The idea had come to her that if she could get Wash talking again about Teddy's murder within sound range of the machine while it was working, it would record his own guilt and perhaps that of others. If she could succeed in that, with luck she would find a chance to remove the spool of tape and take it with her when they left for London. Even if she had to leave it in the house, once she had got free of him she might still be able to return and retrieve it later. Having adjusted the tape to 'ready' she put the machine under her side of the big bed, so that she had only to reach a hand down to the switch to set it in motion.
All the same, so racked was she by thoughts of the horrors that Wash was planning to carry out that, after lunch that day she made another attempt to escape. It had occurred to her that if she bandaged her eyes that might enable her to pass the invisible barrier. Going to the door at the back of the house that led to the garden, she opened it, lowered the edge of a thick silk scarf that she had draped over her head, and willed herself to walk forward.
It was no good. She could lift each of her feet from the ground, but she positively could not thrust either of them out over the doorstep. Perhaps foolishly, but in desperation, she conceived the idea that since she could not walk out she might be able to crawl out. Removing the scarf she went down on her hands and knees. But her strivings in that position proved equally futile. To add to her distress and also fill her with confusion, while she was still crouching on the mat a voice behind her said:
'You bin lost something, missy?'
Jerking round her head she saw that Jim had come up unheard behind her and was regarding her with a puzzled grin.
'Yes,' she replied, seizing on the excuse to explain being there on her knees; 'a little pearl button off my blouse.'
For some minutes they both hunted for the button, but of course without result. Then she told Jim that it didn't matter, and retired defeated to the sitting-room.
Wash returned at his usual hour, but at once sat down to his desk and almost ignored her until after dinner. Then he told her that he was going out and might not be back until very late, so she should not wait up for him.
Although, with a slightly sinking feeling, she already guessed, she asked him where he was going, and he said: 'I'll be stooging around in my car till I come on a judy that's padding the hoof on her lonesome with no one in sight. Then, after we've had a short session in the bushes, I'll offer her a lift home. Time I got her in the car she'll have as good as had it. I'll put her in a deep sleep, bring her back here, lock her in the cellar and keep her there on ice till tomorrow night.'
There was nothing Mary could say or do which would have deflected him from his intention; so, maintaining the role to which she was all the time forcing herself, she begged him not to be later than he could help, and waved him away on his grim mission.
He got back at about two o'clock in the morning and, flicking all the lights on in the bedroom, strode into it in a furious temper. Mary, blinking and still half asleep, roused herself to listen to the account he gave of his venture and pretend sympathy with him over the ill-luck which had brought it to ruin.
Apparently, without being observed by anyone, he had picked up a girl who had been drinking and necking with some of his airmen. He had driven her a short distance to a wood and a little way into it, as before taking her back to the house he had wanted to make certain that she would suit his purpose. When picking her up he had realized that she had had a skinful of whiskey and when they got out of the car she had been unsteady on her feet, but not too tight to make sense.
The talk he had had with her had satisfied him that she could not have suited him better. She was a North- country girl who had run away to London and had worked the streets round the Elephant and Castle for a few months. Then, tempted by stories of the big money to be made in the neighbourhood of the American bases, she had come to Cambridge. But she had not been in the district long and the previous week her landlady had thrown her out for taking a man up to her room. Since then she had been sharing a caravan with an out-of-work that she had met in a pub, who was glad enough to give her sleeping space for a share of her earnings. From this it was clear that, like many more of her kind, if she was never seen again not a soul in the world was going to ask what had become of her.
As they got up from the bank on which they had been sitting, she said she must leave him for a minute, and went off deeper in among the trees. Two minutes later he heard a cry, then silence. A dozen yards away he found her. The drink she had taken had caused her to stumble and fall while on her way back to him. She had hit her temple on a tree stump and was stone dead.
He realized at once that if he left her body there it would be found, and it was possible that another couple necking in the darkness, or perhaps a poacher, had seen them together. Both his car and himself, owing to his unusual height, might easily lead to his being identified. The only way to make sure of not being connected with her death was to dispose of her body. Putting it in the car, he had driven some miles to a ruined Abbey in which his Lodge held its meetings. There was a deep well there down which he had intended to throw it after having offered her up as a sacrifice; to his fury her unexpected death compelled him to do so twenty-four hours earlier. And by the time he had done that it was too late for him to have any hope of finding a substitute.
Harrowed as Mary was by this awful story, it at least aroused in her new hope that a merciful Providence intended sparing her the black hour with which she was threatened on the following night; and she said: 'As you won't be able to make a sacrifice I suppose my initiation will have to be put off.'
'Yeah,' he grunted, 'I'll have to hold the Esbbat just the same; but you'll remain here. I'll pick you up afterwards. Now for some shut-eye. Praise be, I've not got to show up at my office tomorrow morning, so I told Jim earlier to bring us up breakfast at eight o'clock.'
Immensely relieved, and much comforted by the thought that by Sunday she would be back in London, Mary drifted off to sleep.
While they were breakfasting in the morning she put into operation her plan for getting him. to incriminate himself on the tape recorder. Having put a hand down beside the bed while he was not looking, and switched it on, she said:
'I behaved very stupidly yesterday when you were telling me about human sacrifices. If I'm to be a really good witch I ought to prepare myself to witness such ceremonies. I'd like you to tell me exactly what takes place.'
Sleep had restored Wash to his normal good humour, so he gave a chuckle and replied, 'Good for you, honey. It'll be a pleasure to put you wise.' Then with the same air of detachment he might have used had he been a doctor describing a series of surgical operations, he went on.
