Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

You should suggest that to the police.

He said: I would if I thought there was any danger of that old bastard coming back here. Frame him. Declare I saw him creeping up the fire escape in sneakers, with a bloodstained hatchet in one hand! That'd fix him.

She said with unexpected compassion: Poor old man. He should have a family to take care of him.

Irritated by her implied reproach of his callousness, he said cheerfully:

I dare say he has. I expect they're in hiding to try and avoid him. Come to think of it, I bet that's who denounced him.

You shouldn't be so unkind about him.

He hasn't kept you awake all night with his bloody records!

He sipped his tea. It was very bad tea; it was weak, and had not been left to stand long enough. He added more milk to cool it, and drank it in gulps. She said: More?

No thanks. I'd better go. By the way, have you looked in his room?

No, why?

I wonder if it's badly burned?

Why? Do you want to move in there?

It might be an idea, he said. In case the next tenant turns somersaults all night. Or trains a dancing horse.

The voice at the other end of the line said:

Newsdesk.

Is Mr Payne there, please?

Speaking.

Hello, Bill. This is Gerard.

Hello, old boy! How's it go?

Listen, Bill. Something rather odd's just happened in this place I'm living in. The police have just tried to arrest an old man as a suspect for the Whitechapel murders.

Has any other newspaper got on to it yet?

Not as far as I know.

What happened?

He barricaded his door and set fire to the room.

Christ! What happened then?

They broke the door down. He's in hospital now suffering from burns.

Hold on… All right, give me the address. It's Colindale, isn't it?

No. I've moved to Kentish Town.

Good. That's fine. Do you think you could get down here?

To the office?

Yes. No. To Joe's in Carmelite Street. You remember that cafe we went to with

Gret?

OK. I'll get there right away. See you in half an hour.

Wait. Hold on. Give me the address, and we'll send a man there right away.

All right, but would you do me a favour? Don't mention my name. The landlady might resent it. Get your man to say he found out from the police, or one of the neighbours tipped your office. OK?

OK. Give me the address.

He walked back quickly, his hands deep in his raincoat pockets. The November sky looked cold and marble-grey.

He leaned the bicycle against the window of the cafe in Carmelite Street, and locked the back wheel. The road was being repaired, and the noise of the pneumatic drill filled the air with vibrations that drowned the noise of machines from the printing works opposite. The cafe was beginning to fill with the lunch-hour crowd. There was no sign of Payne in either of the two rooms. He took off his raincoat, and placed it on an empty corner table to reserve it, then went to the counter to order. When he came back to the table a man was sitting there. Sorme said without enthusiasm: Hello, Bobby. The man said:

I'm well, Gerard. How're you? Ah hope ye don't mind if I sit down?

The watery eyes regarded him with anxiety. He said:

No. I'm waiting for Bill Payne.

That's all right. Ah'll go when he comes. Well, you're looking well, m'boy.

Sorme looked across at the tired, unshaven face, and repented his brusqueness.

The Scotsman looked as if he hadn't eaten or slept for several days. He said:

Can I offer you a cup of tea?

No thank ye, Gerard. Ah've just had one. But Ah'll tell ye what you could do.

Ah'm expirin' for want of a smoke, and Ah've only a threepenny piece to ma name. Could ye lend me a couple of bob — or a shillin'd do.

Sorme said embarrassedly: I dunno. I suppose so.

He pulled out the wallet, and, removing a folded ten-shilling note, handed it to Robert Drummond.

If you can change that, you can have two bob.

Thanks, man. Ye're savin' ma life.

Sorme looked at his watch; it was half past twelve. Drummond came back, and dropped four florins in front of him. He held out the open packet of Woodbines. Sorme shook his head.

Thanks, I don't.

Ye're lucky.

Sorme noticed the trembling of the hand that lit the cigarette.

The Scotsman sat down, and sighed a cloud of smoke. He detached a shred of tobacco from his lower lip; his eyes closed:

Aahh! My first today.

His eyes opened, and looked directly at Sorme for the first time.

Well, lad, what've ye been doin' since I saw ye last?

Nothing much. Tell me, Bobby, do you know anything about these Whitechapel murders?

Only what ah've read in the papers. Why, do you?

No. Until yesterday. I'd never even heard of them. I never read the papers.

Drummond said: Did I ever tell ye about the murder I got involved in in Glasgow?

No.

Well. Ah wasn't exac'ly involved. But the girl livin' in the room next to me got strangled one night. And the funny thing was, I haird her cry out. And I just lay there and did nothing.

Why?

Why? It's hard to say.

He stared, brooding, over his second cigarette. The woman called: One liver and chips. Sorme collected it from the counter and paid. When he sat down, the Scotsman said slowly:

Yes, I can tell ye why. Have ye ever wanted something badly — wanted it a lot more than it's worth?

Occasionally, Sorme said. He shook tomato ketchup on to the plate.

She was a shapely girl, y'understand, not pretty. An' she didn't have regular men friends, as far as I could make out, but she wasn't a hardened virgin either. Men sometimes stayed overnight — not always the same man, y'see? And it was a temptation- to knock on her door one night on some excuse and say: How about it, ma dear? An' I don't think she'd have refused — I don't think so.

Sorme asked, through a mouthful of liver: Why didn't you?

He shrugged, stubbing out the cigarette:

I can't say. Ah was younger then… shy.

He looked at Sorme and smiled suddenly. It was a curiously candid smile.

But on the night it happened, I haird her cry out, and thought she was having a nightmare. I thought: Why not now? an' got halfway to the door. Then I started to sweat and shake. I'd thought about it so long, I wasn't prepared to get it so suddenly. So I lay in bed, feelin' ma heart thumpin' and tryin' to work up the courage. Then I haird someone movin' about, and thought: She can't sleep… But I didn't go. And the next day, they found her strangled.

Did they ever catch him?

Yes. They caught him. He was a soldier. He'd killed her for the three pounds she had in her handbag.

Sorme said: Ugh, what a swine. Poor girl.

Here's Bill, the Scotsman said.

Sorme turned around as Payne came into the room. He waved to him. Drummond stood up, saying:

I'll leave you.

Sorme said: If you don't stop chain-smoking, you'll need another packet in half an hour.

Ye're right, Gerard. Thanks for the loan.

The hand, unwashed, covered with light ginger hairs, pressed Sorme's forearm.

Payne called from the counter:

Tea for both of you?

Not for me. Ah'm just goin'. G'bye, m'dear.

Goodbye, Sorme said.

Payne brought the two teas over. He said:

What did he want?

Nothing. Just to talk.

Talk? Didn't he put the bite on you?

Only for two bob.

I knew it. He usually tries to tap me when he sees me. That's how I knew he'd bitten you already.

You look ill, Sorme said.

Payne's face was bloodless. It was a thin face, with a clean-cut profile and cleft chin. When he was tired, his skin took on the greenish tint of the albumen of a boiled duck egg.

I am. I'm half dead with sleepiness. I've done two shifts running. The other man's away with 'flu.