Джеймс Чейз - The Flesh of the Orchid

‘I’ll run,’ she said, going with him down the stairs.

‘Miss Banning’s going for help,’ Magarth said to Staum, who was backed up against the wall, his fat face glistening with sweat. ‘You stick where you are. I’ll be back in a moment.’

‘Think she’ll make it?’ Staum asked.

‘She’ll make it,’ Magarth returned, but he wasn’t any too confident.

Together Veda and he went into the kitchen. Magarth didn’t turn on the light, and they groped their way across the dark room to the window.

‘Keep out of sight,’ Magarth whispered, and he peered through the glass, trying to see any movement on the dark terrace. He stood there for several minutes, but saw nothing to alarm him.

Frank, peering through the pillars of the balustrade, saw Magarth looking through the window, and he grinned, ducked down, waited.

Magarth opened the back door, stepped on to the terrace, looked up and down. He crossed to the balustrade, his nerves jumpy, and stood within a couple of feet of the invisible Frank. Satisfied that nothing stirred, he returned, beckoned to Veda.

‘It’s all right,’ he whispered, his lips close to her ear. ‘I guess they’re round the front. Run, kid, and try not to make a noise.’ He kissed her suddenly, held her for a moment, then watched her move swiftly and silently down the steps. The darkness swallowed her up.

The big house was quiet. The nurse had left Carol to watch Steve and had gone to her room next door.

Magarth sat on the top of the stairs, his rifle across his knees. Staum sat on the bottom stair. The hall, stairs and landings were ablaze with light. The hands of the big hall clock pointed to ten minutes past eleven. Veda had been gone now a quarter of an hour. In a few more minutes, Magarth thought hopefully, help would be with them, then they could go out into the darkness and hunt the Sullivans instead of sitting here waiting for their attack.

In the bedroom Steve opened his eyes. He had been sleeping, and now, refreshed, he smiled at Carol, reached for her hand.

‘I’ve been thinking so much about you,’ he said. ‘All the time I’ve been ill you’ve never been far from my thoughts. You know I love you, don’t you, Carol? I haven’t much to offer you... there’s the farm. It’s nice up there, and in a while—’

‘I don’t think you should talk,’ Carol interrupted him, leaned forward to kiss him. ‘You must rest, darling. I want you to get well quickly.’

‘I’m all right,’ Steve said firmly. ‘I’m feeling much stronger. I want to talk. We’ve got to find out who you are, Carol. We’ve got to find out why you were in that truck... where you were going...’

A feeling of fear ran through Carol.

‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Please don’t talk about that. I’m afraid... I’m afraid of finding out about myself. That woman said I was mad.’ She slipped from her chair, put her arms round his neck, held his head against her breast. ‘Do you think I’m mad? Is that why I don’t know who I am? It frightens me so. You see if... I couldn’t marry you, Steve...’

‘Of course you’re not mad,’ he returned. ‘You’ve had a bad crack on your head. It’s something that can be put right, I’m sure of it, then your memory will come back. You mustn’t worry about it, Carol.’

Holding him to her, Carol thought of the Sullivans waiting out in the dark, and she shivered.

‘What’s frightening you, kid?’ Steve asked. ‘It’s all going to be all right. As soon as I get well we’re going to have a swell time... just you and me. I’ve got it all doped out; that’s all I’ve been thinking about while I’ve waited for you.’

Carol held him closer so he shouldn’t see she was crying.

‘Give them another ring,’ Sheriff Kamp said impatiently to the operator. ‘I know there’s someone there.’ He glanced at his assistant deputy: a lean, hard-bitten man whom they called Lofty. ‘She says there’s no answer.’

‘I bet she’s calling a wrong number,’ Lofty said, and spat accurately into the spittoon. ‘You know what these dames are.’

After a delay the operator said the line was out of order.

‘Get it tested and report back,’ Kamp snapped and hung up. He looked worried.

‘Think something’s wrong?’ Lofty asked, lighting a cigarette.

‘I don’t know,’ Kamp said uneasily. ‘George ain’t too bright. I told him to call me every two hours, and he hasn’t been through. These Sullivans—’ He broke off, pulled at his moustache.

‘I wouldn’t like anything to happen to Miss Banning,’ Lofty said. ‘She’s a swell dame. Think we should go up there?’

‘It’s a long run,’ Kamp said, ‘and it’s getting late. I ain’t keen—’

The telephone rang.

Kamp listened to the operator’s voice, grunted, hung up.

‘She says the line is down.’

Lofty reached for his revolver belt.

‘Let’s go,’ he said shortly.

‘I guess you’re right,’ Kamp said, got to his feet, lifted down a rifle from the rack behind his desk. ‘Looks like there’s trouble up there.’

The night was moonless, and as Veda sped down the narrow path towards the plantation she felt as if she were in a dark tunnel miles underground.

She paused for a moment to look back at the lighted windows of the house, and as she did so she caught sight of a dark figure moving towards her as stealthily as a ghost.

Veda had plenty of courage, but for a second or so her heart seemed to stop beating, then with a little cry she whirled round and ran blindly down the path.

She had gone only a few yards when Frank caught up with her. His short fat fingers clamped on to her shoulder and spun her round. All she could see of him was a dim outline. She was aware of the smell of his hair-oil. She was too frightened to scream, and stood motionless, unable to do more than stare at this menacing shadowy figure.

Frank reached out, touched her face with his left hand, then, moving so fast that she didn’t see his right hand flash up, he struck her on the side of her head with his rubber cosh.

George Staum stood up, stretched himself. He had no stomach for being alone in the big hall and he was scared. The smooth, silent way in which his two guards had vanished had completely unnerved him, and he expected the Sullivans to materialize out of the walls at any moment.

His hands, slippery with sweat, gripped his rifle so tightly that the muscles in his arms ached. His eyes darted this way and that, and he felt a little sick.

He could hear Magarth moving about on the upper landing, and every so often he would call up to him. He wished now he hadn’t been picked for this job, and would have given a month’s pay to find himself in the safety of the Sheriff’s office.

In the sitting-room, a few feet from him, Max watched him through the crack of the slightly open door. Down the passage in the darkness, Frank pressed himself against the wall, edged slowly towards him.

Staum felt danger in the air. It was as if the atmosphere around him were tightening, and he stood still, listening, his face ugly with fear.

A slight sound, no louder than the scratching of a mouse, made him jerk his head round to look down the passage. Frank had reached the fuse box and the main switch lever squeaked as he pressed it down.

‘Who’s there?’ Staum croaked, stepping forward.

Then the whole house plunged into darkness.

Magarth ran to the head of the stairs, stopped.

‘Staum!’ he shouted. ‘You all right?’

‘There’s someone near me,’ Staum whimpered. ‘Quick! Come down here...!’

Magarth didn’t move.

There was a sudden startled gasp from Staum; then out of the darkness came the gruesome sound of a man being strangled.