The Fish Rises
MRS. SAYERS’ house was one of the largest in Broome, having five bedrooms in addition to the usual living-rooms. Like that occupied by the late Mrs. Overton, her house faced the west. The front door gave access to the exceptionally deep veranda, which was wholly protected by storm shutters. A second door gave entry to the house, the dividing passage running straight to the kitchen at the rear.
The room across the passage from the lounge was Mrs. Sayers’ bedroom. It was large, and thefrench windows opened to the veranda. There was a tall-boy in the corner almost opposite the door, and Bony had placed a chair between the tall-boy and the windows so that by gently moving the edge of the curtain he could see anyone standing at the electric meter and light switch. Having focused the lens to cover the room between the bed and door, he had screwed the camera to the tall-boy, and had brought the wiring from the alarm bell in Briggs’ room to a press-button attached to the edge of the chair.
The first night, the shark did not rise to the bait-fish as represented by Mrs. Sayers, who lay on her bed, a satin nightgown over shorts andblousette and the iron collar about her neck. She suffered no inconvenience from Sawtell’s invention and from two a.m. she slept until Briggs woke her with morning tea. Bony was then sleeping in the next bedroom, to which he had retired shortly after daybreak.
The one difficulty to his presence in the house was the domestic. He could have left at dawn for his bed at the police station and returned to the house after dark, but the coming and going even at these hours might be noted by a man who excelled in cautiousness.
It was a few minutes after five in the afternoon when Bony awoke, and it was not till seven twenty-five that Mrs. Sayers called him to a meal she had prepared. He insisted on washing the utensils whilst Mrs. Sayers cleared the table, and then he spent half an hour again going over the drill with her and Briggs, placing emphasis on the importance of the ban of silence imposed between them on the one hand andhimself on the other. By neither word nor gesture were they to betray his presence. The same ban was imposed on Mr. Dickenson, who was living in Briggs’ room.
When Briggs left for the hotel at nine o’clock, Mrs. Sayers, dressed again in shorts, occupied herself with a book in the lounge, and Bony sat on a chair just within the doorway of the room he had occupied all day. The back door was closed and the kitchen light switched off, as was Briggs’ custom when departing. The veranda lights were on and the house door to the veranda was open, it being seldom closed.
Outside, it was quite dark. An easterly wind had sprung up at sunset, and it sibilantly rustled the branches of the twin palm trees and played on the taut telephone wires affixed to the house on the outside of Mrs. Sayers’ bedroom. An excellent fishing night.
By Bony’s luminous wrist-watch it was nine-thirty when there was a ring at the veranda door bell. A moment later, Mrs. Sayers appeared in the passage to answer the summons. Then Bony heard the veranda door being opened and Mrs. Sayers speaking:
“Why, Mr. Willis! How nice of you to call. Do come in.”
The man’s voice Bony did not recognise, nor did he know him when he followed Mrs. Sayers into the lounge.
“I won’t detain you long, Mrs. Sayers,” he said. “I’ve called on behalf of several of our fellow townsmen who have come together to discuss a project which we think would succeed if you will consent to join us.”
It was proposed to erect a building combining under the same roof a library, a museum, and a hall to be used for the exhibition of educational pictures and for lectures by prominent visitors. The money was to be raised by public subscription and controlled by a trustheaded, it was hoped, by the philanthropic Mrs. Sayers.
Mrs. Sayers was offering encouragement to Mr. Willis when Bony felt a sudden alteration of air pressure. Another alteration occurred immediatelyafterwards, and there was no doubt that someone had opened and closed the kitchen door.
Knowing that, to anyone in the kitchen, he would be silhouetted against the indirect veranda lighting, Bony edged his face round the bedroom door-frame and viewed the passage with one eye. It could not be Briggs who had opened the kitchen door, for Briggs would have switched on the kitchen light.
The illumination from the veranda lights dwindled into a void half-way along the passage, and within the void was the entrance to the kitchen. It certainly hadn’t been Briggs who had entered, and Mr. Dickenson had received clear instructions to lie snug until signalled into action by the bell under Briggs’ pillow.
Mrs. Sayers was intimating to her visitor that she would consider his proposition, when Bony saw movement at the end of the passage. At first indefinite, it resolved into the figure of a man. He was coming from the kitchen, but before he could be identified, he stopped before the door of a bedroom which Bony was aware was unfurnished, and went in.
There was no resultant light in the unoccupied room, and Bony could not be sure if the man had closed the door after him. He had made no sound when opening it.
As he had often watched the fin of a swordfish knifing the surface of the turbulent ocean to approach the trolled bait, so did he sit on the chair moved to permit him to watch that dark passage. This time he had seen no swordfish fin, clean of line and direct in progress. This fin was the fin of a shark, the fin of amako shark… the biggest and most ferocious human shark ever to rise to Bony’s trolled bait: and the hair at the nape of his neck became stiff, the point of an icicle moved up and down his spine, and every nerve tingled and whined with tautness like the telephone wires without.
Mrs. Sayers conducted her visitor to the door and bade him good-night. If she noticed Bony, she said nothing as she passed back into the lounge, and Bony did not remove his gaze from that hypothetical shark’s fin.
Eventually Briggs came in by the kitchen door, switched on the light and then the hot point to prepare coffee. The kitchen light completed the illumination of the passage, and Bony, watching Briggs approach, drew back a little. Briggs, who must have seen him, completely ignored him, and entered the lounge to receive final instructions.
“Anything you want, Mavis, ’fore I lock up?”
“Yes, Briggs. I would like a pot of coffee and some sandwiches brought to my room. I’m going to bed. I’ve a nasty headache.”
“All right! You better take a couple of tablets. Got any?”
“No. Bring me a packet with the coffee.”
The identical conversation had been conducted the previous evening, and with voices slightly raised so that should Mr. Hyde be outside the lounge windows he would know Mrs. Sayers’ immediate plans. Tonight, in the unoccupied room along the passage, he was doubtless holding the door ajar. Briggs was perfect: Mrs. Sayers was superb.
Briggs proceeded with his chores, closing the storm shutters and locking the veranda door. As on the previous evening, he did not shut the door to the house, and he did not make an inspection of the rooms, and when he was passing the room where lurked the “makoshark” Bony slipped into the bedroom occupied by Mrs. Sayers.
Mrs. Sayers came in and switched on the light. Bony commanded silence with two fingers pressed to lips. He wrote a note, using the tall-boy for a desk, and, when Briggs knocked, he gave her the note, which she saw was directed to Briggs.
Briggs was told to enter and appeared with a tray covered with a cloth. He openly winked at Bony, dexterously removed the cloth and spread it on the bedside table. Then, having set out the supper, he stood with the tray under an arm and asked if there was anything further required. Presenting him with the note, in which Bony had announced the arrival of the murderer, Mrs. Sayers said:
“That will be all, Briggs. Don’t forget to put out the kitchen light. You’ve often forgotten it, remember, and I won’t have wastage.”
The wrinkled face slightly expanded in a grin.
“What a nark you are, Mavis,” he grumbled. “Here’s me having to think of everything, and you go crook. All right! Now take them tablets and sleep deep. Good-night!”
The door closed behind him. Mrs. Sayers poured coffee for two, and she and Bony sat on the edge of the bed and munched sandwiches. In a low whisper, Bony told of what he had seen.
“He won’t come for an hour or two. He’ll wait to be sure Briggs is asleep. Bear in mind all the points I’ve given you, and keep a hard rein on your nerves. And remember, I want to take a picture of him, so try to avoid coming between him and the camera.”
Mrs. Sayers nodded. Her eyes were bright with excitement and she gained Bony’s complete admiration when he failed to see a sign of fear. In his chair in the far corner, he smoked a last cigarette and watched her gathering the supper things with hands perfectly steady. She placed them on the dressing-table, and Bony removed one cup and saucer, which he put into a drawer.
Again in his chair, he laughed silently when Mrs. Sayers slipped on her satin nightgown and, with a flourish, completed her ensemble with the iron collar. She smiled at him, and he knew she wanted to giggle. Then the mood passed and she stretched and raised her arms and tensed her muscles. Her face was very square and her eyes were small and wicked. Above the foot-rail of the bed, she waved to him before pulling on the light cord.
In the dark, Bony settled himself for what he expected to be a prolonged vigil. He could hear Mrs. Sayers moving on the bed. Briggs was still in the kitchen and he was whistling as though to send them a message of good cheer. A minute passed, and then the sound of the kitchen door being shut and locked. Silence descended like a desperate hand on an alarm clock.
The stage was set and the actors waiting for the curtain to go up. The play would begin with the entry of the man Bony had already identified with his “bits and pieces”. The remaining actors had been drilled in their parts and were now waiting to receive their call. It was a situation and a moment to thrill the heart of one who loved the dramatic denouement.
When Bony pressed the button at the edge of his chair and tugged the cord operating the camera shutter and the automatic flashlight, Briggs would rush for the kitchen door and, if unable to unlock it, smash it with a sledge-hammer. He would then race along the passage and, should there be no light in Mrs. Sayers’ room, he was to make for the master switch before joining forces with Bony. Meanwhile, Mr. Dickenson was to emerge from the hut with a bucket of sand into which was partially embedded three wide-mouthed bottles. Into the bottles he was to place rockets, the wicks of which were moistened with kerosene. Having fired the rockets he was to make for the front veranda door and switch on all the lights.
The rockets would be seen by the two constables guarding the homes of Mrs. Abercrombie and Mrs. Clayton. They would at once race for Mrs. Sayers’ house. Inspector Walters and Sergeant Sawtell would be waiting in the jeep, and they should arrive within three minutes of the signal being sent up.
Guile and patience were the attributes essential to landing this monster, with emphasis on guile. Police posted round the house would, under these circumstances, be foolish. To get within range of a tiger you don’t blow whistles, and to hook amako shark you don’t use a bent pin. And when you have the co-operation of a woman like Mrs. Sayers, you try to so arrange matters that you will have the most complete and the most conclusive evidence to accompany your assertion that an attempt to murder did take place. The Crown Prosecutor’s ruling is ever-“He who asserts must prove.” Bony waited with cold patience to provide a classic example of assertion with proof.
With the eyes of his mind, Bony could see the man skulking in that other dark room. He was crouched on the floor, recalling those ecstatic moments when he had killed three times and waiting for the moment to come when he would again kill. He had been a young man blessed with a retentive memory and the laudable desire for knowledge, and the road of his progress had been marked with his triumphs. He had been spurred by ambition to reach the goal of social distinction and power, and nothing had been permitted to come between him and those prizes. Normal human desires had been placed on the altar of asceticism and with unbreakable will maintained upon that altar.
He had fought a good fight… so he had thought… rushing to the shower and his books when the battle went against him. He had exchanged the pleasures of early manhood for knowledge. Knowledge would bring power. With power he would have social position and once that was gained all that which he had suppressed within himself could be given freedom of expression.
But, having entered the kingdom of ambition, he discovered that his knowledge did not include even the elementary knowledge of women. The years of self-denial had loaded him with honours, they had raised him high to a position of power… and they had stripped him of his youth. Wine he had expected, and vinegar he had received in the critical flash of a discerning eye, the titter of scorn within a whisper, the lift of a luscious mouth. Lovely women wanted nothing of his knowledge. They are themselves a Science, and only the ardent student acquires the counter-science. He had found himself too old to begin the study.
The pride of the successful man was overwhelmed. What he had with conscious will kept submerged rose from the sub-conscious to attack with long-pent fury. He had become the centre of contending forces, finally to emerge fearing that for which he yearned and fearing he would lose all the fruits of his emulation.
This dual fear had become directed to certain women whose activities threatened his power and whose sex tormented him.
He had watched and waited for the opportunity to steal a woman’s nightgown to ease a craving and still a fear, only to discover that possession of it gave strength to the fear.
The fear must be destroyed. The torment silenced.
He had planned to enter the woman’s bedroom, but before he could do so, she had come walking in her sleep to meet him.
“Mrs. Cotton, I want you!” he had breathed, and the perfumed femininity had flowed into his hands and up his arms and to his brain like a river of sweet coolness to create a feeling of triumphant chastity.
Only the lesser evil remained to be destroyed, that it mock him not, and, uplifted by the triumph, he had entered the woman’s room and had cut and ripped and torn her underwear to shreds.
The triumph over the demon had been momentary. It had returned to drive him on to whisper:
“Mrs. Eltham, I want you!”
Something… perhaps a knock on the door… had blacked out a thing still to do. Again to the house to destroy the garments so intimately associated with the woman.
There was no release.
“Mrs. Overton, I want you!”
It was driving him now, driving him onward to the moment when he would whisper:
“Mrs. Sayers, I want you!”