answer a lot of
questions, and there’s no telling how long this is going to
take.’
‘Is that wise, Theo?’ Mrs. Pascoe said. ‘You
know how good your mother is with Pamela.’
Leaning on the edge of the
open window, speaking quietly to the Pascoes, he said, ‘Look,
there’s just been another murder of a young woman. Fred hasn’t said
anything, but he’s sick with worry over his wife and little girl
because of . . . something that we just saw, that Pamela may have
been a witness to as it occurred. Your nephew and his wife and child will be
staying with us until this matter is resolved, for reasons I won’t
go into right now. As for Mrs. Dewhurst, I don’t want her so much
as hearing about
what happened here. It’s bad enough that Pamela saw what she did,
but- let’s face facts, my mother isn’t a young woman, and what
happened here is the sort of thing that even strong men have
trouble dealing with. So, please, do as I ask, and I’ll look after
Pamela as best I can.’
Pamela felt that she was caught in a
netherworld between that of waking dreams and the murky depths of a
subconscious that she was aware of, like an unwilling spectator,
but which was not entirely her own. Albert had risen up out of the
moor like a demon apparition with something in his arms, something
that she couldn’t quite make out. It had a pale oval face, wide,
white staring eyes and dark hair, she knew that much, and its
supplicating look was one of pure abject terror. Then, it had
fallen like a puppet with its strings cut. All the while, Albert
had fixed her with his gaze, with eyes that nailed her to his will,
a will that took away her voice, her volition, her sense of
herself. When she began calling out for help, it seemed as though
it were someone else who began screaming, that she still stood
rooted to that spot, mesmerized, waiting for Albert to come for her
. . .
‘That’s enough , gentlemen.’ Theo’s voice was
at once hard and uncompromising. ‘I’ll be taking Pamela home
now.’
‘We’re not done yet,’ the inspector from CID
said impatiently.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Theo told him.
‘She’s in shock. She needs to be away from here. You’re not blind;
you can see what this is doing to her.’
The inspector sighed, pushed
his glasses up on his forehead and massaged his tired eyes a
moment. ‘We’ve been after Mr. Askrigg for six years now. Six. The
man is like a ghost or a demon, manifesting itself long enough to
do something horrific and then it’s gone again. But he’s never gone
this far. Now, he’s taunting us- or rather, he’s taunting Miss Dee,
here, supposedly because she’s the only one of his victims who has
escaped from him with her life.’ Changing the subject, he said,
‘So, tell me, Mr. Dewhurst, how did Albert Askrigg happen to
know where you were
going and when ?’
Theo was silent a long
moment.‘I’ve been asking myself that same question. The only answer
I can come up with is one I don’t even want to contemplate: that he
has always been close at hand, waiting for the perfect opportunity
to strike; that he has been near enough to overhear conversation.
Devil take the man! He may very well have been in the house !’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ the inspector said and
sat back in his chair, tiredly. ‘My men will escort you to your
home, and we will set a twenty-four-hour watch. I honestly don’t
know what else to do.’
Theo shrugged. ‘Do what you
must. But I tell you this: Albert Askrigg is not inhuman. Don’t allow yourself to
be in awe of him, or he really will defeat you. He is a man like
any other. It’s just that he knows the moors, unlike any other. He has made them his
home. Have you ever flown over the moors, inspector?’
Caught off-guard, the inspector said, ‘No,
can’t say as I have.’
‘Well I have. They are not
as vast as the Brontë sister’s overactive and inbred imaginations
believed. But they are just large enough for one lone
questions, and there’s no telling how long this is going to
take.’
‘Is that wise, Theo?’ Mrs. Pascoe said. ‘You
know how good your mother is with Pamela.’
Leaning on the edge of the
open window, speaking quietly to the Pascoes, he said, ‘Look,
there’s just been another murder of a young woman. Fred hasn’t said
anything, but he’s sick with worry over his wife and little girl
because of . . . something that we just saw, that Pamela may have
been a witness to as it occurred. Your nephew and his wife and child will be
staying with us until this matter is resolved, for reasons I won’t
go into right now. As for Mrs. Dewhurst, I don’t want her so much
as hearing about
what happened here. It’s bad enough that Pamela saw what she did,
but- let’s face facts, my mother isn’t a young woman, and what
happened here is the sort of thing that even strong men have
trouble dealing with. So, please, do as I ask, and I’ll look after
Pamela as best I can.’
Pamela felt that she was caught in a
netherworld between that of waking dreams and the murky depths of a
subconscious that she was aware of, like an unwilling spectator,
but which was not entirely her own. Albert had risen up out of the
moor like a demon apparition with something in his arms, something
that she couldn’t quite make out. It had a pale oval face, wide,
white staring eyes and dark hair, she knew that much, and its
supplicating look was one of pure abject terror. Then, it had
fallen like a puppet with its strings cut. All the while, Albert
had fixed her with his gaze, with eyes that nailed her to his will,
a will that took away her voice, her volition, her sense of
herself. When she began calling out for help, it seemed as though
it were someone else who began screaming, that she still stood
rooted to that spot, mesmerized, waiting for Albert to come for her
. . .
‘That’s enough , gentlemen.’ Theo’s voice was
at once hard and uncompromising. ‘I’ll be taking Pamela home
now.’
‘We’re not done yet,’ the inspector from CID
said impatiently.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Theo told him.
‘She’s in shock. She needs to be away from here. You’re not blind;
you can see what this is doing to her.’
The inspector sighed, pushed
his glasses up on his forehead and massaged his tired eyes a
moment. ‘We’ve been after Mr. Askrigg for six years now. Six. The
man is like a ghost or a demon, manifesting itself long enough to
do something horrific and then it’s gone again. But he’s never gone
this far. Now, he’s taunting us- or rather, he’s taunting Miss Dee,
here, supposedly because she’s the only one of his victims who has
escaped from him with her life.’ Changing the subject, he said,
‘So, tell me, Mr. Dewhurst, how did Albert Askrigg happen to
know where you were
going and when ?’
Theo was silent a long
moment.‘I’ve been asking myself that same question. The only answer
I can come up with is one I don’t even want to contemplate: that he
has always been close at hand, waiting for the perfect opportunity
to strike; that he has been near enough to overhear conversation.
Devil take the man! He may very well have been in the house !’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ the inspector said and
sat back in his chair, tiredly. ‘My men will escort you to your
home, and we will set a twenty-four-hour watch. I honestly don’t
know what else to do.’
Theo shrugged. ‘Do what you
must. But I tell you this: Albert Askrigg is not inhuman. Don’t allow yourself to
be in awe of him, or he really will defeat you. He is a man like
any other. It’s just that he knows the moors, unlike any other. He has made them his
home. Have you ever flown over the moors, inspector?’
Caught off-guard, the inspector said, ‘No,
can’t say as I have.’
‘Well I have. They are not
as vast as the Brontë sister’s overactive and inbred imaginations
believed. But they are just large enough for one lone
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