insurance benefits for over a year. Drew them in three separate places – only in one place she was Mrs C. and in another place Mrs T… Mrs C. and Mrs T. lent her their cards for a consideration, and so she collected the money three times over.'
'I don't see -'
'Suppose – just suppose -' the forefinger was now wiggling excitedly, 'our Mr V. makes contact with a genuine polio case in poor circumstances. He makes a proposition. The man resembles him, let us say, in a general kind of way, no more. Genuine sufferer calling himself Mr V. calls in specialist, and is examined, so that the case history is all correct. Then Mr V. takes house in country. Local G.P. wants to retire soon. Again genuine sufferer calls in doctor, is examined. And there you are! Mr Venables well documented as polio sufferer with atrophied limbs. He is seen locally (when he is seen) in a wheelchair.'
'His servants would know, surely,' I objected. 'His valet.'
'But supposing it is a gang – the valet is one of the gang. What could be simpler? Some of the other servants, too, perhaps.'
'But why?'
'Ah,' said Mr Osborne. 'That's another question, isn't it? I won't tell you my theory – I expect you'd laugh at it. But there you are – a very nice alibi set up for a man who might want an alibi. He could be here, there and everywhere, and nobody would know. Seen walking about in Paddington? Impossible! He's a helpless cripple living in the country, etc.' Mr Osborne paused and glanced at his watch. 'My bus is due. I must be quick. I get to brooding about this, you see. Wondered if I could do anything to prove it, as you might say. So I thought I'd come out here (I've time on my hands, these days. I almost miss my business sometimes), go into the grounds and – well, not to put too fine a point upon it, do a bit of spying. Not very nice, you'll say – and I agree. But if it's a case of getting at the truth – of bringing a criminal to book. If, for instance, I spotted our Mr Venables having a quiet walk around in the grounds, well, there you are! And then I thought, If they don't pull the curtains too soon – (and you may have noticed people don't when daylight saving first ends – they've got in the habit of expecting it to be dark an hour later) – I might creep up and take a peep. Walking about his library, maybe, never dreaming that anyone would be spying on him? Why should he? No one suspects him as far as he knows!'
'Why are you so sure the man you saw that night was Venables?'
'I know it was Venables!'
He shot to his feet.
'My bus is coming. Pleased to have met you, Mr Easterbrook, and it's a weight off my mind to have explained what I was doing there at Priors Court. I dare say it seems a lot of nonsense to you.'
'It doesn't altogether,' I said. 'But you haven't told me what you think Mr Venables is up to.'
Mr Osborne looked embarrassed and a little sheepish.
'You'll laugh, I dare say. Everybody says he's rich but nobody seems to know how he made his money. I'll tell you what I think. I think he's one of those master criminals you read about. You know – plans things, and has a gang that carries them out. It may sound silly to you but I -'
The bus had stopped. Mr Osborne ran for it.
I walked home down the lane very thoughtful… it was a fantastic theory that Mr Osborne had outlined, but I had to admit that there might just possibly be something in it.
Chapter 20
I
Ringing up Ginger on the following morning, I told her that I was moving to Bournemouth the next day.
'I've found a nice quiet little hotel called (heaven knows why) the Deer Park. It's got a couple of nice unobtrusive side exits. I might sneak up to London and see you.'
'You oughtn't to really, I suppose. But I must say it would be rather heaven if you did. The boredom! You've no idea! If you couldn't come here, I could sneak out and meet you somewhere.'
Something suddenly struck me.
'Ginger! Your voice… it's different somehow.'
'Oh that! It's all right. Don't worry.'
'But your voice?'
'I've just got a bit of a sore throat or something, that's all.'
'Ginger!'
'Now, look, Mark, anyone can have a sore throat. I'm starting a cold, I expect. Or a touch of flu.'
'Flu? Look here, don't evade the point. Are you all right, or aren't you?'
'Don't fuss. I'm all right.'
'Tell me exactly how you're feeling. Do you feel as though you might be starting flu?'
'Well – perhaps… aching a bit all over, you know the kind of thing -'
'Temperature?'
'Well, perhaps a bit of temperature…'
I sat there, a horrible cold sort of feeling stealing over me. I was frightened. I knew, too, that however much Ginger might refuse to admit it, Ginger was frightened also.
Her hoarse voice spoke again.
'Mark – don't panic. You are panicking – and really there's nothing to panic about.'
'Perhaps not. But we've got to take every precaution. Ring up your doctor and get him to come and see you. At once.'
'All right. But – he'll think I'm a terrible fusspot.'
'Never mind. Do it! Then, when he's been, ring me back.'
After I had rung off, I sat for a long time staring at the black inhuman outline of the telephone. Panic – I mustn't give way to panic. There was always flu about at this time of year. The doctor would be reassuring… perhaps it would be only a slight chill. I saw in my mind's eye Sybil in her peacock dress with its scrawled symbols of evil. I heard Thyrza's voice, willing, commanding. On the chalked floor, Bella, chanting her evil spells, held up a struggling white cock.
Nonsense, all nonsense… of course it was all superstitious nonsense…
The box – not so easy, somehow, to dismiss the box. The box represented, not human superstition, but a development of scientific possibility. But it wasn't possible – it couldn't be possible that -
Mrs Dane Calthrop found me there, sitting staring at the telephone. She said at once:
'What's happened?'
'Ginger,' I said, 'isn't feeling well.'
I wanted her to say that it was all nonsense. I wanted her to reassure me. But she didn't reassure me.
'That's bad,' she said. 'Yes, I think that's bad.'
'It's not possible,' I urged. 'It's not possible for a moment that they can do what they say!'
'Isn't it?'
'You don't believe – you can't believe -'
'My dear Mark,' said Mrs Dane Calthrop. 'Both you and Ginger have already admitted the possibility of such a thing, or you wouldn't be doing what you are doing.'
'And our believing makes it worse – makes it more likely!'
'You don't go so far as believing – you just admit that, with evidence, you might believe.'
'Evidence? What evidence?'
'Ginger's becoming ill is evidence,' said Mrs Dane Calthrop.
I hated her. My voice rose angrily.
'Why must you be so pessimistic? It's just a simple cold – something of that kind. Why must you persist in believing the worst?'
