The House Opposite Read online

  Ben nearly gave way that time. He only just managed to hang on. It occurred to him that his prospects of seeing another sunrise weren’t worth betting on.

  He reached the kitchen window. The black cat followed him. The window was closed. The person who was up in the second floor front evidently didn’t want to be disturbed.

  Well, that was that! You couldn’t get through a closed window. At least, not unless you broke it. And if you broke it, there’d be a noise…

  ‘Well, wot abart it, King Coal?’ Ben asked the cat.

  King Coal did not respond. He had vanished.

  Ben considered the new position. Then, all at once, a totally new idea occurred to him. It was rather an amazing idea, and intriguingly simple. The process at least was simple. The result might be less so.

  ‘Why not go rahnd ter the front,’ he pondered, ‘and ring the bell, innercent like?’

  The more he thought of it, the more he preferred it to the alternative of smashing glass. Perhaps its chief attraction was that it would delay matters for a few seconds. Yet, the idea had other virtues. He could pretend that he had left a pipe in the house. Or he could stand ready with a bit of loose railing in his hand. He remembered having seen a bit of loose railing…

  He returned to the front. Yes, there was the bit of loose railing. It had got broken, just to keep in tune with the house itself, and the top portion was hanging insecurely from its enlarged time-eaten socket. He seized it and gave it a hard tug. It came away with the ease of a loose tooth, and he sat down on the pavement with it. But he didn’t mind. He had got his weapon, and that was all he cared about.

  He got up. His fall had ejected him towards another point of the compass, and now he found himself staring across the road at No. 26 opposite. A light went up in the top room. Well, why shouldn’t it? He swung round nervily, and stared up at a more important window. There was no light there.

  He mounted the few low steps. His left hand reached for the bell. His right was fully occupied, gripping the bit of iron railing. He found the bell, and pressed it. The bell sounded as loud as Big Ben. What a fool he was! Why hadn’t he tried to ring it more softly?

  He twisted his neck, for a final glance at the top room of No. 26. The light was out again. He gained the sensation that he was being watched from both houses.

  ‘This ain’t nice,’ he thought.

  He decided not to ring the bell again. If nobody came, he would go back to the kitchen window and smash it. He had an implement now for the purpose, and anything would be better than standing here with No. 26 behind him, like an enormous eye. An eye! That was it! The whole house was an eye, focusing on him…

  Hallo! Somebody was coming, though! He could hear noises. Little creeping noises, coming downstairs. Faint, at first. Then getting louder. Creak. Gawd—he knew that stair! And a point of light too. Moving and dodging, like a will o’ the wisp. His fingers tightened on his bit of railing.

  Now the somebody was at the bottom of the stairs and had reached the hall. The light paused. It came on again. And, now, a little metallic sound. He knew that too. He had made it himself, when opening the door to others. An instant later, the door began to open to him. It receded slowly. A tiny slit of dim interior widened. He raised his bit of railing…

  A hand shot out and grasped him. The light went out. He was pulled inside, and the door closed swiftly. He and the somebody stood facing each other in the pitch darkness.

  ‘I’m goin’ ter ’it yer,’ said Ben idiotically.

  ‘Sh!’ came the response.

  For a blinding moment the light dazzled full into his eyes, then was switched off again. Ben stood motionless. His ears were not sensitive to subtleties, saving in the case of stair noises, but something in that whispered ‘Sh!’ had arrested him.

  ‘’Oo are you?’ he muttered.

  The light answered him. This time, it illuminated the face of the person who held it. And, again, only for a moment.

  ‘Lummy! It’s you, miss!’ gasped Ben.

  ‘Hush!—upstairs—we’ll talk there,’ she whispered.

  No longer antagonistic, they ascended. Only one thing was clear to Ben in the confusion of his mind. He had done right to come back. They mounted to the second floor without speaking. The door of his room—for so he thought of it—was open. They entered, and groped their way to the window. The soap box had been moved to a spot beside the window, and had been turned on its side to make a lower seat. From a pedestal, it had become a settee. They sat down upon it, without illumination.

  ‘Now, tell me!’ whispered the girl ‘Why have you come back?’

  ‘Why ’ave you?’ answered Ben.

  ‘Please answer my question first,’ she said. ‘Then I’ll answer yours—perhaps. Why are you here?’

  ‘Well—you tole me ter stop, didn’t yer?’ muttered Ben.

  ‘I told you not to!’

  ‘Yus, that was arter. But you left your pahnd.’

  ‘So I did.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  There was a pause. Ben felt the girl’s eyes boring him in the darkness. Lummy—wasn’t she different from the other one—that one with the fur and the snaky evening dress…

  ‘Do you mean, you decided to stay here, because of the pound?’

  ‘I hexpeck that was one o’ the reasons, miss.’

  ‘One of the reasons?’

  ‘Yus.’

  ‘Was there another reason?’

  ‘Well, yer see—if you was comin’ back—like wot yer ’ave—it didn’t seem exackly safe ’ere, like. See?’

  ‘I think I do see,’ murmured the girl. ‘I say—you’re rather a decent sort, aren’t you?’

  ‘Reg’lar boy stood on the burnin’ deck,’ replied Ben. ‘But doncher worry, miss; I’ll never grow one o’ them ’aloes rahnd me ’ead.’

  Nevertheless, he pocketed her compliment, in case old Noah ever needed to hear it.

  ‘I don’t still understand, though,’ went on the girl, her voice soft and rich in the darkness. ‘You must have gone away, to have come back again! How long did you stay after I went?’

  ‘Lemmy think,’ answered Ben.

  How long had he stayed? It all seemed so far away he could hardly remember. He’d lived through a bit since their last meeting.

  ‘Was you ’ere afore the old man, or was the old man ’ere afore you?’ he asked.

  ‘Old man?’ she queried.

  ‘Ah—now I got it,’ said Ben. ‘Arter you left I went aht ter git a bit o’ cheese and a cup o’ corfee, and it was when I was ’avin’ the corfee that I come acrost ’im—no, not ’im, the Injun, that’s it—and then I comes back and the old man comes hup and tries ter shoot me, and then I ’ides—well, ’oo wouldn’t, and then ’e goes, and then this hother woman she comes—’

  ‘What other woman?’ interposed the girl, attempting to stem the tide a little.

  ‘Why, the old man’s dorter, or so she ses, the one as gits me inter a taxi with one o’ them drugged garspers, there’s a dirty trick, and orf I’m took to a room where they locks me in, yus, it’s a fack, but I starts smashin’ up the ’appy ’ome, see, and that brings ’em in, and then I gives ’em a dose o’ Sharkey—’

  ‘They—?’

  ‘Yus, the taxi bloke and ’is spoose, leastwise I hexpeck she was, nobody helse’d marry ’er, and arter I’d give ’em a bit o’ wot-not I gits aht o’ the ’ouse, see, and then things went funny and I don’t know wot ’appens fer a bit till I’m on a seat and a feller gives me ten bob, Gawd knows why, and I didn’t wait ter ask ’cos the Injun, ’e’s heverywhere, ’e is—’

  ‘You saw the Indian—?’

  ‘Yus, I’m tellin’ yer, ’e’s worse’n me shadder, but I give ’im the slip, too, and goes orl rahnd the world in a couple o’ taxis—oh, I bin a nob orl right since I saw you larst, miss—and then I comes back ’ere, and I finds you ’ere, and—well, ’ere we are.’

  He paused for breath. It has been a long speech, but a useful one. Yo
u gotter tork sometimes, or bust.

  ‘Corse,’ he added, ‘there was a lot more, but that’s jest the houtline.’

  The girl rose from the case, and stood considering. She had rarely taken her eyes off the house opposite while Ben had been telling his story, and her gaze was still directed out of the window; but her focus had altered. She did not seem to be looking at the house now; she seemed to be looking far beyond it.

  Ben waited. He wanted to hear her story. When she spoke, however, she still harped on his.

  ‘Do you think the Indian knows you have come back here?’ she asked.

  ‘On’y if ’e’s good at guessin’,’ replied Ben.

  ‘And, of course, you can’t say where he is?’

  An idea occurred to Ben. She certainly harped on that Indian.

  ‘Is ’e arter you, too, miss?’ he whispered sepulchrally.

  ‘Never mind about me,’ she responded. ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘I don’t know where ’e is,’ said Ben, ‘and I don’t wanter know where ’e is. Let sleepin’ Injuns lie, that’s my motter, miss. Wot I do wanter know is wot ’appened ter you?’ He straightened himself a little. ‘I’m ’ere ter ’elp yer like, ain’t I? Well, then, ’ow am I goin’ ter do it if I don’t know nothin’?’

  Now she turned her eyes away from the window, and fixed them on him.

  ‘You’ve helped me a great deal,’ she answered, and there was gratitude in her voice. ‘Yes, more than you probably know. But there’s nothing more you can do, and I’m going to repeat a request I made to you once before. Please go now. Believe me, it will be best—and wisest. I’m sincere.’

  Ben could see that she was. Nevertheless, he shook his head.

  ‘If it’s a fack as ’ow I’ve ’elped yer,’ he replied; ‘well, it’s a fack as ’ow I wouldn’t ’ave ’elped yer if I’d took yer hadvice larst time and ’oofed it. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Quite right. But now there’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘Sure o’ that, miss?’

  She nodded. Ben didn’t believe her.

  ‘S’pose the Injun comes back? Ain’t yer scared of ’im?’

  ‘No.’

  Again Ben didn’t believe her. He was working out a simple theory for himself. He believed that the Indian was after her, and that he wanted to kill her. He believed that the Indian would kill her if somebody didn’t look after her. And he believed that if the Indian did kill her, he would kill the Indian. Whether he was right or wrong, it was an easy theory to hang on to. Let all the rest go hang.

  ‘Well, miss,’ he remarked solemnly, ‘if you ain’t scared of the Injun, I am. But I ain’t goin’, see?’

  Something happened to the girl Ben didn’t know what. All he knew was that she suddenly seemed closer to him like. As a matter of fact, she really was closer, for she had drawn nearer and had laid her hand upon his arm. But he didn’t mean only that way…

  ‘Please! Please!’ she begged. ‘Don’t you realize how dead in earnest I am? If anything happened to you—’

  Her fingers tightened on his arm.

  If anything happened to him? If anything happened to Ben? Somebody was minding, like.

  ‘P’r’aps it won’t matter the ’ell of a lot if somethin’ does ’appen ter me, miss,’ he muttered thickly. ‘Gotter ’appen some time, ain’t it? But you ain’t marked fer it yet, see? So I’m sorry, miss, but I ain’t goin’—Gawd! Wot’s that?’

  They turned towards the window again, their nerves tense.

  ‘Didjer ’ear anythin’?’ asked Ben hoarsely.

  ‘I thought I heard a cry,’ she answered.

  ‘Yer did!’ muttered Ben. Then suddenly added, ‘Look ’ere, miss, ain’t it time fer a policeman?’

  ‘No, not yet!’ she whispered sharply.

  He looked at her in surprise. He noticed that now she wasn’t staring at the house opposite. She was staring down the road. He followed her gaze. He gulped. The Indian was approaching swiftly.

  The Indian was no longer the bland and sardonically subtle creature of Ben’s memory. His swiftness and his attitude suggested definite purpose. The purpose, moreover, was connected with their own house, not with the house opposite. In a flash he was at the front door immediately below them. Now they could no longer see him; a projection above the door concealed him from view. But they could hear him. They could hear the tiny jangle of a key-chain, and of an inserted key…

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked the girl sharply.

  Ben did not answer. He, too, could move swiftly, and he was out of the room before her question was complete. A second later, he had locked her in.

  He was going to kill the Indian.

  CHAPTER XII

  HOW NOT TO KILL AN INDIAN

  WHEN you are going to kill an Indian you do not walk straight up to him to do it, even if you have a useful bit of rusty railing in your hand. You employ the Indian’s own methods, and slink and slide and slither. In fact, you become almost Oriental yourself, forgetting the western rules of cricket, and plotting to surprise your victim suddenly in the back.

  It was not any weakening of Ben’s intention, therefore, that caused him to reduce his pace as soon as he had sped out of the door of the second floor front and locked it. It was tactics. He travelled at half-speed down the stairs to the first bend, and a quarter-speed down the remaining stairs of the first flight. On the landing he stopped and listened.

  He did not hear a sound. Apparently the Indian was not coming up. Not yet, at any rate. He might be exploring the lower floor, to ascertain that it was empty, or he might be standing still by the front door, listening, as Ben was. The only certain things were that he was in the house, and that he had got to be killed.

  Ben had not a murderous soul. That will already have been gathered. But in his muddled state he was convinced that the Indian had a murderous soul, and that some one was undoubtedly going to cease existence within the next few minutes. And, of the three persons involved, he regarded the Indian as the one who would least be missed. In a criminal court a crime such as Ben now contemplated might form the subject of a week’s intricate and expensive argument. The simple issue rarely interests the law.

  The silence continued. Each seemed to be saying voicelessly to the other: ‘You move first.’ Rather surprisingly, the Indian moved first. A soft step fell upon Ben’s strained ears.

  Then another. Then another. And still not up the stairs! Ben located the steps along the passage towards the kitchen. Now the Indian would be reaching the cupboard. Now he would be passing it. No—not passing it! Pausing at it! The Indian was pausing at the cupboard.

  Ben crept on a little. He reached the top of the second flight, and became conscious of a faint glimmer. Like the girl, the Indian had a torch.

  Then a fresh sound fell upon Ben’s ears. It was unmistakable. The Indian was opening the cupboard.

  This was the moment! To hesitate now would be to lose a golden opportunity! The Indian would be standing facing the cupboard. There was a slight bend at the spot where the cupboard came, and a man facing the cupboard door would have his back half-turned to any one who crept down the stairs and then twisted suddenly round towards him. A couple of yards, a quick leap, and a quick whack…

  As Ben thought, he acted. He had scarcely formulated his plan before he was down the stairs and twisting round the balustrade at the bottom. By some miracle of memory, and assisted by his pace, he evaded the stairs that produced the worst creaks, and the Indian, when he veered round towards him, gave no sign that he had heard anything. He was standing, as Ben had visioned, before the cupboard door, and the cupboard door was open. Beyond the door loomed a black cavity, un-illuminated by the Indian’s torch because the torch was pointing straight downwards, giving the Indian the effect of an erect shadow in a pond of light.

  ‘Lummy, I’ve got ’im!’ thought Ben, leaping forward with his bit of railing raised.

  He felt a momentary sickness. He’d hit lots of people in his
life, almost as many as had hit him, but he never really liked it. The sound of a crack on the boko was not real melody to him. A crack on the Indian’s boko, however, might sound rather good. It would spell safety for the girl upstairs, and rid the world of most of its immediate horror.

  Now he was right behind the Indian. Still the Indian stood motionless, peering into the black cavity of the cupboard. Ben closed his eyes, like a charging bull, and the railing came down with a swish. But it met nothing. The Indian had stepped aside, and the velocity of Ben’s rush took him right into the cupboard. A gentle push from the Indian, now behind him, assisted the entrance.

  And, just as Ben’s railing had met nothing, Ben’s feet met nothing. He lurched into blankness as well as blackness. It was as though he had been shoved into a dark lift without a bottom, while, above him, a door banged to.

  As once before in this house of hideous happenings, Ben died, but this time he did not go up to heaven. He descended to the less soothing alternative, and discovered it damp and stagnant. Instead of Noah, he interviewed a slimy monster with one bright eye; and instead of begging to come in, he tried to argue himself out. ‘Wot ’ave I done?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve been a fool,’ replied the monster, ‘and all fools come down to me.’

  ‘That’s ridick’lous, you ain’t got no tail,’ retorted Ben; ‘and, any’ow, there’s a person up above wot don’t think too bad o’ me. ’Ere, stop shovin’ me abart! Give us a floor! Wot’s this? Water? It oughter be fire. Wot’s this water doin’?’ It was certainly queer about the water. The slimy monster with one eye laughed—a nasty, oozing, sucking laugh. ‘Oh, tryin’ ter drahn me, are yer?’ exclaimed Ben. ‘Well, yer can’t drahn a sailor. Why, I bin orl rahnd the world, I ’ave. Sydney, Noo Zealand, Cape Town…It was in Cape Town I ’eard abart my little gall goin’. I’d ’ave bin back in three weeks. ’Ow was that fer bad luck? And she was a bit of orl right, that little gall was. Never knoo jest ’ow ’it ’appened. Yus, and she went up, and so I’m goin’ up too. Why, that’s wot I ses in Cape Town. “Never mind,” I ses, to’er like, “I’ll see yer later,” I ses, yus, and I bin workin’ for it, ain’t I, and now yer tryin’ ter git me dahn…Well, yer shan’t…Gawd, ain’t this water cold?…Oi!…Wot’s ’appenin’?…It’s up ter me knees…nah me waist…I ain’t goin’, I tell yer!…Oi!…Oi!…’