Manichees thought the world was created by the devil, and everything to do with matter was evil. Well, it suddenly seemed to me that the forces behind the world weren't either good or evil, but something quite incomprehensible to human beings. And the only thing they want is movement, everlasting movement. That's the way I saw it suddenly. Human beings want peace, and they build their civilisations and make their laws to get peace. But the forces behind the world don't want peace. So they send down certain men whose business it is to keep the world in a turmoil — the Napoleons, Hitlers, Genghis Khans. And I call these men the Enemies, with a capital E. And I thought: I belong among the Enemies — that's why I detest this bloody civilisation. And I suddenly began to feel better…
Nunne was looking at him now, and nodding his head slowly as he talked. He said, smiling:
Quite. You understand too. The force behind the world is neither good nor evil. Men are not big enough to know anything about good and evil. That's how I felt… the first time it ever happened in London. I'd been to see Father Carruthers and I came away feeling sick of everything. He obviously didn't know what I was talking about. And I walked along Charterhouse Street, and there was an extraordinary sunset over the rooftops. And suddenly I detested it all. Did you ever read that piece in Stein's book on Kurten, about how Kurten used to dream of blowing up the whole city with dynamite? That was how I felt.
He stopped abruptly, and twisted his fingers together. He bent both hands backwards, making the joints crack. His voice had begun to sound curiously thick as he talked. Sorme watched him closely, sensing the tightness that was coming up inside him. Nunne stood up suddenly and went to the table. He poured half an inch of whisky into the tumbler, and tossed it back. When he spoke again, his voice sounded choked:
I can't explain the feeling… but you understand.
Sorme said:
Yes, I understand.
He said it to reassure Nunne rather than because he understood.
Nunne stood with his back to him for a few seconds longer, holding the empty glass. He turned around and ran his fingers through Sorme's hair. He was smiling again. He said:
I wish you did understand, Gerard.
He sat down again; this time on the edge of the chair, his fists resting on his knees. Although the room was now becoming cool, his face was sweating. Sorme said:
I think I do understand, Austin. But… you know… you'll have to stop it. If you stop now, you might be safe. But if you don't… nothing can save you.
Nunne said: I know. That's the problem.
Sorme leaned forward. He said:
But do you understand it? You're alive now. In two months' time you might be waiting in the death cell. They'd hang you, Austin. They'd have to hang you. They wouldn't dare to commit you to a mental home. Get away while you can. Go to Switzerland. Find a good psychiatrist and pay him five thousand pounds and tell him everything. But don't stay in London.
Nunne looked up and smiled, but the exhaustion was back. He said:
I know you're right, Gerard.
He cleared his throat, and ran both hands through his hair. He began to button up his shirt.
I'm very grateful, Gerard…
Nonsense.
I don't deserve a friend like you.
Sorme said:
Don't be silly.
Nunne stood up.
I suppose we'd better go.
As he spoke, they heard the noise; it was the sound of some metal object being knocked over outside. For a moment, they stared at one another. Sorme glanced towards the window. He said quickly:
That could be the police.
As he spoke, there was a sound of knocking on the door. Nunne said:
I'm afraid you were followed.
I'm sorry…
It doesn't matter.
He opened the door leading to the hall. Sorme caught up with him and grasped his arm. He said quietly:
Don't give anything away.
Nunne turned and smiled at him. It was the calm, sardonic smile that Sorme associated with his first meeting with him, the total certainty of superiority. Nunne said:
Don't worry, dear boy. You be careful.
He went out to the door. A moment later, Sorme recognised Macmurdo's voice.
Mr Austin Nunne?
Yes. What can I do for you?
We'd like to speak to you, if we may. I am a police officer.
Certainly. Come in. I've been expecting you.
Sorme could almost see the eagerness on Macmurdo's face. A moment later, he came into the room, followed by the sergeant and Nunne. He was saying:
Indeed? Why?
Nunne said:
Because my friend here came especially to tell me to contact you.
Sorme was still sitting down. He nodded briefly at Macmurdo.
How do you do?
Macmurdo said:
I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you had no idea where Mr Nunne might be?
Sorme said pleasantly:
I hadn't. I've been looking systematically.
Macmurdo's disbelief was obvious. He said:
I see.
He turned to Nunne.
Mr Nunne, would you mind telling me where you were last night?
Certainly. I was here.
All night?
No. I went out for a breath of air… just a drive around.
At what time?
Oh… as a matter of fact, I don't know. After midnight. My portable radio gave out.
How long were you out?
Oh… about two hours, perhaps.
Where was your car parked?
In the lane outside.
When did you leave it outside the Crown Hotel in Leatherhead?
Nunne sat down on the edge of the table. His face was grave and concentrated.
This morning. I went in to buy a newspaper. And it was such a lovely day that I decided to walk back. I'd had some coffee…
Macmurdo interrupted belligerently:
You know why I'm asking these questions, don't you?
I think so, Nunne said.
Why?
You are investigating the Whitechapel murders. You want to clear me for your list of suspects.
Sorme could see Macmurdo's irritation growing with the confidence of Nunne's replies. The sergeant was standing by the door, watching with interest. Macmurdo said:
Do you mind if we look around the house?
Nunne asked smoothly:
