Good God,” I sobbed.
Mallory assisted me to my feet.
John was on his hands and knees, head lowered, his hair hanging down to the cobblestones over his declined brow. He was moaning.
“Are you all right?” Mallory asked.
“I—think so. I—what in the name of God caused him to act that way?”
“He doesn’t act. He reacts.”
“But—it was—” I was brushing my clothes, still a bit stunned, as if it were important to remove the dust.
“Sam is very loyal to me,” Mallory said.
“But he was inhuman.”
“He is an imbecile.”
“More than that—”
“Why seek the supernatural in a deranged mind?” Mallory replied, reasonably enough. “We all have that inherent fear of the deranged, of course. But that’s all it is. It was unfortunate that your—friend—sought to attack me.”
Sam was motionless in the car. I turned and helped John to rise. His jaw hung open in ironic echo of Sam’s, and his eyes were dazed.
“You’d better have a doctor look at him,” Mallory said. “I’ll accept the responsibility. Although it wasn’t my fault, of course. He did attack me. Sam was just the faithful dog, protecting his master.”
“We aren’t troubled about responsibility,” I told him. Now that my shock had ebbed, I was angry. “I’ll see to John. You’d better take Sam away. Whatever possessed you to bring him into town?”
“He would have been peaceful enough. I didn’t wish to leave him unattended.”
“Unattended?” I said, then started. “My God. Arabella lives in the same house as he? She’s alone with him at times? Mallory, how can—”
“Oh, she is quite safe. Sam has become rather devoted to her, actually.”
“But my God, man, you just saw—I can’t allow her to take a chance like that—”
“You can’t prevent it, you mean,” he observed with an amused sneer that faded abruptly. He stooped, picked up the manila envelope from where it had fallen, and handed it to me. His tone had moderated as he said, “But, you are quite right, of course. I hadn’t realized how potentially dangerous Sam has become. He had never acted that way before, as you may well imagine. I’ll take all precautions in the future, I assure you.”
“That is advisable.”
“I deeply regret this incident—and your friend’s behavior, which caused it.”
That enraged me. John was tottering dazedly at my side, still stunned. I retorted, “And which caused you a moment of intense discomfort, eh? You were certainly frightened, Mallory, before you were rescued.”
Mallory appeared surprised.
“Did you think I was afraid of him? That I feared physical violence? You judge me harshly, my friend. I fear only death. But death can come by accident, by misadventure, when one deals with violent men. And I choose to avoid the near occasions of death until—until my work is finished.”
I shrugged and turned to examine John.
&nbs
p; “Well, then. Until tomorrow?”
I nodded.
“I’ll come to get you when you’re ready. You needn’t worry about Sam.”
I ignored him. Mallory strode across the courtyard and reentered his car. The Bentley hurtled out from the arch, neither passenger looking back. John was recovering his senses, shaking his head. I put my arm around his shoulders and helped him back into the bar.
Mabel looked up and gasped.
Coots turned, his pipe smoldering, smiling until he saw us. Then his face jolted with shock. I assisted John to a table and said, “You’d better phone for the doctor, Mabel.” She nodded and hastened out, one hand at her throat. Coots came over slowly, holding his pipe in hand. He seemed concerned and, withal, strangely frightened.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“There’s been an accident,” I said. How readily that word comes to mind, how conveniently it resists explanation. Sam had had an accident too, Mallory had said. It is a word which covers a multitude of meaning. Coots was peering intently into John’s face, bending over him.
“No need to worry,” I said.
“It’s not that,” Coots muttered. “It’s the look of his jaw.”
“Yes, it seems rather a nasty injury.”
“Didn’t mean that,” said Coots.
I looked at him. He was still gaping at John. He spoke through his teeth, as if the pipe yet were clenched there. “The corpse I found in the woods,” he said. “That’s just the way the jaw looked on the corpse.”
Dr. Plum was a fragile birdlike man with a watch chain across his waistcoat and an air of perpetual efficiency. I waited outside John’s room while he conducted his examination. My neck had begun to ache where Sam’s gauntleted fingers had penetrated, but there seemed to be no serious damage beyond the bruising. Presently Plum emerged, a dapper man whose shoes gleamed like reflectors.
“Is he all right?” I asked.
“He’s sleeping now. I administered a sedative.”
“His jaw—”
“Was broken, yes. I’ve wired it up. Unpleasant, but a clean break, there should be no difficulties other than the normal discomfort.” Plum peered up at me. “It must have been a powerful blow?”
“Strangely, it didn’t look hard. Casually, almost.”
“Um. Must’ve been mighty.”
I agreed.
“Now, shall we see about you?”
“I’m all right.”
“Your throat there. Those marks.”
“Just bruises.”
“Um. This is all most peculiar.”
We headed for the stairs.
“Could he have been an exponent of one of those foreign styles of combat?”
“I shouldn’t think so. Don’t know where he’d have learned it. Very English. He was in the army—”
“Oh, yes? Well, perhaps that would account for it then. Commando training or some such, eh? Too bad they can’t deactivate these types before they turn them loose on society.”
We descended the staircase.
Constable Chive was talking with Mabel at the reception desk. I assumed she had summoned him on her own initiative. He had taken off his helmet and was mopping his brow. He approached us at the foot of the stairs, gazing meaningfully at Plum.
“He’ll be all right,” said the doctor.
Chive turned to me.
“Will you be making any charges, sir?”
“No.”
“And Mr. Cunningham?”
“No, I think not.”
“All right to speak to him now, Dr. Plum?”
“He’s sleeping.”
“I see. Well, now. What caused this attack, sir?”
I hesitated, wondering what misinformation Mabel had passed on, then uttered feebly, “A misunderstanding.”
Chive waited for further explanation.
“Obviously the man is not responsible for his actions,” I said. “It might be advisable if he were put away somewhere where he couldn’t endanger anyone else. But that is hardly your concern.”
“No, sir, it is not.”
“It was a private matter.”
Chive nodded and once again donned his helmet. He must have known about Mallory and Arabella, but his face remained expressionless. I was thinking about Mallory. I had given him credit for exhibiting humanitarian concern over an unfortunate servant when it would have been far less bother to have him committed; now I saw the relationship in a different perspective. Sam might be an imbecile, but he could have his uses. I recalled how terrified Mallory had appeared when threatened by John Cunningham. I’d not thought him the cowardly type, but the fact was evident in his face, and with his abrasive personality, he might well find it expedient to retain Sam as a sort of bodyguard. I nonetheless doubted whether one could bring charges against Sam, for it was indisputable that John had initiated the assault. It was fortunate that Mallory had been able to restrain him.
I touched my neck.
Very fortunate.
I followed Plum and the constable out into the street. The latter walked off behind his shadow, while Plum blinked once and glanced in the opposite direction. “I’ll walk along with you, Doctor,” I said. “I could use some air.”
“Quite right. Air and exercise, that’s what men need. I’m not so sure about excitement, though.” He smiled. We strolled casually side by side. “Funny thing. I’ve been in practice here the better part of forty years, never had much excitement, everybody dies in bed. Now we’ve suddenly had two murders and this assault. Not that this is comparable to the murders, of course, but still it’s exciting.” We were moving into the afternoon angles, the toes of his shoes casting light like twin mirrors. “Curious how things come in cycles.”
“Like epidemics.”
“Just so. The epidemics of contingency.”
Casually, I asked, “Were you called when Sam Cooper had his accident?”
“How’s that?”
“When he suffered the brain damage?”
“Why, no. I knew nothing of that. His—condition—was caused physically, then?”
“So Mallory told me.”
“Recently?”
“I believe so.”
“I meant—since they’ve been here?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Now isn’t that curious?”
“How’s that, Doctor?”
“Why, I’ve never been called out to The Croft. An accident serious enough—”
“Is there not another doctor in Farriers Bar?”
“No. Nor nearby, come to that.”
I pursed my lips. Why, I wondered, had the doctor not been summoned immediately when Sam sustained his fall? With such extensive damage he must have been close to death, and why would Mallory wait until he could get Snow all the way from London? Then I shrugged. He obviously wasn’t fond of the village residents, and that may have included the doctor. He had an automobile and most likely had driven Sam to the nearest hospital. That had to be the explanation, for surely he wouldn’t have failed to obtain an immediate diagnosis.
Plum interrupted my thoughts.
“I wonder how it is that the man has so much strength if his brain was physically injured? To strike such a powerful blow implies he has not only strength, but reflexes as well. But those conditions are hardly in accord with brain damage which has been externally inflicted. The one seems to preclude the other.” He deliberated the matter, taking small steps. “Insanity, yes, that would not affect his physical prowess—in many cases it enhances it, actually. You’ve heard of the incredible strength which madmen often possess. By madmen I mean those unfortunates who by reason of chemical imbalance within their own brain become deranged. However, if Sam Cooper suffered physical damage to his brain tissue—why, that invariably results in loss of facilities—th
ey become uncoordinated, lose the power of speech, blurred vision, things like that. I can’t see how an accident could actually increase a man’s physical prowess. Still, there are many things which I don’t know and can’t see. That doesn’t mean they aren’t there, eh?” He gave a deprecating smile. We walked on, passing the tobacconist at the corner. It was still closed, the metal grate lowered before the door. Plum seemed to be thinking further.
“I suppose this altercation concerned Cunningham’s daughter, did it not?”
I nodded.
“Yes. Thought as much. Not very difficult to figure that out, was it? Same as his drinking. Cunningham’s, I mean. Suppose I shouldn’t mention that, really, but I’m sure you’ve noticed it yourself. Drinks altogether too much. It troubles me. I suppose he’ll become reconciled, in time. But the brandy can’t help. No. I’m afraid he’ll find that troubles can’t be drowned in alcohol. On the contrary. Troubles, like drowned corpses, become more bloated and hideous after protracted immersion in fluids.”
“I’ll be going out to The Croft tomorrow,” I volunteered.
“John asked me to speak to Arabella.”
“Is that so? He asked me to visit her too, you know. Has some idea she’s been drugged or something. That’s nonsense, of course, he just can’t face the reality; has to seek other reasons to ease the situation. Although I’m sure I’d rather have a daughter—if I had a daughter—seduced by normal sexual processes rather than ruined by narcotics. Anyway, I can’t just show up there without being called, of course. She’s of age.”
I wanted to restore the conversation to Sam Cooper, and said, “This Sam. Would it be your opinion that the man should be committed?”
Plum waved a hand.
“Couldn’t say without I’d examined him, you know. Probably couldn’t say anyhow, really.” He smiled modestly. “I’m just a simple country doctor,” he said, with his polished toes glinting. “Of course, if the man is dangerously violent—as he was today—Then again, to hear our good vicar tell it, Mallory himself should be clamped in an asylum. Or a dungeon, more likely. Bound up in chains and guarded by flaming swords.” He chuckled. “A great exponent of the Inquisition is our good vicar. I expect you’ve heard about the garden party?”