Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

He stopped abruptly, and twisted his fingers together. He bent both hands backwards, making the joints crack. His voice had begun to sound curiously thick as he talked. Sorme watched him closely, sensing the tightness that was coming up inside him. Nunne stood up suddenly and went to the table. He poured half an inch of whisky into the tumbler, and tossed it back. When he spoke again, his voice sounded choked:

I can't explain the feeling… but you understand.

Sorme said:

Yes, I understand.

He said it to reassure Nunne rather than because he understood.

Nunne stood with his back to him for a few seconds longer, holding the empty glass. He turned around and ran his fingers through Sorme's hair. He was smiling again. He said:

I wish you did understand, Gerard.

He sat down again; this time on the edge of the chair, his fists resting on his knees. Although the room was now becoming cool, his face was sweating. Sorme said:

I think I do understand, Austin. But… you know… you'll have to stop it. If you stop now, you might be safe. But if you don't… nothing can save you.

Nunne said: I know. That's the problem.

Sorme leaned forward. He said:

But do you understand it? You're alive now. In two months' time you might be waiting in the death cell. They'd hang you, Austin. They'd have to hang you. They wouldn't dare to commit you to a mental home. Get away while you can. Go to Switzerland. Find a good psychiatrist and pay him five thousand pounds and tell him everything. But don't stay in London.

Nunne looked up and smiled, but the exhaustion was back. He said:

I know you're right, Gerard.

He cleared his throat, and ran both hands through his hair. He began to button up his shirt.

I'm very grateful, Gerard…

Nonsense.

I don't deserve a friend like you.

Sorme said:

Don't be silly.

Nunne stood up.

I suppose we'd better go.

As he spoke, they heard the noise; it was the sound of some metal object being knocked over outside. For a moment, they stared at one another. Sorme glanced towards the window. He said quickly:

That could be the police.

As he spoke, there was a sound of knocking on the door. Nunne said:

I'm afraid you were followed.

I'm sorry…

It doesn't matter.

He opened the door leading to the hall. Sorme caught up with him and grasped his arm. He said quietly:

Don't give anything away.

Nunne turned and smiled at him. It was the calm, sardonic smile that Sorme associated with his first meeting with him, the total certainty of superiority. Nunne said:

Don't worry, dear boy. You be careful.

He went out to the door. A moment later, Sorme recognised Macmurdo's voice.

Mr Austin Nunne?

Yes. What can I do for you?

We'd like to speak to you, if we may. I am a police officer.

Certainly. Come in. I've been expecting you.

Sorme could almost see the eagerness on Macmurdo's face. A moment later, he came into the room, followed by the sergeant and Nunne. He was saying:

Indeed? Why?

Nunne said:

Because my friend here came especially to tell me to contact you.

Sorme was still sitting down. He nodded briefly at Macmurdo.

How do you do?

Macmurdo said:

I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you had no idea where Mr Nunne might be?

Sorme said pleasantly:

I hadn't. I've been looking systematically.

Macmurdo's disbelief was obvious. He said:

I see.

He turned to Nunne.

Mr Nunne, would you mind telling me where you were last night?

Certainly. I was here.

All night?

No. I went out for a breath of air… just a drive around.

At what time?

Oh… as a matter of fact, I don't know. After midnight. My portable radio gave out.

How long were you out?

Oh… about two hours, perhaps.

Where was your car parked?

In the lane outside.

When did you leave it outside the Crown Hotel in Leatherhead?

Nunne sat down on the edge of the table. His face was grave and concentrated.

This morning. I went in to buy a newspaper. And it was such a lovely day that I decided to walk back. I'd had some coffee…

Macmurdo interrupted belligerently:

You know why I'm asking these questions, don't you?

I think so, Nunne said.

Why?

You are investigating the Whitechapel murders. You want to clear me for your list of suspects.

Sorme could see Macmurdo's irritation growing with the confidence of Nunne's replies. The sergeant was standing by the door, watching with interest. Macmurdo said:

Do you mind if we look around the house?

Nunne asked smoothly:

Have you a warrant?

No. But we can soon get one.

Nunne said quickly:

Oh, not at all. Please do look, by all means.

The sergeant went out of the room. A moment later, Sorme heard more men coming in from outside. Macmurdo seated himself in the chair Nunne had vacated. He asked Sorme:

And may I ask how you got here?

By car. Miss Quincey — Austin's aunt — drove me down.

How did you know Air Nunne was here?

Why, we had a long talk after you'd gone and tried to decide where he might be. Finally, she remembered this place…

Where is she now?

In the Crown Hotel.

For the first time, Sorme felt alarm. He felt no fear for himself or Nunne, but Gertrude was a different proposition. He felt a pang of regret for telling her about Nunne. But she knew very little. Even if she admitted…

A plainclothes policeman came into the room and beckoned to Macmurdo; Nunne's eyes met Sorme's for a moment as the Inspector went out of the room. A moment later, he came back.

Would you mind telling me, Mr Nunne, why the fireplace upstairs is full of warm ashes?

Nunne said, smiling:

Oh, of course. I started to make a fire in the bedroom. Then Gerard arrived and I forgot. You'll see the wood and coal in the room…

Did you put any wood on it?

No. I was rather cold. So I lit a grateful of paper and some oily rags. I was sitting there enjoying the blaze when Gerard arrived.

Where were the oily rags from?

Oh… the shed outside. The decorators left them.

Which explains the smell of paraffin?

Quite.

Macmurdo said:

Decorators use turpentine.

Nunne said, shrugging:

I'm afraid I'm not responsible for what the decorators leave behind. Why does it matter, anyway?

Macmurdo ignored the question. He said:

Why are you in your shirtsleeves if you were cold an hour ago?

Nunne said:

Because this room was very warm indeed an hour ago. As my friend here will tell you. You'll find my jacket and pullover on the bed upstairs.

And what had you been burning in the kitchen stove?

Oh… more rubbish. Newspapers mainly. I like lighting fires.

You hadn't been burning anything else… clothes, for instance?

Nunne said, with a touch of impatience:

You mean bloodstained clothes? Look, Inspector, you don't have to keep fencing with me. I'd like to help you. Just ask me what you like, and I'll answer you as accurately as I can.

Macmurdo repeated deliberately:

Were there any clothes?

No.

You know it's something we can easily verify? By analysing the ash?

Nunne said:

Good. I'm glad to hear that. That should save trouble.

Macmurdo said:

I see.

He leaned forward, as if peering at the paraffin heater. He turned to Nunne suddenly, and said:

What did you do with Millie Rogers?

Sorme's heart lurched unpleasantly; he could see that Nunne was taken by surprise. Nunne said:

I beg your pardon?

Macmurdo said:

You were seen speaking to a woman named Millie Rogers outside a club in Paddington. The Balalaika Club. She was heard to say that she would come home with you. She hasn't been seen since.