City of Brass (15 page)

The tall man smiled slightly. “I was on the stage for some time, in the ballet, you might have seen me.”

Ashly snorted. “I doubt it. Let’s see these tracks of yours.”

Roland Summers led the small group around to the side of the house. There were no breaks in the virgin snow. It stretched as far as the eye could see; a white vastness that seemed to reflect the awful whiteness of the winter sky.

Then they saw it.

From the woods a quarter of a mile away, there stretched a single line of indentations in the snow. They were almost round, and ran in a single line, each print being about eight inches from the previous one. They might have been the hoof-prints of some one-legged beast.

Simon Ark’s eyes followed the prints across the snow from the woods to the house, and then back into the woods again.

Inspector Ashly grunted and bent over, studying the prints. “They’re all practically identical; there must be some animal …”

“Some animal with one leg?” Simon Ark asked.

“Those are not the tracks of any animal I have ever seen,” Mayor Beverson insisted.

“Mr. Summers,” the Inspector turned to the tall man, “did you hear any unusual noises during the night?”

“None, Inspector. But then, I’m a very sound sleeper.”

Ashly grunted. “This … thing … apparently came right up to your back door. Was anything taken?”

“No, Inspector, the door was locked from the inside. Whatever it was couldn’t have gotten in.”

Ashly turned back to the mayor. “I suggest you might call all zoos within fifty miles of here and find out if any animals have escaped.”

As Mayor Beverson moved off to carry out the assignment, Simon Ark spoke from the edge of the group. “Inspector, it might be advisable to get some dogs on the trail of this thing. It may be in the woods nearby.”

The man from Scotland Yard seemed puzzled for a moment; then his face cleared. “Oh, yes. According to the legend, the dogs always stopped at the edge of the woods. All right, we can try it if you find some dogs.”

Ten minutes later, Simon Ark had obtained four large hunting dogs, and they were ready to start. Mayor Beverson returned with the news that no animals had escaped from nearby zoos, and the news failed to surprise anyone. None of them really believed that the tracks in the snow had been made by something as simple as an animal. Or at least none of them wanted to believe it, for as much as they dreaded the other alternative, the thought of it was somehow fascinating.

But the expedition was postponed for a few moments by the arrival of a strikingly beautiful woman.

Diana Hunt was one of those women who was always unpopular with members of her own sex, while at the same time having a great attraction for the opposite sex. She was dressed in riding clothes, and her jet-black hair hung halfway down her back. But it was her eyes that Simon Ark noticed first. They seemed almost to be separate living pools, completely detached from the remainder of her mask-like face.

Simon Ark bowed slightly, when she was introduced to him. “I have seen you on the screen many times, Miss Hunt.” Until her marriage two years ago to a wealthy manufacturer, Diana Hunt had been one of England’s most glamorous motion picture stars. Now, as the wife of a socially prominent businessman, she had settled down to a quiet life in the country.

Diana Hunt flashed one of her famous smiles. “The name is now Mrs. Mark Eagen. I have retired from the films.”

“Where is your husband this morning, Mrs. Eagen?” Mayor Beverson inquired.

The smile vanished for an instant, then reappeared. “He’s gone to London on business, he should return late in the day.”

“I suggest we get on the trail of this thing at once,” Inspector Ashly said. “It’s already got a twelve-hour start on us.”

The others agreed, and the small band started out, led by the dogs. Simon Ark brought up the rear with Mrs. Eagen and Roland Summers.

“Really, Diana,” Summers was saying, “you should go back to the house; there’s no telling what we may find out here.”

Diana frowned. “They must expect to find something, or else why send a Scotland Yard man?” She hurried ahead to join the others.

Simon Ark watched her long legs kicking up snow as she ran. “What is her husband’s business. Mr. Summers?”

Roland Summers hesitated. “Why, I believe Mark Eagen is in the chemical industry. He owns a small but profitable plant that manufactures dry ice and other chemical refrigerants.”

“Dry ice?” Simon Ark repeated with interest.

“Yes. He often takes long trips about the country on business. I’m afraid his wife finds it very lonely here. He rarely takes her with him.”

“I’m sure that a beautiful woman like Mrs. Eagen would never be too lonely,” Simon Ark replied.

Summers grunted. He was watching the group ahead with keen interest now. They were almost to the point where the odd tracks disappeared into the woods.

Once into the densely-wooded area, the hoof-prints became harder to follow. Little snow had fallen here, and the ground, for the most part, was covered with damp leaves.

They had gone about fifty yards into the woods when suddenly the four hunting dogs stopped dead in their tracks and began to howl.

Simon Ark glanced quickly around and saw the expression of terror and disbelief of their faces.

Inspector Ashly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The four dogs continued their mournful howling …

Gradually, like some evil demon slipping over them, night came to the quiet English countryside, giving the snow a darker hue that seemed somehow in keeping with the events of the day. The people had returned to their homes, but in everyone’s mind was the same thought. Would the thing come again tonight …?

Simon Ark and Inspector Ashly sat facing each other across one of the ancient oak tables in the local pub. They had consumed a few beers and a little time, while waiting for darkness.

“I still can’t understand why the dogs acted that way this afternoon,” Ashly said.

“I fear that there is something of great evil hiding in those woods,” Simon Ark remarked.

“Don’t tell me you believe this legend about the devil coming to the village!”

Simon Ark’s face grew serious, and deep furrows appeared in his brow. “I believe that Satan did visit North Bradshire last night.”

“What?”

“And he’s still here, out in those woods, waiting …” Simon Ark rose and walked toward the door. “Please excuse me. Inspector, but I have a few calls to make.”

He continued down the lonely street, his dim eyes seemingly intent upon the glistening snowflakes that now and then drifted down from the black void above. Ahead, he caught a glimpse of Mayor Beverson hurrying across the street on some mission of his own.

Simon Ark paused for a moment in the town square, and tried to read the bronze plaque that rested there, but the single street light served only to cast dim shadows over it. After a time, he gave it up and moved on.

His first stop was the small home of Roland Summers. He rang the bell twice and waited, but no one came. After a few minutes’ wait, he tried the knob and found the door unlocked.

Inside, a single light burned in the study, and another came from a stairway that apparently led to the basement. From there came the regular sounds of an axe hitting wood. Simon Ark descended the treacherous steps and found Summers swinging the axe at a decaying tree trunk which lay in a damp spot on the floor.

“Oh! It’s you, Ark. Sorry I didn’t hear the bell; I was busy chopping up some firewood.”

“You seem to have enough of it there. That trunk must weigh over a hundred pounds.”

Summers grunted and took a few more swings with the axe. “It’s all damp and decayed. I’m afraid it won’t be any good for firewood after all.” He tossed the axe down in disgust and smiled slightly. “Well, enough of that. Let’s go upstairs and have a drink, Mr. Ark.”

Simon Ark followed him upstairs and accepted a partly-filled glass of scotch and water.

“Just what is your capacity in this investigation, Mr. Ark? Are you with Scotland Yard, also?” Summers downed his drink.

“Oh, heavens, no! I’m just what you might call an interested party.”

Roland Summers grunted. “I suppose it’s the factory on the other side of the woods that makes this whole thing so important, eh?”

“Factory? What factory?” Simon Ark’s eyebrows went up with interest.

“Oh, I thought everybody knew about the factory. It’s some kind of a super-secret defense plant, probably making atomic bombs, or something.”

“So that’s why Scotland Yard takes such an interest in the area.”

Summers nodded, “Every time something happens up here, we’re immediately investigated by the Yard, Army Intelligence, and several other governmental agencies.”

Simon Ark lit a cigarette and appeared to study a faded painting on the opposite wall. “The Inspector mentioned something about Mayor Beverson’s attempts to get publicity for the town.”

The other man laughed. “Yes, he’s trying to attract tourists for the big festival this summer. But this doesn’t look to me like one of his stunts.”

“To tell you the truth,” Simon Ark commented, “this doesn’t look like much of anything to me.”

Summers answered with a questioning stare.

“I’ve made quite a study of the old appearances of tracks at Devonshire and other cities during the last century,” the heavy man began. “These things in your back yard, while admittedly not the prints of any known animal, certainly bear little resemblance to drawings of the Devonshire tracks. And I’m at somewhat of a loss to understand why the comparison was ever made. I came up here to investigate what I believed to be a supernatural occurrence, and I find instead a publicity-seeking mayor, a spy-hunting Inspector, and an ex-movie queen.” He took another puff on his cigarette and then ground it out in the ashtray. “Which reminds me, I have another stop to make tonight. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Summers …”

“Certainly. Glad you dropped in. How long do you expect to remain in town?”

Simon Ark’s lips curled in what might have been a thin smile. “I hope to finish my business tonight.”

Outside, it was snowing harder now, at times all but obscuring vision. In another hour, the mysterious tracks would disappear forever.

It took him a few moments to discover in which house Mr. and Mrs. Mark Eagen lived. When he found it, he was not surprised. It was apparently the largest house in town, with arches, gables and pillars stretching into the sky in a sort of quiet mockery of the staid English architecture that dominated the rest of the town.

He rang the bell and waited. Presently the door was opened by Mrs. Eagen herself, looking more like the old Diana Hunt than ever.

“Come in, Mr. …?”

“Ark. Simon Ark. I’d like to talk to you.”

She wore a simple green dress that seemed to add to her beauty in some unexplainable way. Simon followed her into the living room, where she poured two drinks in silence. “I saw you with the Inspector this morning,” she said finally. “Are you a detective?”

He moved his great bulk in the narrow confines of the chair and took a sip of the drink she’d offered him. “Not exactly. I really came over here to speak to your husband, Mrs. Eagen; has he returned?”

“No,” she answered simply. They sat in silence for another few moments before she continued. “Well, I might as well tell someone. The whole town will know in another day or two.”

Simon Ark sat very still and waited.

“The truth is, Mr. Ark, that my husband has left me. He departed during the night without a word.”

“Did you have a quarrel?”

“Yes. He … he had some foolish idea about me seeing too much of our neighbor, Roland Summers. Of course he’s always been jealous, ever since he married me.”

Simon Ark nodded. “I can understand his concern. You have no idea where he has gone?”

“None whatever. For a time, I thought he would return; but now I fear he is gone for good.”

“Could I see a picture of your husband, please?”

She rose and walked to the fireplace. The framed photograph she returned with showed her in a wedding gown, accompanied by a small, pleasant-looking man who appeared to be about forty years old.

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Eagen. I’ll no doubt be talking to you again later.”

And then he was out in the street again, where the snow was still falling.

He knew where he was going next, yet he was mildly surprised when his feet carried him around to the back of the line of houses, and he headed steadily toward the woods.

Once more the snow had covered everything, obscuring the tracks of the night before. He reached the edge of the woods and paused a second, listening.

But he heard nothing …

Nothing …

The white curtain of snow in front of him, the black curtain of trees behind him …

He waited …

Presently he moved on, carefully examining the ground at his feet. Somewhere a dog howled …

He paused …

And heard it. The soundless noise of hoofbeats in the snow …

It was coming again, as it had the night before, and as it might continue to …

He waited …

A dark shape formed against the white background. Closer …

But it was not a devil; only Inspector Ashly. “Ark! What are you doing out here?”

“Solving your mystery for you, Inspector. I know what made those tracks. And the thing you want is here in the woods, now!”

“Satan?” The Inspector was laughing.

“I told you there was a great evil in these woods, and I was right.”

“Ark, if you’re referring to the government’s factory on the other side …”

“No, Inspector, this evil is much more ancient than atomic bombs.”

“What, then?”

Simon Ark spoke grimly. “We need men, a lot of them. And some searchlights. We’re going into the woods. Now! Tonight!”

“But, why? What did you see in this village that I missed? How do you know it’s in the woods now?”

Simon Ark said very quietly, “Because a man was chopping wood in his basement …”

Roland Summers opened the door and greeted Simon Ark with a smile. “Well, back again!”