She gave a start to see below the gentleman they had encountered yesterday, the one who had claimed to be returning her handkerchief. It was him, she was sure of it. The same loping stride, the same shabby coat. Perhaps, she thought, he goes up and down the river paths in search of discarded handkerchiefs.
But Helen was much more surprised, even shocked, to see a similarly tall figure emerge from the shadow of the bridge and move off in the same direction keeping the castle and cathedral to his left. There was no doubt in her mind about his identity. That stride which was mincing rather than loping, the rather fine attire, the pale red hair escaping from under his hat. It was Eustace Flask.
Her first reaction was, oddly, disappointment. So it was a trick after all, he hadn’t been made to disappear in the Perseus Cabinet. Her next was, Aunt Julia will be relieved that he is back. Then curiosity got the better of her. What exactly had happened last night? How had Flask been made to disappear? Why, come to that, had he now chosen to reappear? Where was he going?
Before she was really aware of what she was doing Helen Ansell found herself descending the steep stone steps leading from Framwellgate Bridge down to the river level. By the time she reached the path Eustace Flask was in the far distance. Helen couldn’t bring herself to shout or run after him. She set off at a regular pace, now thinking better of the idea of accosting Flask and quizzing him. What business was it of hers? To talk to the medium would give him the idea she was somehow interested in his welfare, whereas she wanted nothing more than that he should stop fleecing her aunt and leave Durham. There were other walkers on the riverbank, and a group of boys was fishing in the dirty water with makeshift rods and lines. She paused for a time to admire the view of the cathedral in its western aspect.
‘I decided to walk for a few more minutes and then go back to Framwellgate,’ she said to Tom. ‘I had almost forgotten about Mr Flask. As I drew nearer to the mill on the other side of the river I heard the thud of the hammers and smelled the stench of the — what is it they use? — yes, of the ammonia. There is a second mill on this side and a couple of workmen outside were unloading sacks of wool from a wagon. The path skirts the mill and I walked further so as get a clear view of that handsome bridge where the river curves round on itself.
‘This is quite a deserted stretch of the riverbank, I suppose because it is more distant from the town or because of the noise and smell of the mills. I don’t know why, Tom, but I grew suddenly alarmed when I rounded the loop of the river. The sun vanished behind a cloud and it turned gloomy. Even the river seemed to take on a blacker hue. I looked round and saw no one though I could hear the sounds of wood being chopped and sawed. I was about to retrace my steps when a figure burst from the slope of trees ahead of me and ran away. He did not see me. I cannot be sure but I think it might have been the man I noticed earlier, the one who tried to hand me a handkerchief.’
Helen paused at this point in her story. Tom looked up and saw a whiskery cheek and a single eye staring at them through the shuttered peephole in the cell door. The half-hour according to Perkins must be up. Tom mouthed the word ‘later’ and rubbed his thumb against his forefinger as Helen had done. The segment of face withdrew, apparently satisfied. Helen, absorbed in what she was saying, observed none of this.
‘I was foolish, Tom. I should have turned back there and then. I should have remembered that there is always, always, a penalty to be paid for curiosity. I suspected something was amiss and I ought to have summoned help. But I walked on until I came to the point where I had seen the man running from the shelter of the trees. I waited, listening to the wind in the branches and the rushing of the water and the distant sounds of saws and axes. The sun had come out again, which fortified me. Then I heard a different sound.
‘It was one that made my skin crawl. Something between a groan and a gurgle and coming from among the trees further up the slope. More animal than human. There was a kind of track leading uphill. What drove me to follow it and discover the source of the sound, I do not know. It is a strange thing but I remembered then what that poor medium, Mr Smight, said to you — or what your father’s spirit said to you — that there was danger in the woods and near water. It was a warning to me not to you.’
‘It must have been,’ said Tom, his skin crawling.
‘Is it not strange,’ persisted Helen, in a musing way, ‘strange that we are not always governed by the instinct for self-preservation and will run our heads into the noose? The noose? What am I saying?’
Helen stopped once more and gulped several times. Tom poured water from the jug into the glass and gave it to her.
‘You don’t have to say any more, Helen. I heard about what… what happened next. Do not distress yourself by living over the details again.’
‘I cannot escape the details anyway, Tom. Everything is like a terrible dream — there was Mr Flask — for I recognized him straightaway — I went close — and there was blood welling from his neck and he seemed to shake and quiver where he lay on the leaf-mould — and the sunlight was dappling the ground like gold coins and the birds were still singing in the trees without a care in the world. I must have shouted and screamed. I know I opened my mouth with the intention of doing so. At last some men in labouring clothes came into the clearing but they would not approach me and one said something under his breath and another ran off and then he returned with a constable and there were whistles blown and other police appeared and one of them who is a superintendent, I think, he spoke quite kindly to me and then they took me away and led me to this place and to this cell and, oh, Tom, what is going to happen to me?’
‘Nothing is going to happen to you, my darling. I will do my utmost to protect you.’
‘Thank you, Tom.’
They embraced awkwardly on the prison bed. There was the sound of a key being turned in the lock and Tom mentally cursed Perkins for being a greedy, heartless intruder. But it was Superintendent Frank Harcourt who was standing on the threshold of the tiny chamber.
‘Mr Ansell and Mrs Ansell, my apologies for disturbing what was obviously a, ah, delicate domestic moment but I would like you to accompany me.’
Tom got up reluctantly. He thought he detected a different tone in the policeman’s voice, more deferential, less assured. Helen stayed where she was, sitting on the bed.
‘Both of you, if you would be so good. I said that there had been a new development in the case, and I would like to discuss it with you.’
They left the cell. Perkins was standing outside. He had his palm artlessly extended as if to show the way and, as Tom passed, he slipped another half-sovereign into it while the Superintendent’s back was turned. Perkins touched his blue cap to Helen.
‘A pleasure seeing a real lady in here,’ he said.
‘Enough of your guff,’ said Harcourt over his shoulder.
They retraced their path along the walkway and down the spiral stairs. Perkins unlocked the barred gate and the doors on either side of the bare vestibule. They crossed the walled yard and re-entered the Crown Court and so went along drab passages and up bare stairs until they came once more to the office where Tom had first talked with Harcourt. There was a constable inside, the same one who had knocked while Tom was first with the Superintendent.
‘You can go, Humphries,’ said Harcourt.
‘Very good, sir. I’ve been keeping a careful watch.’
When the three were alone Harcourt gestured at the single additional feature of the room. This was the item over which Humphries had been keeping his careful watch. A yellow cardboard box about a foot long and six inches wide had been placed in the centre of the desk. Brown paper wrapping and a length of cut twine lay next to Harcourt’s clasp-knife. The Superintendent picked up the brown paper and handed it to Tom who showed it to Helen.
‘There,’ said Harcourt. ‘It was sent to me by name at the police-house. Knowing I was at the court building they brought it straight here.’
Printed in red ink and in rather straggling characters was: ‘FRANK HARCORT, POLIS HOUSE, CORT LANE’. Above the address in the same script was a single word: ‘URJENT!’
‘My name is misspelled as are the words “Police”, “Court Lane” and “urgent”,’ said Harcourt unnecessarily. ‘Would you open the box, Mrs Ansell?’
‘I will open it,’ said Tom.
‘No, sir. I would prefer your wife to do the honours. It won’t bite. Look at the lid first, Mrs Ansell.’
There was a pale rectangle on the lid where a manufacturer’s or shopkeeper’s label must have been pasted. The label had been torn off although unidentifiable fragments still adhered to the top of the box.
