The Z Murders (20 page)

Chapter XXXIII

Writing in Blood

The countryman stared at the sleeve uncomfortably. Then he stared at the insensible girl whose fate, as well as his own, appeared to be at the mercy of that flapping portion of garment. Then he stared back at the man without arms again.

“Are you threatening me?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied the man without arms. “If you're not satisfied, no more am I.” His tone hardened. “When you called on Ledlow, what did you do—
besides
finding out what I sent you there to find out?”

“Nothing!”

“You
didn't
find that packet of beads?”

“D'you suppose I'd be here, if I had?”

“No, I don't! Thanks for admitting it! We're getting things straight now, aren't we?”

“So much the better!”

“I agree.”

“So much the better! Isn't it what I began this conversation for? I didn't do anything when I called on Ledlow but find out what we wanted to find out, and then report to you.”

“You needed my brain?”

“Look here, you want it both ways, don't you?” retorted the countryman. “If I work on my own, I'm double-crossing you, and if I don't I'm soft! Your brain, eh? If you call that thing behind your forehead a brain, what's it led us into? It was your brain sent me back to Ledlow a second time, wasn't it, after you'd hatched your insane scheme, and told me to tickle him up by telling him where it was to begin.”

“Euston—five a.m.,” murmured the man without arms.

“Yes, Euston, five a.m. And it scared him so much that he went off his nut, and babbled, and the old woman who looked after him got scared herself over his delirium, and wrote to—
her
!”

He pointed to the insensible girl.

“Well, we've got her here, haven't we?” answered the man without arms. “
She's
safe not to babble!”

“Yes—
now
! And the devil's own job it's been!” snapped the countryman. “And who carried the job out? You or me?”

“You did, because I was on duty elsewhere,” replied the man without arms. “That was your luck. But I'd have enjoyed the job, if I could have done them both. Oh, yes! I'd have enjoyed it! First following her to Euston station, eh, and then on to the hotel—by the way, why did she try the station first? Do you suppose ‘Euston' was all she had to go upon. ‘Euston—five a.m.,' and the terror of a delirious old man? Anyway, that's what she did, while I was waiting outside the window for some one to occupy that empty chair. Might have been placed for the purpose, eh? Well, I can only wish that other man had sat in it, and then—”

“Yes, then we shouldn't have had
him
on the trail!” interposed the countryman. “Exactly! Your pretty plan brought
two
unwanted people into the business!”

“Unwanted! I don't think so. They've been useful—as I knew they would be when I told you to tail the girl off, and to keep her on the course. Where the girl went, the man would go. Ruth and Lavine, eh? And if they were kept on the course—the police would be kept off it, eh? Don't you realise even yet how prettily we've diverted the police to a couple of red herrings?”

“Damned inconvenient red herrings! What did you want to leave that sign at her studio for before going to Bristol?”

“I thought it might help you, while
you
stayed behind. Yes, and why did you stay behind so long? Why didn't you find some way of bringing the girl after me earlier in the day? It might have saved a gipsy woman's life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, she would have made an admirable subject for the second fatality—the second point in the letter I am writing—the letter that will be completed at Whitchurch!” A mad leer flashed into his face for an instant, and was gone the next. “But as I couldn't lose her at the second, I wanted her with me at the
third
—”

“And you'd have had her with you,” growled the countryman, “if you'd waited at Charlton till I turned up with her, as we'd planned. Why didn't you wait? The car was tucked away near the Carpenter's Arms—”

“Yes, and so were plenty of other people,” came the sharp interruption. “That damned aviator raised the hue and cry too soon. You had your instructions to follow, if things went wrong.”

“And I did follow—”

“How many hours late?”

“Blast you, that wasn't my fault! Do you think things can only go wrong at your end? I had the devil's time at mine. That girl was dodging all over the place—you scared her properly with that silly sign you slipped through her letter-box—and she wired to Whitchurch. Ah—that interests you! You didn't know that!”

“No, I didn't know that. What did she say in the wire?”

“How do I know?”

“Did she get any reply?”

“She did. And
waited
for it! Now you know why there was no chance of getting her to Bristol in the morning—unless I used force—which we hadn't decided on
then
!” He shot a grim glance at the subject of their conversation. “So I had to use subtlety. Which is more than
you've
ever been capable of!”

“Let's hear your subtlety!”

“That's right! Sneer in advance! But it did the trick. I said to myself, ‘She's worried about her grandfather.' I'd worked it out. She hears that Ledlow has been babbling about Euston and 5 a.m., as though the time and place were sending him daft, and she goes off to find out what's the trouble. And some one gets killed. And her grandfather knew that some one was going to get killed. What's the deduction?”

“That an old man, who can't leave his bed, has committed the murder?” inquired the man without arms, sarcastically.

“Murder! You're free with your terms!”

“I'm leaving the subtlety to you.”

“It's clear you've got to! No, that wasn't the deduction. Her deduction was that Ledlow had something to
do
with the murder.” The countryman paused abruptly. “Of course,” he went on, slowly, “a girl in her confused state might make all sorts of deductions. Yes—she might even think that a miracle had happened, and that the old man had managed to leave his bed. Still, after all, that's neither here nor there. The point is—and it's the point I banked on—she was worried stiff about her grandfather, she
was
confused, and she couldn't go for the police.”

“Why not?”

“Why not, bonehead? If Ledlow had wanted the police, he'd have babbled for the police, and the old woman would have gone for the police! But
you
know he didn't dare send for the police—that was your whole position, wasn't it?”

The man without arms nodded.

“Well, then! While he's babbling about his Euston and his 5 a.m.—”

“You evidently dinned them into him well,” commented the man without arms.

“You told me to,” answered the countryman, “and I do everything well. I can even keep to a story when I'm constantly interrupted! While he's babbling he also babbles about his fear of the police. Or maybe the old woman asks him if he wants the police, and he tells her he doesn't. So when the old woman writes in desperation to—to the girl in the corner there—she passes on the injunction that the police mustn't be consulted. That gets it all straight, doesn't it?”

The man without arms nodded again.

“Good. So what I do is this. I slip a note in her letter-box. In the afternoon, when she's gone back to the studio and given those other fools the slip. The note begs her—in printing letters—to be near the Carpenter's Arms at Charlton at midnight. It's written in such a way that it might be from her grandfather or from some one interested in him. It repeats the injunction not to go to the police. It implies that something fatal may happen if she does not go. And so—she goes.”

“And you go after her?”

“Yes. And so do some other unwanted people! I tell you, I've had a job! If you'd—delayed your plans a little, you could have had her on the spot when you wanted her.”

“You've just implied there were too many other people on the spot for that.”

“Quite true. You see, I'm not unreasonable. I can see logic. But why didn't you nip off in the car we'd tucked away for the purpose?”

The man without arms held up his flapping sleeves.

“Who's the intelligent one now?” he asked, cynically.

“Yes, yes, of course!” muttered the countryman, annoyed with himself. “You had to have somebody to drive you.”

“Yes. As you weren't there. And I also had to have somebody to—dispose of—as
she
wasn't there!” He flapped a sleeve towards the girl at his side. “The disposal took place in Boston just as you were all leaving Charlton. I seem to have won the race all along the line, don't I?”

“Yes, but now I've caught you up!” grinned the countryman. “Beat the others on the road, and caught you up.”

“And
I
guessed you would, and came to meet you.”

“That's right.”

“And turned you round again.”

“That's right.”

“And, by a little ruse, caught one of the others!”

“Right beside you!”

“Yes—right beside me,” nodded the man without arms. “And now you wonder whether we are going to
finish
the race or not? Whether we're going to fall off the final lap to Whitchurch—”

“And make a bee-line straight for the coast,” interposed the countryman, and now his grin vanished, and he looked at the other earnestly. “Yes, that's what I'm wondering, Pretty-mug! This final lap—we may be caught up in it! Who knows? All the runners aren't down. And if we are caught up, there'll be no coast for
us
! It'll be—do you
know
what it'll be?” He banged his fist suddenly on his knee. “Not a piece of plum-cake for being good boys!”

The man without arms shifted his position slightly. His right sleeve lay in his lap, neatly directed towards the driver's seat.

“You have mentioned my plain speaking,” he said in his disquieting monotone, and the countryman suddenly became conscious again of the total lack of facial expression. “Here is some more plain speaking. Without fingers, hands, or arms, I am writing a letter across England. The letter Z. The letter on my forehead. The letter that was burned there as a sign that I was finished—the letter I am now writing as a sign that Ledlow is about to be finished. Ledlow knows—Ledlow understands—Ledlow is waiting for the final scratch of the pen.” The sleeve moved slightly. “And you suggest that I should leave the letter unfinished—the letter that began at Euston at 5 a.m., and that he has been told to watch?”

He paused, and swallowed softly.

“You are a fool, my friend. You would try and run away from the Universe. You are not even subtle. Those jewels—those coloured beads Ledlow is supposed to have hidden away somewhere—I invented them.” The countryman's face twitched. “Yes, invented them, to keep my kind nurse interested all these years. Would you have been quite so devoted without them? Would you have loved me so much if you hadn't believed that, one day, I would point the way to them?”

He raised his sleeve.

“Turn round, please. I am going to finish my letter. The pen has scratched at London and at Bristol and at Boston. It is now going to scratch at Whitchurch—and, this time, with a
double flourish
!”

And the expressionless face turned towards the girl in the corner. But the sleeve remained raised towards the man in the driver's seat.

Chapter XXXIV

Whitchurch

The journey continued. Once more the car travelled towards the west. The sun rose behind it, sending its shadow before like black ink.

But the ink should have been red, for this journey westwards was the final stroke of a crimson brain, a brain that was now tracing its last murderous line across the map of England. The line went through Lincolnshire, Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, Staffordshire and Cheshire. It would end in Shropshire, in a small cottage tucked away in enfolding hills. There the writing would be completed.

For a long while no further word was spoken. As once before, the man without arms sat behind his driver, dictating with the voiceless gun in his sleeve. The driver himself was not in a mood for conversation.

He thought hard, however. His ego had been insulted and his life was in danger. Despite his unenviable position, he did not admit the theory that he was finished. And indeed, as he thought, a new expression gradually grew in his sullen eyes, and the insulted ego began to feel a little happier. “Not clever enough, aren't I?” he reflected, grimly. “Well, we'll see!”

They ran out of Stafford. A Cheshire labourer winked from his pre-war bicycle as they went past him. Cheshire was soon finished with. They entered Shropshire.

“How much farther?” asked the man without arms.

“Only a few miles now,” answered the countryman.

His voice was quite amicable. The man without arms noticed it.

“Feeling better about it?” he inquired, sardonically.

“I'm not worrying,” replied the countryman. “You know best.”

“Of course I do! Now tell me. What's this Rose-tree Cottage like?”

“Small, and a bit back from the road.”

“Front garden?”

“Front weed-dump.”

“And at the back?”

“Sort of waste-land. Meadow. Stubble.”

“Leading to?”

“A stretch of water.”

“River?”

“No, pond. Small lake, rather. Quite a size.”

“And the road?”

“What, in front?”

“Is there one at the back?”

“No.”

“Then we won't worry about it. Yes, the one in front. Much traffic?”

“Hardly Piccadilly Circus.”

“Please be explicit.”

“All right. Don't lose your wool. I've never seen any traffic. It's just a lane. This car will be an event.”

“Then we must see that the event isn't recorded before we want it recorded. So the road's lonely, eh? No people likely to be about?”

“Probably not a soul.”

“Any other cottages?”

“Not one within sight. You can take it from me that the spot was made for you.”

“How far is it from the town?”

“Oh—two or three miles. More or less. I don't know, exactly.”

“I didn't ask you exactly. Do we have to go through Whitchurch?”

“I think only a part of it. By the station. But we don't touch the chief streets.”

“So much the better. Where's this we're coming to?”

“This
is
Whitchurch.”

The reply nipped the next question in the bud. The man without arms closed his half-open mouth, and was suddenly silent. His eyes became little black dots.

They ran by the station. They curved into the outskirts of the little low-roofed town. They did not enter the heart of it, and soon its ancient inns, its old-world shops, and the picturesque tower of St. Alkmund's Church fell away on their left, swallowed up by the brooding greyness. They twisted out of one lane into another. Up a steep hill. Down a steeper one. More twists. More hills. The hedges on each side of them grew closer. They did not pass a soul. The car slackened. The countryman half-turned in his seat.

“Almost there,” he reported. “Do you know your plan?”

The man without arms did not reply. He was looking at a low wall that replaced the hedges round a curve. Beneath ran a railway track.

They crossed the bridge at a crawling pace.

“Stop,” ordered the man without arms.

“I was going to,” replied the countryman.

Now the car was still. The countryman descended from his seat, and stood beside the door. “Where's the cottage?” asked the man without arms.

“Round the next bend,” answered the countryman. “Just round.”

“Then we won't take the car any farther,” said the man without arms.

“Not a yard farther,” agreed the countryman. The man without arms smiled at him. The countryman smiled back. But, all at once, his expression changed. “Look out!” he cried. “The girl's coming round!”

“That's an old trick,” said the man without arms. “I've just given her another dose. Try something else.”

The countryman's forehead grew damp. “Damn him!” he thought. It was a bad moment for his ego.

“So you still want to get rid of me, eh?” queried the man without arms.

“What d'you mean?” stammered the countryman. “I thought—”

“No, that's your trouble. You can't think. You need me to think for you. Well, there's a pond over there. How about dropping me in and drowning me? It looks a nice, secluded spot for a body.”

“See here!” exploded the countryman. “If you're not careful, I'll
do
it!”

“If I'm not
very
careful, you'll do it,” agreed the man without arms. “That's why I've got to be very careful, isn't it? You see—everything would be so nice and easy for you afterwards, wouldn't it?”

“What the hell are you driving at?”

“Why, here's the girl. You've only got to hide her, too, and you can use her as a hostage. For barter.”

“Barter? What for?”

“For that little packet of beads you think I lied to you about. You did think I lied to you just now, didn't you? You thought I lied to put you off the scent again. And, thinking that, you went on thinking. You thought you would get rid of me. You thought you would go to Ledlow and say, ‘Don't worry about your life, old chap. Worry about your granddaughter's. But you can have
her
life back, too, if you want, for twenty thousand pounds' worth of diamonds. Where are they?' ”

“You're a devil, if there ever was one!” blazed the countryman.

“And you're a fool, if there ever was one!” answered the man without arms. “Think I can't see an expression when it's reflected in glass? And read it? You should keep your face better—as I do.”

The man without arms presented his expressionless face to the countryman. The countryman saw it through a red haze. In a sudden frenzy of combined anger and fear, he hurled himself upon his tormentor. The next moment, astonishment replaced the anger and the fear.

The man without arms was hanging limply in his own.

“God! I've
got
him!” thought the countryman, holding tight.

The man without arms still hung limply. It was as though the countryman's hugging arms had squeezed the life out of him. He seemed to be dead; to have shrunk out of existence; but whether he were dead or alive made no difference to the immediate position. He was impotent!

The countryman's mind worked swiftly. He noted with satisfaction, and praised himself for his forethought, that he had brought the car to a standstill by a little clump of foliage. He had driven a yard or two off the surface of the lane to secure this sanctuary, and a passer-by, if he noticed the car at all behind its half-screen of overhanging branches, would merely assume it to belong to some picnic party.

The countryman noticed two other things with satisfaction. One was that the large pond was easily accessible from this spot. Just over a bit of broken fence, and then a hundred yards down a gently-sloping field. The other was that the girl in the car was still motionless.

Nevertheless the girl was a grave consideration, and necessitated the quickest action. She might begin to come round at any moment, despite that extra dose she'd just been given, and the countryman would have to be by her when that happened. Yes, and this flabby thing that had once been functioning flesh would have to be
out
of the way. Safely deposited in some place where it would lie snugly for awhile—with no questions asked!

Suddenly the countryman laughed. The wizened creature hugged like a bear's victim against his stomach shook with the movement of the laughter, responding limply to its communicated convulsions. The countryman was a little hysterical.

“‘There's a pond over there,' is there?'' he quoted deliriously. “‘How about dropping me in it and drowning me—it looks a nice secluded spot for a body!' Damned good idea, Mr. Z! Damned good idea!”

He moved to the broken fence as he spoke. Now he was stepping over it, his victim clasped close. He had carried him before, many a time, but never before had he noticed the wasted fellow's lightness!

He continued to laugh, though now more softly.

“Yes, I did think you lied about that packet of beads,” he chuckled. “And I do think you lied! And if Ledlow doesn't hand the beads over—or what he has left of 'em—in exchange for the girl's life, or maybe his own life, he's not the worm I take him to be.”

The pond grew nearer. As he staggered over the coarse stubble the reeds became more distinct and the tangled, bordering bushes loomed larger.

“Clever, by God, weren't you?” grinned the countryman. He had to keep this up, to fortify him for the horrible moment that was coming. “Clever's not the word! Fancy seeing my expression in the wind-screen, and reading it like that! It was smiling, wasn't it?”

He reached the edge of the pond. No, too open here. Just a bit to the right, through those bushes. No chance of anything being seen there.

“Well, it's
still
smiling!”

A spot of rain descended on his forehead and made a little cold point amid the sweat. Now he was at the water's edge.

“And what's
yours
doing?”

Then a noiseless train passed through his body. He ceased to be a complete piece of flesh, but became, outrageously and illogically, merely edges of solidarity, edges that receded dizzily from the great hole in his middle and could not get back to close the hole up. The world turned round. A thousand suns appeared, fighting madly. The pond rose up, and swallowed him.

On the edge of the pond stood the man without arms.

“I could never have carried you here myself,” he said, to the widening circles. “Thank you.”