Arthur Upfield: The Devil_s Steps

“This is Wideview Chalet, Mr. Rice,” he said.“Biskertalkin ’. One of our guests, a gent named Grumman, is lying in the ditch at the bottom of the garden. He’s got only his dressing gown and slippers on, and he looks like being dead. Thought you’d like to come down and look him over.”

Miss Jade abruptly felt like having hysterics. Bisker proceeded:

“No, we haven’t rung for the quack yet, Mr. Rice… Yes-all right!

… You’ll be along directly?… All right! We’ll hang on till yougets here.”

Bisker set down the telephone, studied Miss Jade for a fraction of a second and seated himself in her office chair, slumped into it with the same visible relief that she had shown when she sat down. He said plaintively:

“Sorry, Miss Jade, but I’m sort of upset like. Findin’ poor Mr. Grumman like that and all. A little drop of brandy-now…”

Suspicion leapt into Miss Jade’s dark eyes, but the mention of brandy created the want inherself. She pushed a bell button. Bisker rose and lurched to the desk. He again picked up the telephone and asked to be connected with Dr. Markham. He saw George appear at the door, and with exultation he heard Miss Jade order two brandy-and-sodas. Then he heard another feminine voice.

“Is that Dr. Markham’s?” he asked, deliberately putting a tremor into his voice. “This is the Chalet. A gent has been taken seriously ill… What’s that?… The doctor’s away?… That’s bad… Back soon?… Oh, all right! Tell him to come along up as soon as he can… Yes, it’s serious.”

He had just replaced the telephone instrument when George appeared with the drinks. Miss Jade ordered George to place the glasses on the desk. Bisker waited for George to withdraw, and such was the steward’s training that not a muscle of his face betrayed his astonishment. The door having been closed after George, Miss Jade said:

“Take a glass, Bisker.”

Miss Jade took three sips at her drink. Bisker held his glass to the light of the window, he sniffed at the contents, then he drank without swallowing and wiped his bristling grey moustache with the full length of a coat-sleeve. He was regretfully putting down the empty glass when Miss Jade said:

“Should it turn out that Mr. Grumman did not meet with an accident, Bisker, that in fact he met his death through violence, everything will be most upset here at the Chalet. I hope, Bisker, that you will remain loyal to me. The guests will doubtless all depart, and the place will have a bad name to live down. Let us hope that Mr. Grumman met with a normal accident.”

Bisker’s small grey eyes became steady.

“What makes you think that Mr. Grumman might ’avebeen murdered?” he asked.

“Don’t be stupid, Bisker,” snapped Miss Jade. “You tell me the man is dead and that he is lying in a ditch in his dressing gown and slippers. Surely you can recognize the possibility?”

“Oh, yes, marm. I can see that,” admitted Bisker.

“Of course you can. How long will it take Constable Rice to get here?”

“About five minutes in his car. Half an hour if he walks. This might be ’imcoming now.” They listened. Then Bisker said: “No, it’s a car coming up the drive from the highway.”

The Police Station, staffed by one officer, was at a small hamlet approximately half a mile up along the highway above Wideview Chalet, and, therefore, Constable Rice would take a left-hand turn-off to reach the Chalet at its upper side by the main entrance and the garages. To come in from the city, cars entered through a wide gateway about a hundred yards below the wicket gate and the ramp to the highway. It was thus that Miss Jade and Bisker knew that Constable Rice would be bound to call at the house, and would not see Bonaparte and Fred, who probably were remaining near the body of Mr. Grumman.

The car that came up from the highway could be heard circling on the open space fronting the garages and the entrance to the reception hall. Both thought it was Dr. Markham, and Miss Jade passed from the office to the reception hall, followed by Bisker, who now could hear a car coming down the road from its junction with the highway above the Chalet.

There entered into the reception hall a man dressed in a grey lounge suit of excellent cut and quality. On observing Miss Jade, he removed his hat and advanced. His face was clean-shaven, and his complexion exceptionally pale. In that white face two dark eyes were emphasised. He uttered the formal “Good morning” with a slight foreign accent. Then he said:

“I’ve called to see my friend, Mr. Grumman.”

Miss Jade now had more command of herself.

“Oh, yes! Mr. Grumman is slightly indisposed this morning. In fact, we think he has met with an accident. We are just-Ah!”

Into the reception hall stepped Constable Rice. He was not a large man, but he looked efficient. He was wearing ordinary clothes. The visitor for Mr. Grumman, observed Miss Jade looking beyond him, turned about to face the constable, and Rice looked his astonishment.

“Why!” he said. “I do believe it’s our old friend, Marcus! Marcus without his little black moustache, too! No, you don’t, Marcus!”

Rice flashed into a crouch and then leapt forward. He was actually off the floor when they heard a distinct “florp” sound. Miss Jade could see the weapon in the visitor’s right hand, a weapon having a long and ugly nozzle-a silencer. The velocity of the policeman’s body carried it to the place where the visitor had been standing, but he leapt aside, and Rice fell to the floor, an inert and sprawling figure.

He lay quite still. The visitor turned round to face Bisker and Miss Jade. His eyes were twin coals of flame, a dull scarlet behind black. Miss Jade opened her mouth to scream but the sound that issued from it was merely a long-caught sob. Bisker stood with his hands doubled into his hips, his eyes little points of livid grey. The visitor backed slowly to the mainentrance, stood there for what seemed a long time, then vanished beyond the door he slammed shut. Neither Bisker nor Miss Jade made the smallest movement. They heard the sound of a car being driven swiftly down the drive to the highway. Then Miss Jade slumped to the carpeted floor.

To Bisker it seemed that his own voice came to him from at least a hundred feet distant. He was on his knees when he heard it saying:

“Now, now, Mr. Rice! You hurtbad?”

He turned over the body of the constable, and then ceased further movement whilst he gazed down at the small round hole in the centre of the policeman’s forehead, and at the thin trickle of blood oozing from it.

“The dirty rat!” he said slowly.

Then he was on his feet and running to the closed front door. He swung it open and dashed outside, ran for a short distance over the bitumened space, then pulled up and said again:

“The dirty rat!”

On returning to the reception hall, he discovered Miss Jade on her hands and knees, and because her hair was all awry he had the impulse to laugh at her. Instead, he bent over and hauled her to her feet, and half dragged her into the office, where he put her in her own most comfortable chair.

“Leave it all to me,” he ordered, and was astounded by the timbre of his own voice.

He walked to the office door with the intention of closing and locking the door between the reception hall and the short passage leading to the lounge. Then he had his second brilliant “brain-wave” of that morning. He went back to Miss Jade’s desk and pressed the electric button summoning George.

Bisker was standing at the door between hall and passage when George appeared.

“Bring a bottle of whisky and glasses for two and a siphon of soda-water,” he ordered.

George was on the point of questioning this order when Bisker partly stood aside to give George a view of the dead policeman.