The Coming of The Strangers Read online

  5

  The Bentley came to the house of Doctor Ian Maclaren at seven in the evening. He lived on the country road a mile out of East End Village, on the other side of the East Freshgate head-land. Laura called at that time because surgery would be over and Ian Maclaren might have dinner at eight, if no one called. “Laura!” he said, as he saw her. “Nothing for me, I hope?”

  “No, Ian,” she said, and laughed. “I’m a rude animal. You can’t live on me. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Of course, come in.”

  He took her into his leather study where he carried out his hobby of moth collecting, a hobby so often interrupted that its results were very few. He gave her sherry.

  “Ye’re worried about something,” he said. “That’s what ye want to talk about.”

  “Yes, but it isn’t what you’ll expect,” she said, and told him about the poltergeist.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “I imagine there’s little in the way of ghosts a wee sleeping pill can’t cure! ” He laughed, and then frowned with shaggy brows. “Of course, I would not like to say they don’t happen. In spite of scientific learning, one must keep an open mind. Ye see, Laura, the more science learns now, the more it finds it doesn’t know.”

  “Ian,” she said, seating herself firmly in the chair, is there anything on earth that’s invisible?”

  “Of course there is,” he said, “Glass, some plastics, celluloid, air ”

  “Oh, I didn’t quite mean that,” she said in surprise. But you can see glass, can’t you?”

  “No, you can only see dirt on it, or imperfections in it, but you can’t see the glass until you hold it at an angle to catch the light, and as ye know, they have curved glass for shop windows that catches no light at all, and if kept clean, is quite invisible. Also, the glass in a telescope or binoculars is quite invisible. It would be maddening if it were not. Why do you look so puzzled?”

  “I didn’t think the answer would be so—ordinary,” she said. “But supposing it was a moving thing. Could it be invisible then?”

  “You’re coming to another branch of the same subject, Laura,” he said. “The eye is very easily cheated. Conjurer’s live by that. And of course, the cinema is the biggest example of it. Moving pictures, we call them, and sure they appear to be so, but they’re not. They’re still pictures, but your eye is such a fool it can’t see that.”

  She took a deep breath and held her glass tightly.

  “Living things” he said huskily. “Are there any living things you can’t see?”

  “There are certainly living things very near to being invisible, unless ye’re talking of very wee things?”

  “No, I mean—big things. Like a man.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that big,” he said. “But there are kinds of jellyfish, you know, that reflect practically no light at all and therefore are invisible. Invisibility is relative. For instance, you become invisible in pitch darkness—which wud indeed be a shame—but it’s a matter of reflection. Light hitting something and bouncing back into the viewer’s eye.”

  “It is possible to have an invisible man?”

  Ian Maclaren shook his head.

  “No, I’d say not. There are too many different strata of skin, flesh, fat, bone… The water would be invisible and he is mostly water, but he isn’t made like a bag of water, where you could turn the skin of the bag into Cellophane. It’s all mixed up in his fat, his bone, his blood—No, I’d say quite impossible. The only way you could make yourself invisible would be to find some trick to deceive the viewer’s eye, which would be complicated because one person would not see what another one does; so you would have to have a different trick for each.”

  “But it’s possible for some kind of fish to be nearly invisible?” “Yes. Quite a few are transparent, which is getting on towards it. Some jellyfish arc almost there. The humble shrimp, too, is quite difficult to see . .

  He leaned towards her. “Now what is it that worries you, Laura? It isn’t jellyfish, I know.”

  Quite suddenly she realised that here was the one to whom she could speak without anyone ever knowing; this was the confidant she’d been hoping for all day long.

  “Ian”—she hesitated, then let it go in one breath, “—I’m in love with a man, but for some reason he’s frightened of me and it’s driving me crazy. I just can’t understand it. He loves me, you see. There isn’t any possible doubt about that.^ It’s a thing that sometimes a woman knows without any possibility of being wrong.”

  “Frightened of you,” the Doctor said. “Now what of? Ye’re money? That can happen.”

  “No, it isn’t that.”

  “Then, who is the man? That might help. Unless ” He peered beneath his shaggy brows. “Is it John Sebastian?”

  She caught her breath, then nodded.

  “Ye needn’t be so surprised, Laura. There are some things that shine out of people, and I was there at the wee cocktail party on Tuesday, but ye wouldn’t have noticed me because John Sebastian was there, too.” He twirled his glass round .“Come to think of it, I don’t think he’d have noticed me either.”

  She laughed suddenly, and felt a little wave of happiness run through her.

  “I noticed you, Ian, of course I did ! ”

  He got up, glass in hand and went to the window to look out at the growing dusk.

  “How is John Sebastian frightened of you, Laura?”

  “He’s frightened that I might find out something about him.” She sat quite rigid, scared now that she had said it. Ian stayed looking out of the window.

  “But I think we all know that John Sebastian has been a bad lad, what with one thing and another, and it’s news to me he ever tried to hide it. In fact, I would say that until he met you he never gave a tuppeny damn for anybody or anything. And now, suddenly, he’s scared.” He turned and looked at her. “What’s he got to do with transparent poltergeists, Laura?”

  “I” She was surprised the connection had been so obvious, although she could not fully see it herself. “I think he knows what’s going on at the end of the beach.”

  There, it was out now. The weary, burning load of the long day was suddenly lifted from her shoulders and she felt almost weak with relief.

  Ian Maclaren went to his old desk and sat on a corner of it, staring at her with his bright blue eyes that seemed the keener for their shaggy shades.

  “The poltergeist, the roaming jellyfish,” he said. Well, I know John Sebastian has been dabbling a finger in a number of things, but how on earth can he be connected with demonstrations like this? Darrow was there with you? He’s a friend of mine. I do his post-mortems for him. I suppose he looked through the house for signs and portents, and is satisfied there was no illegal entry, or whatever he calls it.”

  “Yes. He asked a few questions, too, and I got a little bit scared.”

  “You got scared?”

  “Yes, thinking he might find out something about John, you see, Ian,” she looked at him imploringly, “John has been terribly upset, Ian. It’s torn him all to pieces. You wouldn’t know him. He was scared of what he had done, but not for himself—for me. He made me go away from there—made it so that I practically had to promise.”

  “When?”

  “This morning.” She looked down to hide her face. “I’ve just been driving about all day. Goodness knows where. Thinking and thinking and thinking, and I had to talk to somebody, Ian.

  I had to! So I came back to you.”

  He leant forward and touched her hand comfortingly.

  “I’m glad you did,” he said. “Because I think you did the wrong thing. You shouldn’t have listened to him.”

  “I tried not to,” she said. “I tried not to listen to him, but —I can’t explain. He pleaded with me to go, as if somehow it would give him a chance he wouldn’t have if I stayed. I suppose that was how it was.”

  “Well, ye haven’t gone,” Ian said. “In fact, ye’re only two miles away. In fact, I don’t believ
e you meant to

  go.”

  “No,” she said in a whisper. “No, I don’t think I did.”

  “Let us think now,” Ian said. “ You say he feels he is guilty of having done something he can’t undo; that it might harm you if you don’t go— Just a minute. There’s a point. He thinks you might be harmed, but what about anybody else? What about Elfrida with her cat?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s only you,” Ian said, frowning harder. “And all that’s happened is your house was entered, Elfrida’s was entered, there was a splashing when you bathed this morning, and you saw a scurry of sand by the cliffs.”

  She was surprised to find it was so little, and felt slightly foolish.

  “I realise it isn’t much,” she said.

  “It’s hardly anything, is it?” Ian said. “I don’t think we’ll bother about the sand. That could be wind. Splashing by the sea, well, you know, Laura, the sea’s always making noises o’one kind and another…”

  “And the gate opened this morning,” said Laura desperately. “Mrs. Curvey said the gate opened and shut.”

  “We’d just said there was a little wind,” said Ian. “And that’s a bad catch on your gate as I remember. I’m opening gates all day, and I get to know catches. I know those that pinch your fingers, those that graze your knuckles, those that stick and suddenly give and break your thumbnail, those that rattle, those that squeak—that’s a bad latch of yours, Laura, I remember when Joan had flu three weeks back.” He was talking while thinking of something else. “What on earth could John Sebastian have to do with ghost tricks?”

  6

  Inspector Darrow did not know what to make of the inquiry. He frowned over the telephone.

  “We’ve had no reports of anything, sir,” he said. “And there have been a few people on the beach all day … Porpoises? I don’t know. I can’t really remember what times porpoises come along.” He laughed. “Radar’s been picking up something? … Well, all I can say is that had there been anything there, we should certainly have heard. There’s a beat comes up the promenade, doesn’t cover each end, but the main part, and one patrol car makes the whole trip along every two hours. Of course, there’s no life guard on. Too early yet. The pier isn’t open till Whitsun, but there were one or two men fishing from the end of it this afternoon. I’m sure if anything was there, it would have been noticed … Naturally, the Navy would be anxious if the radar was picking up, sir, but if you remember, there was a flare-up a few months back, when their radar was giving echoes offshore round the headland, and it was found that it was being jammed by some illicit transmission from Yes, sir.

  It was, I remember. I believe, they’re constantly working on jams and anti-jams, and so is everybody else … Well, I’m on my way. Inspector Jones has just come in. I’ll go down on my way and have a look for myself and ring you back direct, sir. Will you be there? … Not make too much fuss about it, no, sir, I won’t. But I’ll lock for myself. Yes, sir.”

  He smiled ironically as he put the phone down and looked up to the thin face of Inspector Jones, who had eaten too quickly and had wind which he held with both hands to his stomach.

  “The Chief Constable presents his compliments,” Darrow said, “and he has been got at by the Forces, one, two and several, because they have spots on their asdics, and fear an invasion of Freshgate by porpoises or maybe polar bears. At the same time there has been a fry-up of poltergeists down the end of the beach and the Super’s gone off to have a tooth filled and will probably be down with nervous exhaustion.”

  Jones belched, and then beamed.

  “I’ve been trying to make that one for the last three miles,” he said.

  Darrow left the station in his own car and went slowly down the hill from the High Street to the promenade. He went along to the West End driving very slowly, watching the sea and the beach, turned and came all the way down to Beach End. He made the customary U-turn, then stopped, got out and lit a cigarette. He looked from the darkening sky beyond the sandstone headland, along the beach to Beach End, then along to the little pier, like a metal spider carrying an ice cake, long bony legs being revealed by the outgoing tide.

  “Oh, how lovely is the evening,” Darrow said. “What on earth could be wrong here?”

  He looked back across the promenade to where the Rolls limousine stood outside Elfrida’s house. It was the only car besides his on the long stretch of the straight promenade, and the lights were flashed on as he looked, showing yellow against the still light sky.

  He got back into his car and drove to his home, where he rang the Chief Constable.

  “Quiet as the grave, sir. Nothing whatsoever, but of course you can’t see round the headland to the Shropshire”

  “Maybe a good thing too,” said the Chief Constable. “Some of the language’ is being picked up by ear trumpet at sixty thousand yards.”

  7

  “Well Robert,” said Elfrida. “There’s nothing hiding here, is there?

  “Nothing at all, madam,” said Robert.

  “Would you care for some coffee,” Elfrida said, “with some rum in it?

  “I would not say no. Madam, without endangering me principles”

  “I’ll get some,” she said, and went out into her kitchen.

  Robert wandered about the drawing room, where he had been before. It was a regular thing for him to bring Elfrida home on Thursday afternoon, and after that, the evening was his. Often he did nothing personal with it, but went back and polished the plate, for he was a great polisher and found philosophy in the action. Now forty, his real start in adult life had been fighting in the Western Desert, during which time, his young wife, feeling lonely, had gone off with another man and he had never seen her since. All this had tended to make a philosopher and a bachelor of him, and periods of loneliness, at first difficult to bear, had gradually become acceptable.

  He watched the calm sea and felt rather like it. ‘

  “Or would you like some supper?” Elfrida said coming back. “I have just found I have some of that chicken mousse you rather like.”

  He grinned and she went out. Of course she knew the answer to that one. She made it specially for him, Thursdays, he felt sure, and it pleased him greatly. He beamed upon the mirror of the sea and threw his hat into an armchair.

  He saw a tramp, shuffling along the beach, prodding things with a stick, carrying a sack over i’is shoulder. It was getting dark then, but the cheese of the moon was edging into sight before the daylight had quite gone. It was twilight, a tricky light in any case, and for a moment Robert could not be sure that what he saw was true.

  The tramp went along towards the east, head down, searching. Then suddenly Robert saw little marks at the water’s edge, little dents in the wet sand, filling with silver water and making a trail across the tramp’s path. The man looked up, raised his stick and began striking out at nothing. Then suddenly he was thrown up into the air, limbs jangling like a doll’s, so that the sack and stick fell away to the sands. For an instant it looked as if he laughed, but Robert saw that it was a gash that almost severed his throat. The man made a curve in the air, flying, loose limbed, out over the sparkling sea, then went in with a great burst of white foam, which spread and died into rippling, smiling sea again. The queer little prints in the wet sand trailed away to the west and died at the edge of the water.

  Robert stood still an instant after the man’s disappearance, then he grabbed the handles of the windows, and swung them open.

  As Elfrida came in, the room was empty and she stood for a moment, nonplussed. Then she saw Robert running like a sprinter across the promenade. He leapt over the edge on to the sand and went on, slower then, the heavy sand clogging his pace.

  “Now what on earth ?” she began.

  Then a queer little worm of fear writhed in her. She put her hands to her bosom, held her breath and looked slowly, apprehensively round the room, and finally stopped with her eyes on the brass shellcase. It did not
move.

  She let her breath go, then turned and looked at Robert. He had stopped at the edge of the sea, looking out over the water.

  “I wonder what’s the matter?” she said.

  CHAPTER V

  1

  Through the hours of the long day, no sound was heard in Beach End but the endless pacing of the solitary man, going from room to room, staring out, hesitating, then listening in the utter silence of the place. Now and again he called out, but no answer came. He watched the cliff face and the sands. Sometimes he saw movement, sometimes nothing, but no answer came to his calls inside the house, nor his signals to the queer, silent animation on the dunes. He ate nothing; sometimes drank water from the kitchen tap to stop the steady increase of heat his nerves created in him. He stripped down to shirt and slacks, and still the heat grew. The more he rinsed his face with water the hotter it became, and the sweat shone on him. Often he thought his watch had stopped and listened anxiously for its quiet ticking. At six, exhausted with smoking, he spread cheese on a biscuit, but his mouth was too dry to swallow it. Several times in each hour he went to the little tape player in his bedroom and set it going, but it hissed and gave no recorded sound. Sometimes he stopped by the phone in the hall, fingers trembling over it, then dropped his hand again and turned away.

  As the evening drew on, he went on to the balcony and leaned against the window, too tired to stand up from the endless pacing in the empty place.

  He did not know what time it was that he saw the tramp coming towards him along the beach. He saw what happened and he stood there, his whole body frozen with horror, and he could not move at all until he saw the chauffeur, Robert, running madly to the water’s edge.