Peter Lovesey - A Case of Spirits

Probert was on his feet in a moment and bustled past Strathmore into the study. His haste was unfortunate. ‘Damn! I’ve kicked over the blasted bowl of salt solution. Light a candle, someone, for God’s sake, and bring it in here.’

Strathmore located a candle on the mantelpiece, lighted it from the fire and took it to Probert. Peter Brand was seated gripping the chair-handles as they had left him, except that his appearance bore signs of his recent state of trance, his hair dishevelled from contact with the chair-back, jacket collar turned up and trousers, with handkerchief half hanging from them, creased concertina-fashion where he had slipped down in the chair.

There was no other person in the study with him.

‘What are you tryin’ to do to me, for Christ’s sake?’ he demanded of Probert, all affectation sunk without trace.

‘You told me this was science. A bleedin’ experiment. I come in good faith and what ’appens? Someone comes creepin’ in ’ere spyin’ on me just as I’m goin’ into trance-the one bloody thing you know I can’t abide. Could’ve finished me, with my groggy ’eart, it could. It’s a fine bleedin’ state of affairs when an honest medium can’t trust ’is sitters to stay behind a curtain for ten minutes!’

‘Mind your language, Brand. Ladies present,’ Nye reminded him.

‘William, I’d be uncommonly obliged if you would take a candle down to the cellar and switch off the electricity,’ said Probert, with the authentic voice of authority.

Nye practically saluted before departing on his mission.

‘Mr Brand, we all remained behind the curtain, I assure you,’ said Alice. ‘Nobody left the room.’

‘Look, I don’t imagine these things,’ said Brand.

‘My dear, nobody would suggest that you do,’ said Miss Crush. ‘We all heard the footsteps. You were not alone in here-there is no doubt of that. But does it not occur to you that your intruder might not have been one of us?’

‘Servants, d’you mean?’

‘All out. Won’t be back before eleven,’ said Probert. ‘And if you’re thinking that it might have been my wife, I’d advise you to forget it. She’s so damned superstitious that she won’t put her head round the door of her room until you’re out of the house.’

‘So it must have been a spirit visitor,’ deduced Miss Crush.

‘It’s never ’appened like that before,’ said Brand, sceptically. ‘The footsteps was behind me as I sat in the chair.

Someone come in through the door and ’alf crossed the room, I swear it. Then ’e must’ve gone out again.’

Miss Crush appealed to Brand with open hands. ‘Don’t you understand? You have just given us a classic account of a haunting. It was a phantom that we all heard.’

Brand looked slightly mollified. ‘You really think so?’

‘No other explanation,’ confirmed Probert.

‘Well, in that case, seein’ as you can’t all be deceiving me,’ said Brand, his speech rapidly re-acquiring its veneer of sophistication, ‘I’ll be content to draw a veil over the whole episode.’

‘Most decent of you,’ said Probert. ‘As that’s settled, shall we resume the experiment? Ah, William,’ he said, seeing Nye reappear panting from his visit to the cellar, ‘we’re about to re-commence. Trot downstairs and switch it on again, will you? There’s a good fellow. Perhaps you’ll be so decent as to stand by the galvanometer and give us a reading, Jowett. We shall want to make sure we have a contact.’

It was the work of a few minutes to re-establish the experiment as it had been before the interruption and close the curtain. The sitters reassembled by firelight in the library, Strathmore kneeling at Jowett’s side, pencil poised over pocket-book; Miss Crush with hands on the table and eyes rotated upwards to the ceiling; Probert leaning back in his chair with arms folded, watching the curtain; Nye, still recovering his breath, ogling Alice, who sat reflectively twisting her engagement ring.

‘Twenty minutes to eleven,’ said Strathmore.

‘A reading of 202,’ responded Jowett.

Somewhere outside, and from a level well below them, a ship’s horn sounded a dismal note across the Thames.

‘Fog, would you say?’ said Nye.

Nobody seemed interested.

The fire had subsided in the grate and glowed evenly, with the occasional flare from a tiny pocket of gas that had somehow remained latent in the wood until now, and sprouted flames incredibly pure and brilliant in colour.

Miss Crush was not the first this time to detect a presence.

‘Something is there,’ whispered Alice Probert. ‘Listen.’

‘201,’ said Jowett, thinking of Scotland Yard.

‘Hush!’

A floorboard crunched.

‘The door!’ said Nye, saucer-eyed. ‘The handle is turning.’

Everyone looked at the library door. He was not mistaken. The handle was turning, evenly and with a calculated pressure that made Jowett’s blood run cold. When it reached the limit of its rotation the door itself swung slowly inwards. A figure took a single step into the room, and stopped. It was tall, lean in stature and sharp of feature. It was wearing a bowler hat.

‘Sergeant Cribb! How the devil do you account for this?’ ejaculated Jowett.

Before Cribb could respond, Strathmore barked at Jowett, ‘Look to the galvanometer! The current is broken.’

‘Small wonder, in this blasted bear-garden!’ said Probert. ‘When I asked you here, Jowett, I didn’t expect you to bring the rest of Scotland Yard with you. Kindly light a candle, William, and bring it to the curtain. I think we can safely assume Mr Brand won’t have anything more to do with our researches after this!’

The assumption was accurate. Horrifyingly so.

When Probert tugged aside the curtain the candlelight revealed the medium supported by the chair but no longer seated in it. He was propped like a piece of timber against the angle of the left arm and back, his legs jutting stiffly to the right. His trunk was rigid, his face twisted sideways, the features contorted, with teeth bared and clenched.

‘His hair!’ cried Alice Probert. ‘It is standing on end!’

‘Keep back!’ her father warned. ‘Don’t touch him! Downstairs, William, and switch off the current. Hurry, man, for God’s sake! Strathmore, bring another candle, will you?’

‘What has happened?’ gasped Miss Crush.

‘Electric shock, ma’am. Get back to the other room. You can’t help. This is a doctor’s work.’

‘I must!’ Miss Crush screamed hysterically, starting towards the chair.

‘Hold her back!’ ordered Probert.

Cribb, being nearest, reacted with commendable sharpness considering the bewildering sequence of events since he had opened the door of the room. He caught Miss Crush round the waist and tugged her towards him. She fainted in his arms.

‘Typical of the woman,’ said Probert. ‘Take charge of her, Alice.’

Captain Nye’s voice penetrated faintly from the basement. ‘Electricity off, Dr Probert.’

The cutting of the current produced no appreciable change in the appearance of Brand. Dr Probert felt his pulse and put his ear to his heart. ‘Gentlemen, I must try resuscitation. See if you can lift the patient on to the table in the other room, will you? Can you manage it? Where’s the other man, the police sergeant?’

Nobody answered, because nobody had noticed Cribb’s quick exit to the corridor, after consigning Miss Crush to an armchair and Alice Probert’s smelling-salts. The sergeant’s sleuthing instinct could not be deflected. He had entered the house in pursuit of a quarry, and when a loose floorboard creaked overhead, he heard it, for all the commotion over Brand.

He mounted the stairs lightly, but two at a time, and reached the first floor landing, where five closed doors confronted him. Giving chase in a large house such as this was the very devil; he would rather track a man through the streets any day. These would be bedrooms, each with several possible hiding-places-bed, wardrobe, closet and possibly balcony. If he committed himself to a thorough search of one, he was giving his man the chance to slip out of another, down the stairs and away into the night. Lying in wait at the head of the staircase was just as futile. Any housebreaker worthy of his jemmy would resort to the drainpipes in an emergency.