Алистер Маклин - The Satan Bug

The film had started precisely at ten and as they passed Dr. Gregori’s door into the lounge and after that had sat down they could hear him typing on his machine. Not loud, not loud enough to be annoying, but perfectly distinct. Mrs. Whithorn had commented at the time that it was a shame Dr. Gregori should have so little time for leisure and relaxation but she knew he would be eager to make up for the time lost at her daughter’s party, his first night off for weeks.

Dr. Gregori made no attempt to hide his satisfaction.

“I’m very much indebted to this elderly film shown last night. And to you, Mrs. Whithorn.” He smiled at me. “Your suspicions at rest, Mr. Cavell?”

“I never had any, Doctor. But that’s how policemen must work – by the elimination of even the most remote possibilities.”

Dr. Gregori saw me to the front door. It was still dark, still cold, still very wet indeed. The rain was bouncing high off the tarmac road. I was considering how best to introduce my now standard spiel about the remarkable progress I was making when Gregori himself said suddenly, “I am not asking you to betray any professional confidences, Mr. Cavell. But – well, do you think there is a chance that you’ll get this fiend? Are you making any progress at all?”

“More than I would have thought possible twelve hours ago. Investigations have led me pretty far in what I believe to be the right direction. Very far, I might say – if it weren’t for the fact that I’m up against a brick wall.”

“Walls can be climbed, Mr. Cavell.”

“So they can. And this one will be.” I paused. “I don’t know whether I should have said what I did. But I know you will keep it strictly to yourself.”

He gave me his earnest reassurances on that point and we parted. Half a mile away I stopped at the first call-box and got through to London.

“Been to bed yet, Cavell?” the General greeted me.

“No, sir.”

“Don’t feel too badly about it. Neither have I. I’ve been very busy indeed making myself unpopular dragging people out of their beds in the middle of the night.”

“No more unpopular than I’ve made myself, sir.”

“I dare say. With any results?”

“Nothing special. Yourself, sir?”

“Chessingham. No record of a civilian driving licence having been issued to him at any time. This may not be definite – it may have been issued to him in some place other than his own country although this would be unusual. As for his Army record, it turns out, strangely enough, that he was in the R.A.S.C.”

“The R.A.S.C.? Then the chances are that he did have a licence. Did you find out, sir?”

“The only fact that I have been able to establish about Chessingham’s Army career,” the General said dryly, “is that he actually was in the Army. The wheels of the War Office grind uncommonly slow at any time but in the middle of the night they grind to a dead halt. We may have something by midday. What we do have now are some rather interesting figures supplied us less than half an hour ago by Chessingham’s bank manager.”

He gave me the figures and hung up. I climbed wearily into the car once more and headed for Chessingham’s house. Fifteen minutes’ drive and I was there. In the bleak half-light of dawn, the square-built house with its sunken basement looked more dreary and forbidding than ever. The way I was feeling didn’t help matters any. I squelched my way up the flight of worn steps over the moat and pressed the bell.

Stella Chessingham appeared. She was neatly and attractively dressed in a flowered housecoat and her hair was smoothly brushed but her face was pale and the brown eyes were tired. She didn’t look very happy when I told her I wanted to see her brother.

“I suppose you’d better come in,” she said reluctantly. “Mother’s still in bed. Eric’s at breakfast.”

He was. Bacon and egg again. My leg felt weaker than ever. Chessingham rose to his feet and said nervously, “Good morning, Mr. Cavell.”

I didn’t wish him good morning back. I gave him my cold impersonal stare, the kind only policemen and head waiters are allowed to use, and said, “I have to ask some more questions, Chessingham. I’ve been up all night and I’m in no mood for evasions. Straight answers to straight questions. Our investigations during the night have opened up some very interesting lines of inquiry and the main line leads straight here.” I looked at his sister. “Miss Chessingham, I have no wish to distress you unnecessarily. It might be better if I interviewed your brother alone.”

She looked at me with wide-open eyes, licked her lips nervously, nodded and turned to go.

Chessingham said, “Stay here, Stella. I have nothing to hide from anybody. My sister knows everything about me, Mr. Cavell.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” The voice to match the stare. “If you wish to stay, Miss Chessingham, you may. Please remember afterwards that I asked you to go.” Both were pale now and very apprehensive indeed. On the basis of my ability to terrify people I could have had a job with a Central European Secret Police at any time.

I said, “What were you doing last night, Chessingham? Round about ten o’clock, shall we say?”

“Last night?” He blinked. “Why do I have to account for my movements for last night?”

“The questions come from me. Please give an answer.”

“I – well, I was at home. With Stella and Mother.”

“All night?”

“Of course.”

“There’s no ‘of course’. No visitors, no outsiders to testify to your presence here?”

“Just Stella and Mother.”

“Just Miss Chessingham. At ten o’clock your mother would be in bed.”

“Yes, in bed. I’d forgotten.”

“I’m not surprised. Forgetting is your strong line. You forgot to tell me last night that you had been in the R.A.S.C.”

“The R.A.S.C.?” He sat down at the table again, not to eat, and from the slight movements of his arms I could tell that one hand was gripping the other pretty strongly. “Yes, that’s right. How did you know that?”

“A little bird told me. The same bird told me that he had seen you driving an army vehicle.” I was sticking my neck out but I’d no option. Time was not on our side. “You said you couldn’t drive.”

“I can’t.” His eyes flickered to his sister and then back to me. “There’s a mistake. Someone is making a mistake.”

“That’s you, Chessingham – if you keep denying it. What if I can produce four independent witnesses by nightfall who will swear to it that they have seen you driving.”

“I may have tried once or twice. I’m – I’m not sure. I haven’t a driving licence.”

“You make me sick,” I said in disgust. “You’re speaking and behaving like a moron. You’re no moron, Chessingham. Stop beating about the bush and making a fool of yourself. You can drive. Admit it. Miss Chessingham, your brother can drive, can’t he?”

“Leave Stella alone.” Chessingham’s voice was high, his face pale. “You’re right, damn you, I can drive – after a fashion.”

“I suppose you thought it very clever to abandon that Bedford van outside your house two nights ago? On the assumption that the police would never believe anyone capable of doing anything so obvious?”

“I was never near that van.” His voice was almost a shout. “I swear it! I swear I was never near that van. I got frightened when you came round last night and I said anything I could to – to strengthen my innocence.”

“Innocence.” I laughed my nasty policeman’s laugh. “The photographs of Jupiter that you said you took. How did you take them? Or did someone else take them? Or did you rig up an apparatus to take the pictures automatically while you were away at Mordon?”