The Mortdecai Trilogy (Charlie Mortdecai #1-3)(133)

‘Bloody bastard,’ said George.

‘How perfectly extraordinary,’ said Sam.

‘What kind of a mask?’ I asked.

The others looked at me, a touch of rebuke in their eyes, as though I had said ‘District Nurse’ in front of the children.

‘One of those joke-shop rubber masks, she thinks. You know, Dracula or the Beast from 5,000 Fathoms.’

‘Just so,’ I said. ‘The Beast.’

‘Aha! said Sam. ‘I think I twig. But the sword thing is new, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but I think it fits.’

‘How?’

‘Not sure enough now, tell you some other time.’

‘Would somebody mind telling me,’ snarled George, ‘what the f – ’ he paused, collected himself. ‘Sorry,’ he resumed, ‘I mean, I don’t quite follow you men.’

‘The Beast of Jersey,’ Sam explained. ‘You know, the chap who terrorized the Island for a dozen years; used to creep into children’s rooms, carry them out of the window, do odd things to them in the fields – not always very nasty – then pop them back into their little beds. The police think that there may have been more than a hundred such assaults but naturally most of them were not reported, for reasons which you will, um, appreciate. He used to wear a rubber mask, most of the victims said that he had an odd smell and he wore bizarre clothes, studded with nails. Just before you moved here they caught a chap called Paisnel, who is now serving thirty years, rightly or wrongly.’

‘Shouldn’t like to be him,’ I interjected, ‘convicts are madly sentimental and they do beastly things to offenders against children. Make them sing alto, see what I mean.’

‘Yes. I dare say they do. No experience in that field myself. Take your word for it.’

That was cheaper than Sam’s usual level of badinage; I made a mental note to see that he suffered for it. I’m not a vengeful chap but I can’t allow my friends to make cheap witticisms, can I? It’s a question of the quality of life.

‘What was interesting,’ Sam went on as I chewed my spleen, ‘was that Paisnel kept on saying that it was ‘all part of something’ but he wouldn’t say what and he said that when he was arrested he was on his way to meet “certain people” but he wouldn’t say whom.’

‘Perfectly obvious,’ said George; ‘the beggar was one of these witches or witchmasters. It all comes back to me now. The plumber told me all about it when he came in drunk just after Christmas. Seems it wasn’t this Paisnel fellow at all, all the locals know who it was, including most of the Honorary Police … or did he say that Paisnel was just part of it?’

‘That strain again,’ murmured Sam, ‘it hath a dying fall …’

‘Quite right. And this Paisnel had a secret room, hadn’t he, with a pottery frog or toad in it and that was supposed to be “part of it” too. And there was one of these Papist Palm Sunday crosses in the car he was nabbed in and they say he screamed when they asked him to touch it.’

‘Codswallop?’ I prompted.

‘Not necessarily. Seen too many funny things myself to be ready to scoff at, ah, funny things.’

‘In India, I dare say?’

He glared at me suspiciously.

‘Yes,’ curtly. ‘There and elsewhere. Well, mustn’t keep you chaps any longer. Good of you to help, very.’

Hunger stabbed me as I drove home. There was nothing inviting in the fridge, certainly not the half of a cold duck, but I happen to know where Jock hides his ‘perks’ and I spitefully wolfed a whole tin of caviare (the real Grosrybrest; Jock steals nothing but the best, he spurns Beluga and Ocietrova) on hot toast and left the kitchen in a horrid mess. On purpose.

Upstairs, Johanna appeared to be asleep and I slunk gratefully into bed like a thief in the night.

‘Gotcha!’ she yelled triumphantly.

‘Have a care, for God’s sake, you’ll have me singing alto.’

‘Where have you been, you naughty little stud?’

I told her the whole story and she listened enthralled.

‘Let’s play rapists,’ she said when I had finished.

‘I’m not climbing through any bloody window.’

‘I’ll let you off that bit.’

‘But I haven’t a rubber mask.’

‘Extemporize.’

‘Oh, really.’

‘I shall pretend to be asleep and you shall sneak into the room and leap upon me and work your wicked will and I shall scream and scream but very softly so as not to wake our nice landlord.’

‘Promise not to scratch?’

‘Only gently.’

Much later I crept down to the kitchen to make myself a jam-sandwich. Jock was there, moodily eating baked beans. He bore all the marks of a servant who has lost heavily at dominoes. We did not speak. I, for one, was thinking.





3





Who hath given, who hath sold it thee,

Knowledge of me?

Has the wilderness told it thee?

Hast thou learnt of the sea?

Hast thou communed in spirit with night? have the winds

taken counsel with thee?





Hertha