Comes the Dark Stranger (4 page)

4

I
T
was still raining heavily as he walked away from the house, and when he reached the main road he hesitated on the corner, looking for a bus stop. There was a small general store opposite, and he bought some cigarettes and checked on Charles Graham’s address. It was only a quarter of a mile away on the main road into town, and he decided to walk.

He wondered if Graham had changed much. Seven years was a long time, but then Graham hadn’t been very old. He couldn’t be more than thirty-two or three now. As he walked along the wet pavement he tried to visualize the others. Wilby, a rough lout of a man with a long record of petty crimes, but a good soldier. Crowther had been a student, fresh from university, and Charles Graham had worked for his uncle, learning to be a woolbroker. And what about Reggie Steele? Shane tried hard, but was unable to remember.

It was something to which he was becoming accustomed by now, an irritating hangover from his illness that made him forget odd, unimportant things, leaving exasperating blanks in his memory.

He found Graham’s place with no difficulty. It was a large and pretentious, late-Victorian town house in grey stone standing remotely in a sea of smooth lawns and flower-beds. It had one unusual feature. Most of the second storey was taken up by a large conservatory, with a terrace that looked out over the valley to the town below.

Shane checked the address again, and then shrugged and walked along the drive to the front door. He pressed a button and a peal of chimes sounded melodiously from somewhere inside. After a moment or two he heard steps approaching. The door opened, a pleasant-faced, motherly looking old woman peered out at him. She was wearing a large white apron and there was flour on her hands.

‘I’d like to see Mr Graham if he’s at home,’ Shane said.

A look of complete astonishment passed across her face. ‘But Mr Graham never receives visitors, sir. Not since his trouble. I thought everyone knew that.’

Shane concealed his surprise and smiled pleasantly. ‘I think he’ll see me if you tell him I’m here. We’re very old friends. I’ve been away for several years, and we haven’t seen each other for quite a while.’

She looked uncertain and wiped her hands on the apron. ‘I’ll tell Mr Graham you’re here, sir, if you insist, but I don’t think it’ll do any good.’

Shane gave her his name, and she crossed the hall and mounted the broad stairway. He turned to the oak-panelled wall and examined some of the paintings hanging there. They were all excellent, mostly originals, and when his eyes fell on the exquisite Chinese vase on the table by the door he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. Whatever else had troubled Charles Graham during the past seven years one thing was obvious. It wasn’t shortage of money.

There was a slight cough behind him, and he turned to find the old woman standing there, an expression of amazement on her face. ‘Mr Graham would like you to come up to the conservatory, sir. It’s on the second floor. I’ll show you the way.’

He followed her up the thickly carpeted stairs. They passed along a broad corridor and mounted another flight of stairs to the second storey. Facing them was an oak door strengthened with bands of wrought iron, and she opened it and motioned him inside.

Rain drummed steadily against the glass roof, and a brooding quiet hung over everything. It was like stepping into a Turkish bath, and clammy heat enveloped Shane with a heavy hand so that sweat sprang to his brow and he peeled off his coat and draped it over a chair by the door.

The place was like a jungle, a mass of green leaves and trailing vines, topped by a profusion of exotic flowers, and a strange, heady perfume touched everything with invisible fingers, making him feel vaguely uneasy. Over everything there hung the hot, moist smell of the jungle, redolent with decay and rottenness, and he frowned and moved forward along a narrow path.

There was a vague, eerie rustling amongst the leaves on his right as if someone moved there quietly. When he reached the far end of the conservatory he found a table and two basketwork chairs facing the door which gave access to the terrace. There was no sign of Graham.

He hesitated, frowning, and then, as he was about to move forward to look out on to the terrace, he was suddenly aware that he was being watched. He turned and said sharply, ‘Is that you, Graham?’

There was a moment of silence and then a low sigh, as if a small wind had moved through the leaves. A voice said in a broken, hoarse whisper, ‘I’m sorry, Shane. I had to be sure. I couldn’t believe it was really you. I thought you were dead.’

At the sound of that voice Shane started violently. There was something horrible and uncanny about it. Something that struck a small chord of fear in his heart. He forced a smile, and said in a calm voice. ‘It’s me all right, Graham.’

There was a slight movement as the leaves in front of him were pushed away, and Graham stepped into view. Shane’s eyes widened in horror and the flesh seemed to crawl across his body. The man who faced him had snow-white hair and a face like something out of a nightmare. The eyes gazed steadily at him out of a mass of twisted flesh and scar tissue, and the mouth was like an open wound.

Slowly, horribly, that broken face twisted into a tortured smile, and Graham held out a hand. ‘Sorry to shock you like this. Perhaps now you’ll understand why I don’t encourage visitors.’

Shane took the outstretched hand and swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry, Graham,’ he said slowly. ‘I didn’t know about this. How did it happen?’

Graham shrugged, and motioned him into one of the chairs. ‘Never mind about me for the moment,’ he said. ‘What happened to you? The last I saw, your leg was sticking out from under a pile of rubble after they bombed that damned temple.’

He still spoke in that weird, croaking whisper. Shane offered him a cigarette and said, ‘I was badly injured. Mainly the brain. It caused a total blackout. I only regained my memory a few days ago.’

Graham gave him a light and leaned back in his chair. ‘It can hardly have been pleasant,’ he said, ‘but it sounds interesting. Tell me about it?’

Shane looked out across the valley to the town, hidden in the mist and rain below, and started to talk. At first he tried not to look at Graham, but he found it impossible to avoid glancing at him occasionally. Each time he did so he found the other man gazing at him unblinkingly.

When he had finished, Graham sighed heavily. ‘I was right first time. You have been dead in a way. This is a sort of rebirth for you. Very interesting. I’m sure the psychiatrists would find you a fruitful subject for study.’

Shane frowned, and glanced at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

Graham shrugged. ‘An experience like yours would be enough to send a more delicately balanced person completely over the edge of sanity. After all, it must be a hell of a shock to wake up one morning and find you’re seven years older. It’s a large slice of one’s life. Can’t you remember any of it?’

Shane shook his head and leaned forward. ‘No, I can’t remember a thing except what the doctors have told me. But I remember those six hours in the temple before the bombs fell. I remember Colonel Li and the volley outside when they shot Simon.’

There was a moment of stillness, and Graham said softly, ‘So you remember that, do you? You remember our old friend Colonel Li?’

Shane shivered violently. ‘I can still hear that club foot of his in my dreams,’ he said. ‘Sliding along the corridor and halting outside the cell door.’

Graham sighed. ‘I must admit I find it difficult to forget him, but other things happened afterwards that pushed his memory well down into my subconscious.’

‘And what were those other things?’ Shane asked. ‘When I checked you through records at the War Office they told me you’d never been a prisoner. They had you listed as wounded in action and medically discharged. That’s one thing I couldn’t understand.’

Graham shrugged. ‘It’s very simple really. After the bombing I was pretty dazed but otherwise unhurt. The whole place was a shambles. There didn’t seem to be any other survivors and, to be brutally honest, I didn’t hang around to look for any. I found our uniforms in what was left of Colonel Li’s office. There wasn’t much left of the colonel, by the way. I pulled on the first battledress that came to hand, and got to hell out of there. They were still raking the place with cannon-fire as I went down the hill.’

‘And then what?’ Shane asked.

Graham shrugged and took a cigarette from a slim gold case. ‘I managed to get across the river.’ A faint smile touched his twisted mouth. ‘I was about two hundred yards from the Allied lines when I stepped on a land-mine.’

‘What a lousy break,’ Shane said.

Graham shrugged. ‘Anyway, they did their best for me. Not a very good best as you can see, but there wasn’t a great deal left for them to work on. I couldn’t talk for a year, but finally they brought a German surgeon over and he did some new operation on my vocal chords. Now I can speak after a fashion.’

Shane couldn’t think of anything to say. He got to his feet and moved across to the window. ‘At least you’re not short of money, judging by this place.’

Graham nodded. ‘My uncle died the week before that last patrol. Remember when I got the letter from his lawyers? I promised you all one hell of a binge in Tokyo next leave to celebrate. When I got out of hospital I sold out to a combine and bought this house. It was the conservatory that appealed to me. I’ve made quite a hobby out of orchid cultivation. It’s a tricky business, you know.’

‘Were you surprised when you heard that Wilby, Crowther, and Steele had survived?’ Shane asked.

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Graham told him. ‘Crowther was the first to come home. Apparently he was in a different camp from the other two.’

‘Have you seen anything of any of them?’ Shane said softly.

Graham shrugged. ‘There was a bit about Crowther in the local paper when he came home. I dropped him a line, and asked him to come and see me for old time’s sake. It wasn’t a very pleasant evening for him, and frankly we didn’t seem to have much to say. He got married a couple of years ago. The last I heard, he was a lecturer at the university.’

‘What about Wilby and Reggie Steele?’ Shane said.

‘I never bothered to get in touch with them, not after that uncomfortable evening with Crowther. I saw Wilby one Saturday night about a year ago as I was driving through town. He looked drunk, which was completely in character as I remember him. Steele runs some sort of a club in the town. The Garland Club, I think it’s called. Strip shows plus luncheon for tired businessmen. It’s the latest thing. I believe it’s quite a hot-spot during the evening as well.’

Shane didn’t reply. He stayed by the window, staring out into the rain, and after a short silence Graham said, ‘Are you going to look them up while you’re in town?’

Shane nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’m going to look them up.’

‘What is this, a sentimental journey?’ Graham said.

Shane spoke without turning round. ‘I visited Simon Faulkner’s father and sister this afternoon.’

There was a short, evocative silence, and suddenly the air was charged with electricity. ‘My God!’ Charles Graham said. ‘So that’s what’s brought you back.’

Shane turned slowly and nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I want to know who spilled his guts to Colonel Li. It wasn’t me, and it couldn’t have been you. That leaves Wilby, Crowther, or Steele. Take your pick.’

Graham shook his head. ‘You must be crazy. How on earth can you possibly find out? Do you expect the guilty man to break down and confess? And anyway - does it really matter now?’

Shane moved slowly towards him, a frown on his face. ‘Does it really matter? Jesus Christ!' he exploded. ‘Have you forgotten what happened out there? Have you forgotten what we went through and what they did to Simon?’

Graham looked up at him, a strange expression in his eyes. ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ he said, ‘but have you?’

Despite the humid heat, Shane was aware of a strange coldness. He frowned, and said slowly, ‘I remember everything that happened on that day.’

Graham shook his head. ‘Can you be sure of that? You couldn’t remember anything for seven years. How can you be so sure of what happened in the temple? How can you be sure it wasn’t you who told Colonel Li what he wanted to know? Maybe it’s the one thing your mind doesn’t want you to recall.’

For a moment Shane felt as though a giant hand was squeezing his chest so that could not breathe. He struggled for air, throat dry, head turning from side to side, as he tried to speak. He staggered across to the other table, and feverishly poured water from the decanter into a glass. For a moment he choked as the water trickled down his throat, and then suddenly he could breathe again.

He turned back to Graham, his face bone white. ‘That’s impossible. We were in the same cell together. You know it wasn’t me, just as I know it couldn’t have been you.’

Graham shook his head gently. ‘But I was unconscious when they brought me back from that last interrogation. I was unconscious for almost an hour.’

For a moment Shane looked down into the ravaged face, and then he turned and walked back along the path towards the door. Graham moved surprisingly fast, and by the time Shane was pulling on his coat he was at his side.

‘I didn’t intend to upset you,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I was simply trying to show you how impossible the whole thing is.’

Shane tightened his belt and opened the door. ‘You haven’t upset me,’ he said. ‘Simply suggested another possibility I should have thought of myself.’

He went down the stairs quickly, Graham at his heels, and when they reached the hall Graham opened the front door and moved on to the front porch with him.

They stood there for a moment, and Shane said, ‘You’ve helped me a lot. I’m grateful for that.’

Graham shook his head, and said sadly, ‘What good will it do? Who can it possibly help?’

Shane shrugged, and pulled up the collar of his trench coat. His face was savage and bitter. ‘I don’t know. They say nobody can help the dead, but then I’m a walking dead man, so perhaps I’m an exception. All I do know is that this thing is eating into my guts so that I can’t think of anything else. I’ve got to know which one it was.’