Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

She was away for a long time. She came back with the brisk casualness of a woman who has been out to powder her nose, and stood in front of him, waiting.

He said: Another drink?

No, thank you.

He finished his beer and they went outside.

Well?

No. His parents haven't heard from the police.

Are you sure? Did you ask them?

No. Not directly. I just asked where I could find Austin. They said he might be at Oxford with some friends. I said someone had sent a letter for him care of me, and that someone had been telephoning me to enquire after him.

Good! What did they say?

It was his mother… She said she couldn't understand it, and that as far as she knew he wasn't in any sort of trouble. I told her that I thought it might be a bookmaker or someone he owes money to…

He said with admiration:

You're a born intriguer!

She smiled briefly:

It looks as if no one has been making enquiries from her, then.

Strange. Why did Macmurdo tell us he had?

I don't think he did. He only said that Austin wasn't with his parents. Perhaps they've been keeping watch on them.

The car turned left, towards the Embankment. He said:

This sounds pretty odd.

I didn't know whether to give them any kind of warning. It suddenly seemed ridiculous…

The best thing would be to find Austin. How long should it take us to Leatherhead?

About an hour, if the traffic isn't too bad.

Approaching Westminster Bridge, he checked his watch with Big Ben. The river looked like a sheet of rayon in the sunlight; it was difficult to believe in murder in the unexpected warmth.

She said:

Austin is here.

He sat up and stared at her. She had not spoken since they left Merton.

Where?

Here, in Leatherhead. That was his car outside the hotel.

Are you certain? I didn't see a red car.

It wasn't a red one. It was the grey MG.

He turned, peering out of the rear window. It was impossible to make out a parked car among the traffic.

Hadn't we better turn and make sure?

There's no need. I am sure. I recognised the number. It's one of his father's cars that he borrows sometimes.

But supposing he's in the hotel?

I don't think so. He'll probably be at the cottage. But I'll go back to the hotel while you go to the cottage.

But he wouldn't be allowed to park for long in the main street.

It isn't the main street — it was in the side street.

How far is the cottage?

About two miles on the other side.

Have you been there before?

Once. He took me for a trip in the aeroplane.

Sorme said:

I suppose he could be in Paris by this time.

I doubt it. He wouldn't leave his car outside a hotel if he intended to leave the country.

He looked at her with admiration.

You'd make a good detective!

She smiled without replying. The car turned left into a side lane with a signpost that said 'No Through Road'. After another five hundred yards, she turned left again, and braked to a stop.

You'll have to walk from here. I shan't be able to turn if I go any further.

Where is it?

Beyond those trees. When you reach the trees, you'll see the cottage. It stands on its own.

And what will you do?

I'll wait for twenty minutes.

OK. If I haven't returned by then, you'll know I've found Austin. Where will you be?

Back in the hotel. I'm afraid you'll have to walk back. It's called the Crown, and it's in the phone book in case you want to phone me.

That's fine. Bye-bye, sweet.

He leaned across and kissed her. The sensation was strange; since the police arrived he had ceased to feel like her lover. Her lips felt cold and tight.

He climbed over the stile, and heard the car backing into the lane. The clump of trees was a hundred yards away, on the edge of the field. Beyond them, he could see nothing but the sky. In spite of the sunlight, the earth of the ploughed field looked hard and frozen. He took the path that ran beside the hedge, and walked quickly, his hands in his pockets. After the heat of the car, the wind was cold.

There was a pond in the midst of the trees; its brown water looked lifeless; a broken tree jutted from the middle like an arm. Standing on its edge, he could see the cottage in the corner of the next field. He experienced a sense of depression and foreboding. He stood there for several minutes, hoping to see some sign of life. There was no smoke rising from the chimney. Two windows faced towards the pond, but their curtains appeared to be drawn.

It was cold among the trees. He glanced at his watch, and remembered that Miss Quincey would be waiting in the car. He set out briskly across the field, hurrying to reach the cottage. He was aware of a desire to find it empty, to hurry back to the waiting car and to London.

The gate of the small front garden stood open. The walls of the cottage had been whitewashed, but winter rain had cut channels in it, leaving rust deposits from the corrugated iron roof. Outside the back door, a water butt was full to overflowing.

He banged the rusty knocker, calling: Austin!

When there was no movement from inside, he shouted:

Is anybody home?

He was suddenly struck by the thought that the place might be under observation by the police. He turned and stared at the clump of trees he had just left, at the bare hedges, and the haystack covered with tarpaulin in the other corner of the field. As he looked, he heard a movement inside the door. He looked round, and found Nunne's eyes looking at him from the letter-slit under the knocker. He stared back, too startled for a moment to speak. The flap closed and a chain rattled; several bolts moved back. The door opened, and Nunne stood there in his shirtsleeves. His face looked unshaven and exhausted. Sorme said:

Hello, Austin.

Nunne smiled unsteadily; a smell of whisky came to Sorme. He said:

Come in, dear boy. Childe Roland to the dark tower came…

It was as if they were meeting for the first time. In the past two days, Nunne had ceased to strike him as a reality. His relief expressed itself as a desire to laugh. He said:

It's good to see you, Austin!

Thank you, Gerard. Your face is also welcome.

The small kitchen smelt of damp; behind the door stood a Calor-gas cylinder with the seal intact. The sink, stove and washing machine were all obviously new. On the draining-board stood three empty whisky bottles.

Which way?

To your left.

The room looked like a smaller version of the Albany Street flat. The carpet was the same eggshell blue; the walls were distempered in cream and navy blue. It was stiflingly hot; a paraffin heater with a hemisphere of glowing wires burned in the grate; the room was lit by two paraffin lamps with tall chimneys. The room had an appearance of disorder; there was a great deal of cigarette ash on the carpet and shells of monkey-nuts. On the table were the remains of a meal, and two whisky bottles, both full. Nunne threw a newspaper and some books off a chair, and said:

Sit down.

Thanks. Mind if I take my coat off?

How did you get here?

Gertrude brought me.

Where is she?

She's gone back to the hotel.

Nunne dropped into an armchair, and picked up a glass from the table. He said:

Help yourself to whisky. Open a fresh bottle. Why did you decide to come?

Sorme tore the lead foil off a bottle of White Horse, and poured himself a large one. He said:

The police have been looking for you.

He squirted soda, then turned round. Nunne was smiling. The teeth looked yellow and fang-like. He said:

I see.

Sorme took off his jacket and dropped it over the back of a chair. He said:

Mind if I open a window?

Do. Where did they visit you?