Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

Nunne said coolly:

I haven't the faintest idea of what you are talking about, Inspector. And in case you didn't know, my tastes don't lie in that direction.

You deny knowing a woman of that name?

I most certainly do.

You deny speaking to her?

No. Not necessarily. I might quite easily have spoken to a woman of that type if she'd accosted me. So, I imagine, might thousands of other men.

How do you know she was of 'that type'?

Really, Inspector! You don't leave much room for doubt!

The detective-sergeant came back into the room. He was holding a red beret. Macmurdo took it from him. The sergeant said.

Found it in the wardrobe in the bedroom, sir.

Macmurdo asked Nunne:

Whose is it?

Nunne smiled; he said:

Believe it or not, Inspector, it belongs to my aunt. She left it here.

The lady who's waiting now in the Crown?

Yes.

She's been down here?

Once. I took her for a spin in my aeroplane.

Is that the lady who said she didn't know where you might be? Macmurdo asked, with a note of sarcasm.

It is.

And why do you suppose she didn't mention this place to me when I asked her this morning?

Sorme interrupted:

I can tell you that. She'd forgotten it. Besides, it was quite a shock to her to have policemen looking for her nephew.

Macmurdo stared at Sorme with hostility; for a moment, Sorme expected an irritable rebuke. Then the policeman turned away, shrugging, and handed the beret back to the sergeant. He said:

Take some samples of the ash, sergeant.

He turned back to Nunne.

Do you mind if I see your hands?

Nunne held out his hands without speaking. Macmurdo took them in his own, and turned them over. He said:

You've cleaned your nails today.

Of course. I clean my nails every day.

You seem to have been particularly thorough today.

No. Not particularly.

Macmurdo dropped Nunne's hands. Sorme could see he was disappointed; his mouth was beginning to tighten into a line that somehow gave him the appearance of a bulldog. But before Nunne could sit down again, he asked:

Do you possess a knife, Mr Nunne?

Nunne said:

Of course.

He felt in his trouser pocket, and produced a small penknife. Macmurdo said:

I don't mean that kind. Do you possess a larger knife — for example, a Scout's sheath knife?

No.

Have you ever possessed such a knife?

Not since I was a child.

You don't possess any kind of knife that might be used in a fight? A flick knife, for instance?

No… There are one or two sharp kitchen knives at my flat, I suppose… But nothing very dangerous.

The sergeant came back in. He said:

There's nothing much else, sir. I've got samples of the ash.

Macmurdo nodded. He said:

Mr Nunne, I'm afraid we shall have to take you back to the Yard for questioning.

Nunne said sighing:

All right. I suppose it's necessary.

Sorme asked:

What about me?

We shan't be requiring you immediately, Macmurdo said.

Nunne asked:

Do you mind if I go and get some warmer clothes on?

Macmurdo nodded. He said:

Sergeant!

The sergeant nodded, and followed Nunne out of the room.

As soon as they were alone, Macmurdo sat in the chair facing Sorme; he leaned forward, and said carefully:

You realise that if we find anything against Mr Nunne, you'd be liable for a long term of imprisonment as an accessory after the fact?

Sorme said bluntly:

Look, Inspector, you're barking up the wrong tree. Austin's not a murderer, no matter what his other peculiarities may be.

Macmurdo said:

Are you sure?

Pretty sure.

Tell me, Mr Sorme, what were you two speaking about before I came?

All kinds of things. The Whitechapel murders, among others.

Did Mr Nunne give you any explanation of why he should be suspected?

Nothing I didn't know already.

And what did you know already?

That Austin has certain — sexual peculiarities. Enough to make him a natural suspect in a case like this.

That he is a sadist, in fact?

All right.

But you still think he couldn't bring himself to kill?

Storme stared back levelly; he said:

He is also homosexual. The victims of these murders were women.

He might have a resentment against women.

Perhaps.

Macmurdo persisted:

Don't you agree?

I've seen no sign of it.

Nunne came back downstairs; he was buttoning an overcoat. He smiled at Sorme, and Sorme smiled back. They were both aware that Macmurdo was watching them closely for any exchange of signals. Nunne transferred his smile to Macmurdo, saying:

Ready, Inspector?

All right, Bob, Macmurdo said.

The sergeant led the way out of the house.

One of the plainclothes policemen went in front. Nunne and the detective-sergeant followed. The other policeman walked behind them; finally, Sorme and Macmurdo brought up the rear, walking ten yards behind the others. Sorme was aware that Macmurdo was trying to make Nunne nervous; it was like a game of chess. Nunne would worry about whether Sorme had given anything away, and now Sorme had been threatened with an accessory charge, he had his own reasons for fear. As they climbed over the stile, Sorme found himself wondering: If Austin gives himself away, can they make the accessory charge stick? Poor Austin — he's weakened himself by taking me into his confidence. I wonder if there's any basis for this stuff about Millie Rogers? The clothes in the basement flat. Do they know about the basement flat? Wish I could speak to Austin.

Macmurdo said:

I don't understand you.

Why not, Inspector?

You've only known Mr Nunne for a week. Even if he was convicted, there'd be no case against you. Why involve yourself?

Sorme said coldly:

It's the first time I knew I was involved.

You rushed down here this morning to warn him. You must have realised he might be the man we want.

Sorme said:

He happens to be a friend of mine. And you asked me to contact him yourself. If you hadn't come, he would have come to you. We were just leaving for London.

As he said it, he thought he saw an element of doubt in Macmurdo's eyes; suddenly, he was certain. Macmurdo had no final evidence on Nunne. It was all bluff and hope. There had been four murders in a week. The arrest of the Brixton man was a failure. Macmurdo had to make an arrest somehow. Relief contracted his skin like cold water. Macmurdo said:

You're a very loyal friend, Mr Sorme.

I hope so.

Two black cars were parked in the lane where Miss Quincey had set him down. Sorme asked:

Can you give me a lift back to the Crown?

We can. I want to see the lady there — Miss Quincey, is it?

Nunne was climbing into the first car; Sorme could see that Macmurdo had no intention of allowing them any contact. He called:

Austin?

Nunne turned round. Sorme said:

If you get away in time, let's meet for supper tonight.

Good idea, Gerard.

He waved as he climbed into the car. Sorme felt a sense of triumph. It had been done; contact had been made; Nunne knew that nothing was wrong. Sorme climbed into the back of the other car, and Macmurdo followed. Macmurdo said:

I doubt whether you'll make that supper date.

No? Why?

We may have a warrant for his arrest when we get back.

Really? Is that wise?

I think so, Macmurdo said sharply.

Sorme allowed the malice to come out; he said, smiling:

Another false arrest might only make things worse. My impression is that everyone's getting rather short-tempered with the police. Supposing you arrest Austin and there's another murder tomorrow night?

Macmurdo scowled; again Sorme was aware of the uncertainty, the fear of making a mistake, the fear of ridicule in the newspapers. Macmurdo said irritably: