Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

The gates of the factory were closed and locked, but he had expected that. He knew of a loose plank in the fence further along the road; a secret exit used by some of the workers who slipped out in working hours to buy fruit from the lorries drawn up near the airfield. He pushed the plank aside, stooped and passed his thin body through the opening, then set off quickly towards the research laboratory.

The factory was in darkness. Even the control room and the hangars were shut down for the night. He walked on the grass, his pale eyes alert, his hands deep in his overcoat pockets.

The research laboratory, a one-storey building of brick and tile, was hidden behind the main office block, three or four hundred yards from the main entrance. Coming upon it suddenly, Benton was startled to see a solitary light in one of the windows. The moon, riding high, cast a cold, white light over the building, picking out the mortar between the bricks. Benton remembered how proud he had been of the building when it had been erected. All his careful organization had gone into it. He remembered the hundreds of forms he had to fill up to obtain the necessary building material, the plaintive bickering of the authorities who had tried to persuade him that prefabricated concrete sheds would do as well. But he had persisted, argued and cajoled, until they had given way in grudging despair.

And now he was going to set fire to the place. It would finish Wesley as Wesley had finished him. All Wesley’s money was tied up in the mass of intricate and delicate machinery housed in the building. In a little while it would be an inferno of flames. There was a drum of petrol in one of the outside sheds. He would drag it to the building. A match would do the rest.

He stood looking at the lighted window, wondering if Wesley were still in the building, and as he watched the light went out. He waited, hidden in the shadows, and after a few minutes a man came out of the building. He recognized the limping walk. It was the senior watchman. He was going to supper.

Anyone looking into the room could easily have mistaken the scene to have been one of domestic bliss. Wesley sat in an arm-chair. From time to time he selected a paper from a table by his side and studied it, making neat notes in the margin. Opposite him sat Julie. She was knitting a complicated pattern in blue and white. The two coloured balls of wool rested in her lap and her knitting needles clicked and flashed as she fashioned the pattern with expert speed.

Except for the click of the needles and the rustle of papers silence had hung over the room for a long time. Julie had wanted to go out that evening but Wesley had refused. Rather than go alone she had brought her knitting into his room and, without his permission, had sat by the fire. After one surprised glance he had continued to work, and now she was sure he had forgotten her.

She had been alone all day and yearned for company. Even Wesley’s silent company was better than being on her own, and now as she knitted, the warmth of the fire against her legs, she felt herself relaxing, and for the first time for many weeks she experienced an isolated peace of mind.

Then, suddenly, she was startled out of her blank, comfortable mood by the shrill ringing of the telephone. The sharp sound of the urgent bell brought into the quiet room an atmosphere of alarm. Even Wesley started, his mind jerked away from his calculations.

‘I sometimes wish telephones had never been invented,’ he said, laying down his papers. ‘Would you answer it, Julie? Say I’m busy.’

Julie put down her knitting and, with ill grace, went to the telephone. A man’s voice asked for Wesley.

‘It’s very urgent,’ he said. ‘I am calling from the factory.’ There was an excited note in his voice and he spoke loudly.

‘It’s the factory,’ she said to Wesley and held out the receiver. He took it from her and their fingers touched. Julie snatched her hand away and moved back to the fire.

She could hear the man shouting; his voice, although loud, was indistinct. She caught the word ‘fire’ and looked quickly at Wesley, sensing immediately that something was wrong. Wesley had stiffened and his face had gone a whitish grey.

‘I’ll come out.’

The man went on shouting.

‘All right, all right,’ Wesley said quietly. ‘Yes, keep him there until I come. I’m coming now.’ He set down the receiver and stood for a moment looking at Julie. There was a dead expression in his eyes that frightened her.

‘What is it?’

‘Benton has set fire to the lab. I’ve got to go out there at once.’

‘Benton? But why?’

‘Does it matter?’ He shook his head and pressed his palms to his temples, like a boxer trying to shake off the effects of a damaging punch.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ She made the offer without thinking.

He pulled himself together with an effort.

‘I suppose so. I may as well keep up the pretence a little longer, anyway until I see the extent of the damage. It’d look odd if I didn’t have someone to lead me about, wouldn’t it? Besides, the fire might amuse you. It should be an awe-inspiring sight.’

The cold, flat note in his voice sent a shiver through her.

‘Is it bad then?’

‘It seems so. Come on; with luck we’ll find a taxi.’

They picked up a taxi in Piccadilly.

For some time Wesley stared through the window in silence as the taxi weaved a way through the last of the evening’s traffic, then he said abruptly: ‘It’s strange how things work out, isn’t it, Julie? I thought I had been so thorough and nothing could go wrong. The laboratory was, of course, the key to everything, and yet I never gave it a thought. It doesn’t look as if your friend Gleb will stand trial now.’

Julie stared searchingly at his white face.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘If the lab is burned out there’s no point in my working any more. It puts a full stop to everything.’

‘You mean you wouldn’t have the time?’

‘Or the money.’

Julie recoiled from him as if he had hit her.

‘What has money to do with it?’

‘To equip the lab. I borrowed money. To borrow money I gave securities. If the lab’s gone my securities have gone with it.’

Julie suddenly felt as if she were going to be sick.

‘You mean you won’t have any money? Then what’s to become of me? You promised to settle money on me!’

‘I know. I’m sorry, Julie, but I couldn’t foresee this, could I? There won’t be anything left of my money. Everything I owned went into the lab. But you’ll have the furs and the jewellery. They are worth a good bit. If you’re careful you’ll be all right.’

‘You’ve cheated me!’ she cried furiously. ‘After all I’ve been through; after all your rotten promises! Damn you! I might have known this would happen. All right, you won’t get any more time. I’m going to the police. I’ll make you pay for this.’

‘I’m sorry, Julie. You don’t really deserve anything, but a promise is a promise. I would have kept my word. I want you to believe that.’

‘You talk! That’s all you’re any good at — talking! You talked me into this! You and your rotten promises!’ Tears of rage ran down her face and she sat huddled up in the corner of the taxi, her hands clenched in her lap.

‘You’ll have the furs. I hope they’ll give you some happiness. You’re due for a little happiness, but somehow I don’t think you’ll get it. What will you do, Julie? Will you wait for Gleb to come out of prison? You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said fiercely. ‘He’s worth six of you. I’ll wait for him. You can think of us while they’re hanging you!’