Kitobni o'qish: «Malcolm Sage, Detective», sahifa 4

II

"So there is nothing?" Malcolm Sage looked up enquiringly from themap before him.

"Nothing that even a stage detective could turn into a clue," said

Inspector Wensdale, a big, cleanshaven man with hard, alert eyes.

Malcolm Sage continued his study of the map.

"Confound those magazine detectives!" the inspector burst outexplosively. "They've always got a dust-pan full of clues ready madefor 'em."

"To say nothing of finger-prints," said Malcolm Sage dryly. He nevercould resist a sly dig at Scotland Yard's faith in finger-prints asclues instead of means of identification.

"It's a bit awkward for me, too, Mr. Sage," continued the inspector, confidentially. "Last time The Daily Telegram went for usbecause – "

"You haven't found a dust-pan full of clues?" suggested Malcolm Sage, who was engaged in forming geometrical designs with spent matches.

"They're getting a bit restive, too, at the Yard," he continued. Hewas too disturbed in mind for flippancy. "It was this cattle-maimingbusiness that sent poor old Scott's number up," he added, referringto Detective Inspector Scott's failure to solve the mystery. "Nowthe general's making a terrible row. Threatens me with theCommissioner."

For some seconds Malcolm Sage devoted himself to his designs.

"Any theory?" he enquired at length, without looking up.

"I've given up theorising," was the dour reply.

In response to a further question as to what had been done, theinspector proceeded to detail how the whole neighbourhood had beenscoured after each maiming, and how, night after night, watchers hadbeen posted throughout the district, but without result.

"I have had men out night and day," continued the inspector gloomily."He's a clever devil whoever he is. It's my opinion the man's alunatic," he added.

Malcolm Sage looked up slowly.

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

"His cunning, for one thing," was the reply. "Then it's so senseless.

No," he added with conviction, "he's no more an ordinary man than

Jack-the-Ripper was."

He went on to give details of his enquiries among those living inthe district. There was absolutely nothing to attach even theremotest suspicion to any particular person. Rewards had beenoffered for information; but all without producing the slightestevidence or clue.

"This man Hinds?" enquired Malcolm Sage, looking about for morematches.

"Oh! the general's got him on the brain. Absolutely nothing in it.I've turned him inside out. Why, even the Deputy Commissioner had ago at him, and if he can get nothing out of a man, there's nothingto get out."

"Well," said Malcolm Sage rising, "keep the fact to yourself that Iam interested. I suppose, if necessary, you could arrange for twentyor thirty men to run down there?" he queried.

"The whole blessed Yard if you like, Mr. Sage," was the feelingreply.

"We'll leave it at that for the present then. By the way, if youhappen to think you see me in the neighbourhood you needn't rememberthat we are acquainted."

The inspector nodded comprehendingly and, with a heart lightenedsomewhat of its burden, he departed. He had an almost child-likefaith in Malcolm Sage.

For half an hour Malcolm Sage sat engrossed in the map of the sceneof the maimings. On it were a number of red-ink crosses with figuresbeneath. In the left-hand bottom corner was a list of the variousoutrages, with the date and the time, as near as could beapproximated, against each.

The numbers in the bottom corner corresponded with those beneath thecrosses.

From time to time he referred to the two copies of Whitaker'sAlmanack open before him, and made notes upon the writing-pad athis side. Finally he ruled a square upon the map in red ink, andthen drew two lines diagonally from corner to corner. Then withoutlooking up from the map, he pressed one of the buttons of theprivate-telephone. "Tims," he said through the mouthpiece.

Five minutes later Malcolm Sage's chauffeur was standing oppositehis Chief's table, ready to go anywhere and do anything.

"To-morrow will be Sunday, Tims."

"Yessir."

"A day of rest."

"Yessir!"

"We are going out to Hempdon, near Selford," Malcolm Sage continued, pointing to the map. Tims stepped forward and bent over to identifythe spot. "The car will break down. It will take you or any othermechanic two hours to put it right."

"Yessir," said Tims, straightening himself.

"You understand," said Malcolm Sage, looking at him sharply, "youor any other mechanic?"

"Yessir," repeated Tims, his face sphinx-like in its lack ofexpression.

He was a clean-shaven, fleshless little man who, had he not been achauffeur, would probably have spent his life with a straw betweenhis teeth, hissing lullabies to horses.

"I shall be ready at nine," said Malcolm Sage, and with another

"Yessir" Tims turned to go.

"And Tims."

"Yessir." He about-faced smartly on his right heel. "You mightapologise for me to Mrs. Tims for depriving her of you on Sunday.Take her out to dinner on Monday and charge it to me."

"Thank you, sir, very much, sir," said Tims, his face expressionless.

"That is all, Tims, thank you."

Tims turned once more and left the room. As he walked towards theouter door he winked at Gladys Norman and, with a sudden dive, madea frightful riot of William Johnson's knut-like hair. Then, withoutchange of expression, he passed out to tune up the car for its runon the morrow.

Malcolm Sage's staff knew that when "the Chief" was what Tims called"chatty" he was beginning to see light, so Tims whistled loudly athis work: for he, like all his colleagues, was pleased when "theChief" saw reason to be pleased.

The following morning, as they trooped out of church, theinhabitants of Hempdon were greatly interested in the break-down ofa large car, which seemed to defy the best efforts of the chauffeurto coax into movement. The owner drank cider at the SpottedWoodpigeon and talked pleasantly with the villagers, who, onlearning that he had never even heard of the Surrey cattle-maimings, were at great pains to pour information and theories into hisreceptive ear.

The episode quite dwarfed the remarkable sermon preached by Mr.Callice, in which he exhorted his congregation to band themselvestogether to track down him who was maiming and torturing God'screatures, and defying the Master's merciful teaching.

It was Tom Hinds, assisted by a boy scout, who conducted MalcolmSage to the scene of the latest outrage. It was Hinds who describedthe position of the mare when she was discovered, and it was he whopocketed two half-crowns as the car moved off Londonwards.

That evening Malcolm Sage sat long and late at his table, engrossedin the map that Inspector Wensdale had sent him.

Finally he subjected to a thorough and exhaustive examination thethumb-nail of his right hand. It was as if he saw in its polishedsurface the tablets of destiny.

The next morning he wrote a letter that subsequently caused Sir JohnHackblock to explode into a torrent of abuse of detectives ingeneral and one investigator in particular. It stated in a few wordsthat, owing to circumstances over which he had no control, MalcolmSage would not be able to undertake the enquiry with which Sir JohnHackblock had honoured him until the end of the month following. Hehoped, however, to communicate further with his client soon afterthe 23rd of that month.

CHAPTER V INSPECTOR WENSDALE IS SURPRISED

I

Nearly a month had elapsed, and the cattle-maiming mystery seemed asfar off solution as ever. The neighbourhood in which the crimes hadbeen committed had once more settled down to its usual occupations, and Scotland Yard had followed suit.

Sir John Hackblock had written to the Chief Commissioner and aquestion had been asked in the House.

Inspector Wensdale's colleagues had learned that it was dangerous tomention in his presence the words "cattle" or "maiming." Theinspector knew that the affair was referred to as "Wensdale'sWaterloo," and his failure to throw light on the mystery wasbeginning to tell upon his nerves.

For three weeks he had received no word from Malcolm Sage. Onemorning on his arrival at Scotland Yard he was given a telephonemessage asking him to call round at the Bureau during the day.

"Nothing new?" queried Malcolm Sage ten minutes later, as theinspector was shown into his room by Thompson.

The inspector shook a gloomy head and dropped his heavy frame into achair.

Malcolm Sage indicated with a nod that Thompson was to remain.

"Can you borrow a couple of covered government lorries?" queried

Malcolm Sage.

"A couple of hundred if necessary," said the inspector dully.

"Two will be enough," was the dry rejoinder. "Now listen carefully,Wensdale. I want you to have fifty men housed some ten miles awayfrom Hempdon on the afternoon of the 22nd. Select men who have donescouting, ex-boy scouts, for preference. Don't choose any with baldheads or with very light hair. See that they are wearing darkclothes and dark shirts and, above all, no white collars. Take withyou a good supply of burnt cork such as is used by niggerminstrels."

Malcolm Sage paused, and for the fraction of a second there was acurious fluttering at the corners of his mouth.

Inspector Wensdale was sitting bolt upright in his chair, gazing atMalcolm Sage as if he had been requested to supply two lorry-loadsof archangels.

"It will be moonlight, and caps might fall off," explained MalcolmSage. "You cannot very well ask a man to black his head. Above all,"he continued evenly, "be sure you give no indication to anyone whyyou want the men, and tell them not to talk. You follow me?" hequeried.

"Yes," said the inspector, "I – I follow."

"Don't go down Hempdon way again, and tell no one in theneighbourhood; no one, you understand, is to know anything aboutit. Don't tell the general, for instance."

"Him!" There was a world of hatred and contempt in the inspector'svoice. Then he glanced a little oddly at Malcolm Sage.

Malcolm Sage went on to elaborate his instructions. The men were tobe divided into two parties, one to form a line north of the sceneof the last outrage, and the other to be spread over a particularzone some three miles the other side of Hempdon. They were toblacken their faces and hands, and observe great care to show nolight colouring in connection with their clothing. Thus they wouldbe indistinguishable from their surroundings.

"You will go with one lot," said Malcolm Sage to the inspector, "andmy man Finlay with the other. Thompson and I will be somewhere inthe neighbourhood. You will be given a pass-word for purposes ofidentification. You understand?"

"I think so," said the inspector, in a tone which was suggestivethat he was very far from understanding.

"I'll have everything typed out for you, and scale-plans of whereyou are to post your men. Above all, don't take anyone into yourconfidence."

Inspector Wensdale nodded and looked across at Thompson, as if toassure himself that after all it really was not some huge joke.

"If nothing happens on the 22nd, we shall carry-on the second, third, and fourth nights. In all probability we shall catch our man on the23rd."

"Then you know who it is?" spluttered the inspector in astonishment.

"I hope to know on the 23rd," said Malcolm Sage dryly, as he roseand walked towards the door. Directness was his strong point. Takingthe hint, Inspector Wensdale rose also and, with the air of a mannot yet quite awake, passed out of the room.

"You had better see him to-morrow, Thompson," said Malcolm Sage,"and explain exactly how the men are to be disposed. Make it clearthat none must show themselves. If they actually see anyone in theact, they must track him, not try to take him."

Thompson nodded his head comprehendingly.

"Make it clear that they are there to watch; but I doubt if they'llsee anything," he added.

II

At eleven o'clock on the night of July the 23rd, two motor lorriesglided slowly along some three miles distant from one another. Fromtheir interiors silent forms dropped noiselessly on to the moon-whiteroad. A moment later, slipping into the shadow of the hedge, theydisappeared. All the previous night men had watched and waited; butnothing had happened. Now they were to try again.

Overhead the moon was climbing the sky, struggling against masses ofcloud that from time to time swung themselves across her disc.

In the village of Hempdon all was quiet. The last light had beenextinguished, the last dog had sent forth a final challenging bark, hoping that some neighbouring rival would answer and justify avolume of canine protest.

On the western side of the highway, and well behind the houses, twofigures were standing in the shadow cast by a large oak. Their facesand hands were blackened, rendering them indistinguishable fromtheir surroundings.

One wore a shade over a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, a precautionagainst the moonlight being reflected on the lenses.

Half an hour, an hour, an hour and a half passed. They waited.Presently one gripped the arm of the other and pointed. At the backof the house immediately-opposite there was a slight movement in theshade cast by a hedge. Then the line readjusted itself and theshadow vanished. A moment later it reappeared in a patch ofmoonlight, looking like a large dog.

Stooping low Malcolm Sage and Thompson followed the dog-like form, themselves taking advantage of every patch of shadow and cover thatoffered.

The mysterious form moved along deliberately and without haste, nowdisappearing in the shadow cast by some tree or bush, nowreappearing once more on the other side.

It was obviously taking advantage of everything that tended toconceal its movements.

Once it disappeared altogether, and for five minutes the twotrackers lay on their faces and waited.

"Making sure he's not being followed," whispered Thompson, and

Malcolm Sage nodded.

Presently the figure appeared once more and, as if reassured, continued its slow and deliberate way.

Once a dog barked, a short, sharp bark of uncertainty. Again therewas no sign of the figure for some minutes. Then it moved out fromthe surrounding shadows and continued its stealthy progress.

Having reached the outskirts of the village, it continued itscrouching course along the western side of the hedge flanking theroadside.

Malcolm Sage and Thompson followed under the shadow of a hedgerunning parallel.

For a mile the slow and laborious tracking continued. SuddenlyMalcolm Sage stopped. In the field on their right two horses weregrazing in the moonlight. It was the scene of the tragedy of themonth previous!

For some minutes they waited expectantly. Suddenly Malcolm Sagegripped Thompson's arm and pointed. From under the hedge a darkpatch was moving slowely towards the nearer of the two animals. Itwas apparently the form of a man, face downward, wriggling alonginch by inch without bending a limb.

"Get across. Cut off his retreat," whispered Sage. "Look out for theknife."

Thompson nodded and slid away under cover of the hedge separatingthe field in which the horses were from that along which thewatchers had just passed.

Slowly the form approached its quarry. Once the horse lifted itshead as though scenting danger; but the figure was approachingupwind.

Suddenly it raised itself, appearing once more like a large dog.Then with a swift, panther-like movement it momentarily disappearedin the shadow cast by the horse.

There was a muffled scream and a gurgle, as the animal collapsed, then silence.

A minute later the form seemed to detach itself from the carcase andwriggled along towards the hedge, a dark patch upon the grass.

Malcolm Sage was already half-way through the second field, keepingwell under the shelter of the hedge. He reached a spot where theintersecting hedge joined that running parallel with the highroad.There was a hole sufficiently large for a man to crawl through fromone field to the other. By this Malcolm Sage waited, a life-preserverin his hand.

At the sound of the snapping of a twig, he gripped his weapon; amoment later a round, dark shape appeared through the hole in thehedge. Without hesitating Malcolm Sage struck.

There was a sound, half grunt, half sob, and Malcolm Sage was on hisfeet gazing down at the strangest creature he had ever encountered.

Clothed in green, its face and hands smeared with some pigment ofthe same colour, lay the figure of a tall man. Round the waist was abelt from which was suspended in its case a Gurkha's kukri.

Malcolm Sage bent down to unbuckle the belt. He turned the man onhis back. As he did so he saw that in his hand was a small, collapsible tin cup covered with blood, which also stained his lipsand chin, and dripped from his hands, whilst the front of hisclothing was stained in dark patches.

"I wonder who he is," muttered Thompson, as he gazed down at thestrange figure.

"Locally he is known as the Rev. Geoffrey Callice," remarked Malcolm

Sage quietly.

And Thompson whistled.

III

"And that damned scoundrel has been fooling us for two years." SirJohn Hackblock glared at Inspector Wensdale as if it were he who wasresponsible for the deception.

They were seated smoking in Sir John's library after a particularlyearly breakfast.

"I always said it was the work of a madman," said the inspector inself-defence.

"Callice is no more mad than I am," snapped Sir John. "I wish I weregoing to try him," he added grimly. "The scoundrel! To think – "His indignation choked him.

"He is not mad in the accepted sense," said Malcolm Sage as hesucked meditatively at his pipe. "I should say that it is a case ofrace-memory."

"Race-memory! Dammit! what's that?" Sir John Hackblock snapped outthe words in his best parade-ground manner. He was more purple thanever about the jowl, and it was obvious that he was prepared todisagree with everyone and everything. As Lady Hackblock and herdomestics would have recognised without difficulty, Sir John wasangry.

"How the devil did you spot the brute?" he demanded, as Malcolm Sagedid not reply immediately.

"Race-memory," he remarked, ignoring the question, "is to man whatinstinct is to animals; it defies analysis or explanation."

Sir John stared; but it was Inspector Wensdale who spoke.

"But how did you manage to fix the date, Mr. Sage?" he enquired.

"By the previous outrages," was the reply.

"The previous outrages!" cried Sir John. "Dammit! how did they helpyou?"

"They all took place about the time the moon was at the full. Therewere twenty-eight in all." Malcolm Sage felt in his pocket and drewout a paper. "These are the figures."

In his eagerness Sir John snatched the paper from his hand, and with

Inspector Wensdale looking over his shoulder, read:

Day before full moon.. 4

Full moon… 15

Day after… 7

Second day after… 2

–

Total 28… 28

"Well, I'm damned!" exclaimed Sir John, looking up from the paper at

Malcolm Sage, as if he had solved the riddle of the universe.

The inspector's only comment was a quick indrawing of breath.

Sir John continued to stare at Malcolm Sage, the paper still held inhis hand.

"That made matters comparatively easy," continued Malcolm Sage. "Theoutrages were clearly not acts of revenge upon any particularperson; for they involved nine different owners. They were obviouslythe work of someone subject to a mania, or obsession, which grippedhim when the moon was at the full."

"But how did you fix the actual spot?" burst out Inspector Wensdaleexcitedly.

"Each of the previous acts had been either in a diametricallyopposite direction from that immediately preceding it, orpractically on the same spot. For instance, the first three werenorth, east, and south of Hempdon, in the order named. Then thecunning of the perpetrator prompted him to commit a fourth, not tothe west; but to the south, within a few yards of the previous act.The criminal argued, probably subconsciously, that he would beexpected to complete the square."

"But what made you fix on Hempdon as the headquarters of theblackguard?" enquired Sir John.

"That was easy," remarked Malcolm Sage, polishing the thumb-nail ofhis left hand upon the palm of his right.

"Easy!" The exclamation burst involuntarily from the inspector.

"You supplied me with a large scale-map showing the exact spot whereeach of the previous maimings had taken place. I drew a square toembrace the whole. Lines drawn diagonally from corner to corner gaveme the centre of gravity."

"But – " began the inspector.

Ignoring the interruption Malcolm Sage continued.

"A man committing a series of crimes from a given spot was bound tospread his operations over a fairly wide area in order to minimisethe chance of discovery. The longer the period and the larger thenumber of comes, the greater the chance of his being locatedsomewhere near the centre of his activities."

"Well, I'm damned!" remarked Sir John for the second time. Thensuddenly turning to Inspector Wensdale, "Dammit!" he exploded, "whydidn't you think of that?"

"There was, of course, the chance of his striking in anotherdirection," continued Malcolm Sage, digging into the bowl of hispipe with a penknife, "so I placed the men in such a way that if hedid so he was bound to be seen."

Inspector Wensdale continued to gaze at him, eager to hear more.

"But what was that you said about race-memory?" Sir John had quieteddown considerably since Malcolm Sage had begun his explanation.

"I should describe it as a harking back to an earlier phase. It isto the mind what atavism is to the body. In breeding, forinstance" – Malcolm Sage looked across to Sir John – "you find thatan offspring will manifest characteristics, or a taint, that is notto be found in either sire or dam."

Sir John nodded.

"Well, race-memory is the same thing in regard to the mental plane,a sort of subconscious wave of reminiscence. In Callice's case itwas in all probability the memory of some sacrificial rite of hisancestors centuries ago."

"A case of heredity."

"Broadly speaking, yes. At the full moon this particular tribe, whose act Callice has reproduced, was in the habit of slaughteringsome beast, or beasts, and drinking the blood, probably with theidea of absorbing their strength or their courage. Possibly thesurroundings at Hempdon were similar to those where the act ofsacrifice was committed in the past.

"It must be remembered that Callice was an ascetic, and consequentlyhighly subjective. Therefore when the wave of reminiscence istaken in conjunction with the surroundings, the full moon andhis high state of subjectivity, it is easy to see that materialconsiderations might easily be obliterated. That is why I watchedthe back entrance to his lodgings."

"And all the time we were telling him our plans," murmured theinspector half to himself.

"Yes, and he would go out hunting himself," said Sir John. "Damnfunny, I call it. Anyway, he'll get seven years at least."

"When he awakens he will remember nothing about it. You cannotpunish a man for a subconscious crime."

Sir John snorted indignantly; but Inspector Wensdale nodded his headslowly and regretfully.

"Anyway, I owe you five hundred pounds," said Sir John to Malcolm

Sage; "and, dammit! it's worth it," he added.

Malcolm Sage shrugged his shoulders as he rose to go.

"I was sorry to have to hit him," he said regretfully, "but I wasafraid of that knife. A man can do a lot of damage with a thing likethat. That's why I told you not to let your men attempt to take him,Wensdale."

"How did you know what sort of knife it was?" asked the inspector.

"Oh! I motored down here, and the car broke down. Incidentally Imade a lot of acquaintances, including Callice's patrol-leader, abright lad. He told me a lot of things about Callice and his ways. Aremarkable product the boy scout," he added. "Kipling calls him 'thefriend of all the world.'"

Sir John looked across at Inspector Wensdale, who was stronglytempted to wink.

"Don't think too harshly of Callice," said Malcolm Sage as he shookhands with Sir John. "It might easily have been you or I, had webeen a little purer in mind and thought."

And with that he passed out of the room with Inspector Wensdalefollowed by Sir John Hackblock, who was endeavouring to interpretthe exact meaning of the remark.

"They said he was a clever devil," he muttered as he returned to thelibrary after seeing his guests off, "and, dammit! they were right."