The Flesh of The Orchid (13 page)

“Now come along,” Kamp wheedled. He wasn’t feeling too happy about tackling a dangerous lunatic. He looked over his shoulder at Hartman. “Think I should go in there after her?”

“Of course,” Hartman said sharply. “But don’t handle her roughly. “I won’t have her ill-treated.”

Magarth gave a macabre laugh.

“That’s very, very funny,” he said. “Never mind how she treats
you,
Sheriff.”

George Staum edged away when Kamp beckoned to him.

“Not me,” he said firmly. “Lunatics scare me. I ain’t going down there in the dark. Look what she did to that truck-driver.”

“By rights the asylum people ought to handle it,” Kamp said, hanging back. “Did anyone think to call them?”

“No one,” Magarth said cheerfully. “I’ll come in with you, Sheriff. I’m not scared. You go first and I’ll be right on our heels.”

Kamp drew in a deep breath.

“Well, let’s go,” he said, took a hesitant step towards the cellar, peered into the inky darkness. “Maybe someone’s got a torch ?”-he went on hopefully.

No one had a torch, and Hartman irritably told Kamp to get on with his duty.

As he stooped to pass through the low doorway Carol snapped down the main switch, grabbed hold of his arms and jerked him forward.

Kamp gave a wild yell, plunged into space.

Magarth was quick to realize what had happened, decided to cause as much confusion as he could. He gave a ghoulish shriek, charged George Staum and hurled him against the two State Police as they crowded forward in the dark.

“Look out!” Magarth bawled. “She’s right in amongst us.”

Staum lost his head, hit out blindly, knocked one of the police officers cold, tried to rush up the stairs out of the way. The other police officer struck out right and left with his nightstick, but failed to hit anything. Magarth kept up his yelling and for a long moment of time confusion and panic reigned.

It was enough for Carol. She had reached the passage, heard the shouting and the sounds of a struggle going on by the front door, opened the back door, slipped into the garden.

Magarth saw her, followed her.

Carol ran blindly down the garden path, swerved to her right when she heard Magarth’s thudding steps behind her. She increased her speed and seemed to fly over the ground. Try as he would, Magarth couldn’t overtake her.

But he kept on, wondering how long it would be before the Sheriff came after them.

Carol was heading for a dense thicket that lay a few hundred yards ahead. Beyond the thicket was the main road into Point Breese but she didn’t know this. She thought once she could get into the wood, she might be able to hide, and she redoubled her speed, confidence making her careless. Suddenly she caught her foot in a thick tree-root and went sprawling, rolled over, the breath knocked out of her.

For a moment or so she lay stunned, then she struggled to sit up as Magarth bent over her.

They stared at each other.

“It’s all right,” Magarth said. “Don’t be frightened. I want to help you. It was me who helped you escape. Don’t look so scared.”

Although Carol shied away from him, there was something about him that reassured her.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” she panted.

“I’m Phil Magarth—a newspaper man. You’re Carol Blandish, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Carol said, holding her head. “I don’t know who I am. I had an accident . . . I lost my memory.” She sat up, clutched his arm. “Will you really help me? It’s Steve . . . he’s badly hurt . . . will you come with me?”

Magarth frowned.

“Steve Larson? Is that who you mean?”

“Oh, yes. Do you know him?”

“Sure. We’re good friends. What happened? Those two guys in black. . .?”

Carol shuddered.

“Yes. He’s shot. I went to Dr. Fleming. He must be mad. They locked me in the cellar . . . .”

Magarth stared at her.

Could she be Carol Blandish? She seemed so normal: not a trace of madness. He caught hold of her left wrist. Yes, there was the scar. Then had she really lost her memory?

“You mean you really don’t know who you are?” he asked.

“No . . . but, please, if you’re going to help me, don’t waste time. He’s so badly hurt. Will you come with me ? Will you help me?”

“You bet I will,” Magarth said, helped her to her feet. “Where is he?”

“Up on the mountain road. There’s a logging camp up there. That’s where I left him.”

“I know the place,” Magarth said, looked to right and left. “It’ll be light soon. You mustn’t be seen. I’ll get my car. You’d better wait here. Go over to that wood. Just beyond it is the main road. You’ll see me from the wood. Keep out of sight until I come. I shan’t be mora than ten minutes. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” Carol said. She felt she could trust him. “But please be quick. I’m so frightened . . .  he was bleeding so badly.”

“Don’t worry,” Magarth said briskly. “We’ll fix him up all right. You get under cover and wait for me.” He patted her arm and then ran quickly back to Doc Fleming’s house.

Now she was alone, Carol suddenly felt uneasy. The half light of the dawn, the cold mist that rose from the ground, the still, silent wood silhouetted blackly against the sky, produced a threatening atmosphere.

As she began to move towards the wood she had a presentiment of danger and her heart began to thud against her side.

She wished now that she had gone back with Magarth. Anything seemed better than being alone in this dim, silent wood. She screwed up her courage and kept on, and some way ahead through the trees she could see the main road.

That was where she was to meet Magarth, she told herself, and fighting down this strange feeling of panic, she walked through the wood towards the distant clearing.

Then suddenly she stopped. Something moved ahead of her. She caught her breath sharply, stared. From behind a big tree-trunk the brim of a man’s hat appeared. She stood petrified, unable to move, even to blink her eyelids.

A man in a black overcoat and a black slouch hat slid round the tree-trunk, stood directly in her path: it was Max.

“I want you,” he said softly. “Don’t make a fuss.”

For one brief moment she stared at him, her heart freezing, then with a thin wail of terror she turned to run blindly in the opposite direction. But Frank was there behind her, and as she came to an abrupt stop he smiled, raised his hat.

Carol stood rigid. Both the Sullivans could hear her wild breathing.

“Don’t make a fuss,” Max said, and walked slowly towards her.

“Oh, no!” Carol cried, cringing back. “You mustn’t touch me . . .” She felt her muscles shrinking. Her face was as wan as a small ghost. “Please go away . . . I’m waiting for someone . . . he’ll be back any moment now . . . you mustn’t stay. . . .”

“No fuss,” Max said, reaching her. “Come on. We want you.”

She backed, then suddenly whirled and ran towards Frank, who watched her with his fixed smile. He threw out his arms, barring her path.

Again she whirled, stood rigid.

“Where’s Larson?” Max asked. “We want him too.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know anything.”

“You will,” Max said gently. “We know how to make girls talk. Where is he?”

“Oh, leave me alone . . .” Carol said, looked round wildly, then began to scream.

Frank jumped forward, twined his short fat fingers in her hair, dragged her head back.

“Hit her,” he said to Max.

Max stepped up to her. She saw him raise his fist and she threw up her hands to protect herself, screamed wildly again. Max brushed her hands aside; then four bony knuckles smashed against the side of her jaw.

CHAPTER IV

MAGARTH came out on to the sun-drenched verandah, sat down, stretched out his long legs, closed his eyes.

“A pint of black coffee laced with brandy might set me up,” he said, smothered a yawn, “but it’s bed I really want. And I’ve got to go see the Sheriff in a moment.”

“You shall have your coffee, precious,” Veda said. “But you’re not going to leave here until you’ve given me some sort of explanation. Surely it’s not asking too much, since you’ve turned my house into a hospital. I’m sure you have your reasons, but I do feel I should be told what goes on.”

Magarth opened one eye, grinned. He thought Veda looked very nice in her apricot-coloured linen frock and he reached out to pat her hand.

“They holed her up in Doc Fleming’s cellar,” he said briefly. “When Kamp went in after her, she turned off the main switch, and I caused what is known as a diversion, and she escaped. I went after her, caught her up, made friends. I arranged to get my car and go with her to where she had left Larson. I left her in the wood and got my car. When I returned she had vanished. So I collected Larson and brought him here. Doc Kober will let us know what he thinks of him when he comes down.”

“But why didn’t you take the poor lamb to hospital? Why bring him here?”

“Because he’s in danger,” Magarth said patiently. “You don’t know what these two thugs are like.”

“What two thugs?” Veda asked, bewildered.

“The Sullivans: the professional killers. If half what I’ve heard about them is true they’ve committed dozens of murders and have never left a clue or a witness. But this time they’ve slipped up. Larson saw them kill his brother. He managed to tell me that much before he passed out. His evidence would send them to the chair. They’ll try to finish him, and the first place they’d look for him is the hospital. We’ll have to keep him under cover until he’s well enough to make a statement.”

Veda nodded.

“But are you really sure these two won’t find him here?”

“Not a chance. There’s no connection between you and Larson—why should they?”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Veda said. “Now tell me about the Blandish girl. What happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” Magarth admitted, worried. “She either didn’t trust me or . . .” He shook his head. “There was a big black Packard parked outside Doc Fleming’s house when I arrived. I was so anxious to get inside the house I didn’t give it a thought. But it had gone when I returned for my car, and I’m wondering. The Sullivans may have got her.”

“Haven’t you got the Sullivans on the brain, my pet?” Veda asked. “They can’t be here, there and everywhere.”

“That’s just what they can be,” Magarth said. “I’ll have to tell Kamp. We’ll need protection out here, just in case. God help the Blandish girl if the Sullivans have got her.”

“But you haven’t told me what she’s like,” Veda said with pardonable curiosity. “Have you actually talked with her?”

“Sure. She looks as sane as you do,” Magarth returned. “I can’t make it out. She’s a marvellous-looking girl, and obviously head over heels in love with Larson. She’s the kind of girl who loves but once and sticks to her man like glue.”

“So am I,” Veda said softly. “Only the rat I’ve fallen in love with doesn’t know it.”

“Don’t let’s talk about rats,” Magarth said hurriedly. “They’re timid creatures and don’t like to be talked about.”

“I’ve noticed they’re not so timid at night,” Veda said softly.

At this moment Dr. Kober joined them.

“He’s bad,” he said abruptly. “It’ll be touch and go. The next three days will decide whether or not he pulls through. He should really be in hospital.”

“It wouldn’t be safe,” Magarth said. “I’m seeing the Sheriff right away, Doc. These guys will have another go at him, and that’s why he must stay here. Miss Banning will foot all the bills, so spare no expense. Can you stay here with him?”

“That’s impossible,” Kober returned. “But I’ll be coming in twice a day. Nurse Davies knows what to do. There’s not much we can do for him now. It depends entirely on his stamina, which is good. But he’s lost a lot of blood. I shall have to report this, Magarth.

“I’ll come with you,” Magarth said, getting to his feet. “If you’ll give me two minutes to drink this coffee,” he added as the maid came out with a tray, “I’ll be with you.”

“I’ll wait for you in my car,” Kober said, and took leave of Veda.

“You’ll make yourself entirely at home, precious, won’t you ?” she said when Kober had gone. “If there are any of your other friends who’d like rooms—”

Magarth swallowed his coffee, slipped his arm round her waist.

“Don’t be mad at me, sugar,” he said. “You’ll get your picture in the newspaper when the danger is over, and everyone will think you are a heroine. Besides, if this pans out the way I think it’ll pan out, me and my friends will move in here for good. You’ll love that, won’t you?”

*     *     *

Sheriff Kamp sat in his dusty little office, his feet on his desk, a dead cigar clamped between his teeth.

Simon Hartman had just left, and it had been a difficult interview. Hartman had accused Magarth of engineering Carol’s escape; he had also charged Kamp with incompetency, and had thrown out hints of going to higher authority. Kamp was worried. He now had only six days in which to find the girl, and he had no idea where to look for her.

He gave a ferocious grunt when Magarth lounged into the office.

“I want you,” he said, bringing his feet to the floor with a crash. “You’re the guy who let that damned girl escape.”

Magarth drew up a chair, flopped into it.

“Not intentionally,” he said, lighting a cigarette, “although maybe I did lose my head for a moment. But your fellas weren’t so hot, either. You can’t pick on me.”

“I can and I’m going to,” Kamp said grimly. “Hartman’s been in here raising Cain, and he’s yelling for your blood.”

“And have you asked yourself why?” Magarth asked calmly. “He’s scared stiff the girl will come into her money. I bet he’s been dipping his paws into the Trust and funks an investigation.”

Kamp’s eyes popped.

“That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t make it to anyone but you. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. My editor is looking into Hartman’s background and we’ll keep you informed. Bat there’s something more important in the wind. Ever heard of the Sullivan brothers?”

“Sure, but that’s just a fairy tale. The Sullivans don’t exist. They’re an alibi for any unsolved murder.”