Arthur Upfield - Venom House

“Morris isn’t normal,” Janet Answerth said. “He’s never been out of his room for years.”

“Which is why I will go to him and not order Constable Mawson to bring him down here.”

“But, Inspector…” Mary began.

“His room?” interrupted Bony.

“I will take you,” Janet said, sadly resigned, and walked to the door.

On leaving this modern architectural creation for the original building, Bony felt as though he passed, in two steps, from summer to winter. He caught a glimpse of a large woman in white within the kitchen, and then the darkness of the passage was like smoke until they entered the hall. Treading the royal-blue carpet, he resisted the impulse to touch the gleaming honey-hued balustrades, and, on arriving at the gallery at the head of the staircase, was shocked to observe that the carpet running both ways from it was threadbare and colourless. Still following Janet Answerth, his gaze clung to that hall of extraordinary beauty.

And then he was walking along another dark passage till Janet stopped before a confronting door at the angle. From a wall hook she took down a key, with which she unlocked a padlock securing a stout door-bolt. As she drew back the bolt, Bony placed a hand on her arm. “I will go in alone, Miss Answerth.”

“Oh, no! You must not. Morris mightn’t be friendly towards you.”

“Constable Mawson will come at my call. Miss Answerth will not enter with me, Mawson.”

“Very well, sir.”

Bony opened the door, entered, closed the door and paused with his back to it.

No one was within the room. It was spacious… long and narrow. It was lighted by two windows in the front wall of the house and one at the end wall. All were guarded by steel lattice fixed to the outside. In the centre stood a large mahogany table on which was a mechanical train set, a Ferris wheel, a contraption of some kind, and a litter of what small boys call their junk. There was a magnificent stone fireplace and on the wide mantel oneobject only, a tall cloisonne vase. Two common kitchen chairs, a dilapidated leather arm-chair, a throne chair of cedarwood, a large glass-fronted bookcase having two panes broken, and a faded chintz-covered couch completed the furniture. The floor was covered with modern but worn linoleum. The walls were black-panelled to the smoky ceiling.

The room was tidy and the air clean. It was almost a pleasant room. The application of furniture oil and wax would have made it bright and wholesome. Following the first swift survey, Bony’s gaze returned to the throne chair. Once it had been painted or varnished black. Now the seat was worn to natural tan, and the tops of the massive and carved side posts were equally worn. The oddity was interesting, but Bony hadn’t the time to cogitate upon it, for through a doorway opposite the fireplace there appeared a boy.

He was cleanly dressed in the uniform of Eton. The dark-grey trousers needed pressing. The short Eton jacket needed to be brushed, but the wide Eton collar was spotless, as were the white shirt-cuffs. He came forward with measured tread, to look down upon his visitor with eyes, either blue or grey, expressive of astonishment. His hair and trimmed beard were the colour of Janet’s hair, the hair being combed low on the left side and smelling strongly of the oil making it gleam. His voice was soft and well accented.

“I saw you… coming in the little boat. Does Janet know you are here?”

“Yes. You are Morris Answerth, aren’t you?”

The man in the schoolboy’s clothes gravely nodded, saying:

“I think I oughtn’t to speak to you. Janet mightn’t like it.”

“But I have her permission.” Bony failed to read the effect of this statement. The face was pale like all faces of the imprisoned, but the physical well-being was undoubted. With a slight shock, Bony realized that his training in the art of defence, plus his natural ability to counter violence, might serve him little should this man go into action. He said: “Surely you do not mind me coming up to talk with you?”

“Talk with me?”came the puzzled voice.

“Yes. About your train. About your magnet. About you. About anything you would like to talk about.”

Morris Answerth smiled, slowly, shyly, and it was the most pathetic smile Bony had ever seen on a grown man’s face.

“My magnet!” he exclaimed. “I fish with that, you know. Did you see me catching fish?”

Bony chuckled with creditable realism.

“Yes. You did splendidly.”

“Do you like my room?” The voice was eager.

“Very much. Will you show me your things… your fishing-line and magnet?”

The eagerness seeped away. The eyes were troubled. Then uneasiness was banished by cunning, and the scrawny red beard heightened the effect. A large hand gripped Bony’s arm below the elbow, and Bony determinedly refrained from wincing.

“You would tell Janet.”

“I would not,” asserted Bony, indignantly.

“Yes, you would.”

“No fear, I wouldn’t,”came the ungrammatical assurance. “I never tell Janet anything. Doesn’t do, you know, to tell her anything.”

The cunning vanished. The smile returned. The painful grip was removed. Morris said:

“Janet would scold me if you told her things. She makes me cry when she scolds. She’s very nice, but when she scolds she has a dreadful look on her face. She never beats me like Mary did once. Mary is very strong. Stronger than I am. At least she thinks she is. But she doesn’t know. Three times a day I do my exercises. Would you like to see me at my exercises?”

“Of course. You are training to become very strong?”

“Stronger than Mary. You won’t tell Janet I told you, will you?”

“Certainly not. Haven’t I said so?”

“That’s right. Mother made me promise not to tell about the exercises. The idea is that I become much stronger than Mary, and then when Mary wants to beat me again, I am to resist.”

“Think you will be able to?” asked Bony. “Your sister is very, very strong.”

“I know. But some day I’ll be stronger than she is, and then I’ll snap her neck like a carrot.”

“You don’t like Mary, I can tell.”

“Oh, I don’t think I dislike her,” protested Morris. “It’s Janet who hates Mary. Janet doesn’t know about my exercises. You mustn’t ever tell her. If you do she will scold me and have that look on her face. Mary is very kind. She gave me the train set and the magnet to play with. But it’s fun training to be strong.”

“How old are you, Mr Answerth?”

“Mister! Oh, I say! I’m not old enough for Mister, you know. Let me think. My forgetaryis bad. Janet says it is, and she’s always right. Oh yes… I’m just fourteen. Janet says I am, and she must know. Mary says so, too. Who’s outside the door?”

“Friend of mine. Just waiting for me.”

“Oh! Then it won’t matter if he hears me doing the exercises.” Morris smiled delightedly and laughed with studied restraint. “If your friend stays quiet, I can hear if Janet or Mary comes up. They don’t know I can hear them. I’ve never told them, but I can hear them in time to stop them finding me out doing something wrong.”

“How was it you didn’t hear me, and my friend, coming up?”

“Oh! That was because I happened to be in the bathroom. Shall I do the exercises now?”

“I would certainly like to watch.”

With the conceit of a boy much younger than fourteen, Morris Answerth removed the absurd collar and the well-fitting Eton jacket, and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, revealing the arms of a wrestler. When slowly he opened his arms and angled them, the biceps rose to small mountains, and the forearms became great ropes. Turning away, he performed cart-wheels round the centre table. From the far end of the room, he ran to leap cleanly over the table. He placed one of the kitchen chairs on the table and cleared that. Crawling under the table, there on his knees he made his head and hands the three points of a triangle, and slowly straightened his legs till he stood with the massive table balanced on him. As slowly, he sank again to his knees, grounded the table and crawled from under, not a crane upset, the toy train still upon its rails.