The Flesh of The Orchid Read online

  Carol’s face paled, but her eyes were determined.

  “No,” she said. “They’re not going to get him.”

  “Good kid,” Margarth said. “You get back to Steve and leave this to me.” He pushed her gently back into Steve’s room, turned to Veda. “That’s about all we can do,” he went on. “The next move is up to them.”

  “I’m going, Phil,” Veda said. “I know every inch of the way in the dark. It’s madness to wait for them to make the first move. We must get help.”

  “Maybe I’d better go,” Magarth said, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t like the idea of you going out there “

  “I’m going, so stop arguing. Come and see me off.”

  The Sullivans were waiting for just such a move. Frank stood in the shadows near the back door; Max leaned against the wall a foot or so from the front door. They were in no hurry. They knew that the plantation workers had their living quarters on the other side of the plantation, and the only way Magarth could raise the alarm and get help was to send someone to make the journey.

  “We’ll try the back way,” Magarth said, “but I’m going out first to see if the coast’s clear. Then run, Veda, run like hell.”

  “I’ll run,” she said, going with him down the stairs.

  “Miss Banning’s going for help,” Magarth said to Staum, who was backed up against the wall, his fat face glistening with sweat. “You stick where you are. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Think she’ll make it?” Staum asked.

  “She’ll make it,” Magarth returned, but he wasn’t any too confident.

  Together Veda and he went into the kitchen. Magarth didn’t turn on the light, and they groped their way across the dark room to the window.

  “Keep out of sight,” Magarth whispered, and he peered through the glass, trying to see any movement on the dark terrace. He stood there for several minutes, but saw nothing to alarm him.

  Frank, peering through the pillars of the balustrade, saw Magarth looking through the window, and he grinned, ducked down, waited.

  Magarth opened the back door, stepped on to the terrace, looked up and down. He crossed to the balustrade, his nerves jumpy, and stood within a couple of feet of the invisible Frank. Satisfied that nothing stirred, he returned, beckoned to Veda.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered, his hps close to her ear. “I guess they’re round the front. Run, kid, and try not to make a noise.” He kissed her suddenly, held her for a moment, then watched her move swiftly and silently down the steps. The darkness swallowed her up.

  * * *

  The big house was quiet. The nurse had left Carol to watch Steve and had gone to her room next door.

  Magarth sat on the top of the stairs, his rifle across his knees. Staum sat on the bottom stair. The hall, stairs and landings were ablaze with light. The hands of the big hall clock pointed to ten minutes past eleven. Veda had been gone now a quarter of an hour. In a few more minutes, Magarth thought hopefully, help would be with them, then they could go out into the darkness and hunt the Sullivans instead of sitting here waiting for their attack.

  In the bedroom Steve opened his eyes. He had been sleeping, and now, refreshed, he smiled at Carol, reached for her hand.

  “I’ve been thinking so much about you,” he said. “All the time I’ve been ill you’ve never been far from my thoughts. You know I love you, don’t you, Carol ? I haven’t much to offer you . . . there’s the farm. It’s nice up there, and in a while—”

  “I don’t think you should talk,” Carol interrupted him, leaned forward to kiss him. “You must rest, darling. I want you to get well quickly.”

  “I’m all right,” Steve said firmly. “I’m feeling much stronger. I want to talk. We’ve got to find out who you are, Carol. We’ve got to find out why you were in that truck . . . where you were going. . . .”

  A feeling of fear ran through Carol.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “Please don’t talk about that. I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid of finding out about myself. That woman said I was mad.” She slipped from her chair, put her arms round his neck, held his head against her breast. “Do you think I’m mad? Is that why I don’t know who I am? It frightens me so. You see if . . . I couldn’t marry you, Steve . . . .”

  “Of course you’re not mad,” he returned. “You’ve had a bad crack on your head. It’s something that can be put right, I’m sure of it, then your memory will come back. You mustn’t worry about it, Carol.”

  Holding him to her, Carol thought of the Sullivans waiting out in the dark, and she shivered.

  “What’s frightening you, kid?” Steve asked. “It’s all going to be all right. As soon as I get well we’re going to have a swell time . . . just you and me. I’ve got it all doped out; that’s all I’ve been thinking about while I’ve waited for you.”

  Carol held him closer so he shouldn’t see she was crying.

  * * *

  “Give them another ring,” Sheriff Kamp said impatiently to the operator. “I know there’s someone there.” He glanced at his assistant deputy: a lean, hard-bitten man whom they called Lofty. “She says there’s no answer.”

  “I bet she’s calling a wrong number,” Lofty said, and spat accurately into the spittoon. “You know what these dames are.”

  After a delay the operator said the line was out of order.

  “Get it tested and report back,” Kamp snapped and hung up. He looked worried.

  “Think something’s wrong?” Loftly asked, lighting a cigarette.

  “I don’t know,” Kamp said uneasily. “George ain’t too bright. I told him to call me every two hours, and he hasn’t been through. These Sullivans—”

  He broke off, pulled at his moustache.

  “I wouldn’t like anything to happen to Miss Banning,” Lofty said. “She’s a swell dame. Think we should go up there?”

  “It’s a long run,” Kamp said, “and it’s getting late. I ain’t keen—”

  The telephone rang.

  Kamp listened to the operator’s voice, grunted, hung up.

  “She says the line is down.”

  Lofty reached for his revolver belt.

  “Let’s go,” he said shortly.

  “I guess you’re right,” Kamp said, got to his feet, lifted down a rifle from the rack behind his desk. “Looks like there’s trouble up there.”

  * * *

  The night was moonless, and as Veda sped down the narrow path towards the plantation she felt as if she were in a dark tunnel miles underground.

  She paused for a moment to look back at the lighted windows of the house, and as she did so she caught sight of a dark figure moving towards her as stealthily as a ghost.

  Veda had plenty of courage, but for a second or so her heart seemed to stop beating, then with a little cry she whirled round and ran blindly down the path.

  She had gone only a few yards when Frank caught up with her. His short fat fingers clamped on to her shoulder and spun her round. All she could see of him was a dim outline. She was aware of the smell of his hair-oil. She was too frightened to scream, and stood motionless, unable to do more than stare at this menacing shadowy figure.

  Frank reached out, touched her face with his left hand, then, moving so fast that she didn’t see his right hand flash up, he struck her on the side of her head with his rubber kosh.

  * * *

  George Staum stood up, stretched himself. He had no stomach for being alone in the big hall and he was scared. The smooth, silent way in which his two guards had vanished had completely unnerved him, and he expected the Sullivans to materialize out of the walls at any moment.

  His hands, slippery with sweat, gripped his rifle so tightly that the muscles in his arms ached. His eyes darted this way and that, and he felt a little sick.

  He could hear Magarth moving about on the upper landing, and every so often he would call up to him. He wished now he hadn’t been picked for this job, and would have given a month’s pay to fi
nd himself in the safety of the Sheriff’s office.

  In the sitting-room, a few feet from him, Max watched him through the crack of the slightly open door. Down the passage in the darkness, Frank pressed himself against the wall, edged slowly towards him.

  Staum felt danger in the air. It was as if the atmosphere around him were tightening, and he stood still, listening, his face ugly with fear.

  A slight sound, no louder than the scratching of a mouse, made him jerk his head round to look down the passage. Frank had reached the fuse box and the main switch lever squeaked as he pressed it down.

  “Who’s there?” Staum croaked, stepping forward.

  Then the whole house plunged into darkness.

  Magarth ran to the head of the stairs, stopped.

  “Staum!” he shouted. “You all right?”

  “There’s someone near me,” Staum whimpered. “Quick! Come down here . . .!”

  Magarth didn’t move.

  There was a sudden startled gasp from Staum; then out of the darkness came the gruesome sound of a man being strangled.

  There was nothing Magarth could do for Staum. He wanted to warn Carol of what was happening, but he dared not leave the head of the staircase. It was up these stairs that the Sullivans would have to come if they were to get Steve, and the stairs could not be left unguarded for a moment. He dropped on hands and knees, pushed his rifle forward and waited, helplessly aware that he was now the last barrier left between the Sullivans and their intended victim.

  Carol and Steve were talking together when the light went out. Realizing what it meant, Carol nearly fainted; only the thought that she must protect Steve kept her conscious.

  Steve was unperturbed.

  “A fuse must have blown,” he said. “They’ll fix it in a moment.”

  Carol knew then that she must tell him.

  “It isn’t a fuse, darling,” she said, catching hold of him. “It’s the Sullivans. They’re in the house.”

  “And you knew it all the time?” Steve asked, his fingers touching her hair. “I had a feeling something was frightening you. Is Magarth out there?”

  “Yes, and the Sheriff’s deputy,” Carol said, trying to control the quaver in her voice. “I’m so frightened, Steve. . . .”

  “Go to the door and see what’s happening,” Steve said, “Call to Magarth.”

  Below, in the sitting-room, the door closed, Max was talking to Frank.

  “The newspaper guy’s guarding the head of the stairs,” he was saying. “You keep him busy. I’m going around the back. I can get on the roof and then I’ll take him in the rear. You make enough noise to hold his attention.”

  Carol unlocked the bedroom door, opened it a few inches.

  “Magarth . . . are you there?” she whispered.

  “Stay where you are,” Magarth whispered back. “They’re in the hall somewhere. They’ve got Staum.”

  Carol felt her heart contract.

  “Then . . . you’re alone?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Magarth said. “I can take care of myself. You keep that door locked.”

  “Don’t let them get near him,” Carol pleaded.

  “I won’t,” Magarth said grimly. “Veda’s gone for help. You two keep under cover.”

  A faint sound in the hall below caused him to stiffen and peer into the darkness. He shifted forward, waited.

  Outside, Max swung himself on to the low roof, climbed up a stack-pipe as easily as if it were a staircase, hooked his fingers into the window-sill a foot or so above his head. He balanced himself for a moment, then drew himself up.

  Carol groped her way back to Steve.

  “He’s out there alone,” she said, taking Steve’s hand in hers, “but he says they can’t get up here.”

  “I’m not going to let him fight my battles,” Steve said, pushed back the blanket.

  “No!” Carol said frantically. “You mustn’t, darling, you’re ill. . . please stay where you are . . .!”

  Steve swung his legs out of bed, gripped her arm as he levered himself to his feet.

  “I’m not lying here . . . they want me . . . I know that.” He caught her to him. “If this doesn’t work out, Carol, remember I love you. You’re the loveliest, the most precious thing that has ever happened to me “

  “Steve, darling,” Carol said, clinging to him. “Please stay with me . . . don’t go out there . . . it’s what they want. . . .”

  “Say you love me, Carol.”

  “Of course I do,” she sobbed. “But you mustn’t go out there. You’ll be playing right into their hands.”

  Magarth, lying fiat, staring into the darkness, never knew what hit him. Max had crept down on him, saw the outline of his head against the black pit of the staircase, and had struck before Magarth could twist round to protect himself. As he went limp, Max took out a flash-light, signalled to Frank, who came swiftly up the stairs.

  * * *

  The battered Ford V8 roared out of Point Breese and headed for the mountain road. Lofty sat at the wheel, his eyes bright with excitement. He took the corner out of Point Breese on two wheels, slithered the car half across the road, wrestled with the steering wheel for a moment, then slammed his foot down on the gas pedal again.

  “Hey!” Kamp spluttered, appalled. “Careful how you go. I want to arrive in one piece.”

  “Don’t want anything to happen to Miss Banning,” Lofty returned, whipped the Ford past an oncoming truck, missing the truck’s fender by inches. “We got to get up there fast, Sheriff. You leave this to me.”

  Kamp clutched the side of the car, hung on like grim death.

  “She won’t stand the racket, Lofty,” he gasped. “She’ll blow her top if you drive her like this.”

  “That’s too bad,” Lofty said grimly. “Then you’re due for a new car, Sheriff. We’re getting up there fast.”

  Kamp closed his eyes, groaned.

  “She’ll boil,” he muttered feverishly. “She’ll boil her head off.”

  “Then let her boil,” Lofty returned, the gas pedal flat on the boards. “Git on, you big lump of lazy iron,” he bawled, sitting forward. “Gimme a bit of speed!”

  * * *

  Carol’s legs suddenly refused to support her. She sank limply on the bed, the darkness in the room stifling her. Then something extraordinary seemed to happen inside her head. Her brain seemed to expand and contract as if it were breathing, and she gripped her temples between her hands. She was now scarcely aware that Steve had left her and was groping his way across the room to the door. He walked slowly; every step he made a tremendous effort, moving as if he were breasting a gale.

  “Steve . . .” Carol whimpered. “Don’t leave me.”

  But he had reached the door now, fumbled at the lock, opened it.

  The Sullivans were waiting just outside. The white hard light of Max’s torch centred on Steve’s chest. For a moment nothing happened, no one moved, then Steve stiffened, put up his hands in a fighting stance: a helpless gesture of defiance.

  “Here it is, Larson,” Max said softly.

  A red, spiteful flash lit up the dark room; then another and another. Gunfire rattled the windows.

  Steve took a step forward, hit out blindly, began to fall. Max fired again.

  The crack of the gun synchronized with the sudden loud snap! that exploded inside Carol’s head.

  For a split second everything that moved in the room— Steve falling, Max’s gun hand, Frank’s head as it flinched back, the wavering light of the flashlight—came to a sudden standstill. For that split second the scene looked like a photograph, then movement began again, but to Carol it was no longer the same. It was out of focus, dim-edged, almost soundless.

  Her fear slid out of her like a dropping cloak. She stood up, moved along the wall, glided towards the Sullivans as they bent over Steve.

  Max’s experienced hand touched Steve’s chest.

  “O.K.,” he said, straightened. “Let’s get out of here.”

>   Frank gave a little shiver.

  “This is our last job. Max,” he said. “I quit after this.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Max repeated, turned to the door.

  Outside the night was made hideous by a roaring car engine, and a squealing of brakes as Lofty pulled up before the house.

  “Back way,” Max said, moved swiftly down the corridor.

  As Frank followed him an invisible hand came out of the darkness and gripped his arm. For one ghastly moment he thought Larson had come alive again, and he turned, his mouth drying with horror.

  There was nothing to see except a black wall of darkness, but he could hear someone breathing close to him, and fingers like talons pinched his arm muscles.

  “Max!” he cried shrilly, lunged forward, his fist sweeping up viciously, striking empty air, throwing him off balance.

  Cold groping fingers passed across his face, swiftly and lightly like a draught of air. So light was the touch it was as if a cobweb had settled over his features, and he started back, terror paralysing him.

  “Come on,” Max called impatiently from the head of the stairs.

  “There’s someone here . . .” Frank quavered, groped into the darkness.

  “Come on, you fool!” Max said sharply, then stiffened as Frank suddenly gave a blood-curdling scream.

  Even Max’s iron nerves flinched at the sound, and he stood for a moment in dread. Something brushed past him and instinctively he jumped back. Hooked fingers grazed his neck, and he fired blindly: the crash of the gun reverberated through the house, and he heard footsteps running lightly down the stairs. He fired shot after shot, blindly and with growing panic. In the hall gunfire cracked in reply as Kamp and Lofty tumbled through the front doorway.

  Max wheeled, crashed into Frank, caught hold of him as he began to scream again. Without hesitation, Max shortened his grip on his gun, hit Frank across the face with the barrel, stooped, slung him across his shoulder, darted along the passage.