Death by the Mistletoe (6 page)

Suddenly James yelled, and kicked out madly with his foot; for O’Hare’s strong white teeth had sunk into his left forearm, bared in the heat of the battle. But as his grip of the big man’s wrist weakened from very agony, a kind of miniature earthquake took place, and O’Hare was hauled forcibly out of the car on to the hard roadway, still clawing and holding James.

The young minister who had caused this upheaval knelt on top of the half-stunned criminal, while Sergeant MacLeod, leaving Muldoon in the safe keeping of Constable Wallace, placed the handcuffs in position.

“Excellent work!” smoothly commented the fair-haired clergyman.

James recognised him now as the Rev. Duncan Nicholson of St. Kiaran’s Church, Blaan, who, as clerk to the renowned Presbytery of Kintyre, had on several occasions conversed with the editor of the
Gazette
with regard to local church news. A graduate of Glasgow University, he had come straight to Blaan from his studies two years before. His father was the head of a big wireless concern having its headquarters in Sauchiehall Street, and Nicholson had taken charge of his parish with the highest credentials. The Blaan people liked him on account of his almost unfailing good humour.

He was as tall as James and probably about the same age; but there the likeness between the two young men abruptly ended. For whereas James was pale, lean-faced and gloomy-eyed, the Rev. Duncan Nicholson was stoutly ruddy, and his glance was frank and vastly calm. James — except when in the ring — tended to be rather awkward in his movements, while the other walked with smooth, correct and unhurried step. James seldom smiled, and when he did, it was sometimes rather sourly; but this young minister beamed impartially upon everyone. James’s hair was red, plentiful and unruly: the minister’s was fair — almost yellow — and brushed sleekly back. If it came to a test of strength, one would have said, looking at the Rev. Duncan Nicholson’s powerful wrists, that he would have had some advantage over James. This, however, was not strictly the case.

The editor of the
Gazette
emerged from the Daimler feeling immensely relieved at the turn of events had taken, but conscious at the same time of many painful bruises, and of a persistent throbbing in his left forearm. He shook hands with the Rev. Duncan Nicholson, nodded with a slight grin to the two policemen, and then went over to the girl.

“Well done!” he said, his breath still coming in short, uneven gusts. “And thank you!”

“You’re a splendid winker,” she returned. Though pale and rather tremulous, she still managed to smile. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

James shook his head. Now that he was seeing her under more favourable circumstances he found himself possessed of strange and unaccountable emotions. His self-confidence abruptly departed.

She was utterly lovely, he thought, in that little white, green-belted frock, which gave the impression of being fashioned on lines of the utmost simplicity and yet seemed to suit her fresh and vital beauty as nothing else could have done. James, whose eyes though gloomy were none the less observant, noticed also that she wore white silk stockings and green sandals, and he liked her slim ankles. Her dark brown hair, curled close at the nape of her neck, gleamed burnished in the sunshine. But it was her face which attracted James’s immediate attention. It was delicately oval, with the slightest suggestion of thinness about the lightly powdered cheeks and rounded chin. Her eyes were blue — the dark, deep blue of a still mountain loch reflecting a summer sky.

And as he continued to look on her the supposedly hardbitten editor did something he had no memory of having done before. He blushed; and his few freckles disappeared in a maze of red.

“Meet Miss Eileen Campbell — Mr. John James MacPherson.”

The Rev. Duncan Nicholson beamed, and as James smiled also — by no means sourly this time — the minister went on:

“We came after you at sixty — sixty, by Jove! Eileen’s a demon at the wheel. I thought we should have been ditched a dozen times. She had us all rounded up in town, too, within five minutes of seeing your signal. Sergeant MacLeod and Constable Wallace, whom we found at the station, were splendid. They fell in with our plan for rescuing you at once. Lucky for you, old man, your car was dawdling.”

His accent, as James had noted before with some degree of contempt, was that occasionally and erroneously attributed to students of the University of Oxford.

Sergeant MacLeod coughed dryly.

“We must be getting back to town,” he announced. “The sooner these gentlemen are locked up the better. Are you coming with us, James?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to.”

“By the way, Mr. MacPherson,” said Eileen, and her voice was as clear and sweet as the ripple of a burn in June, “I happened to be in town to-day with Mr. Nicholson principally to ask you if you could come for dinner to Dalbeg to-morrow evening. My father — Professor Campbell — wishes specially to see you.”

“I shall be glad to come,” replied James with great earnestness, and was somewhat embarrassed to find Constable Wallace regarding him with handsome face solemn as a judge’s, but with eyes which twinkled wickedly.

“See you there,” said Nicholson, who, annoyingly, seemed to be on excellent terms with the Campbell family.

During the remainder of that day, and for most of the next, James’s mind frequently reverted to the problem of why this unexpected invitation had come to him.

James, the two policemen, and O’Hare and Muldoon travelled to the police station by means of the big Daimler, Constable Wallace driving. There the prisoners, silent and unprotesting, were confined to the cells. Later they were questioned, bullied and cajoled by the Fiscal and Inspector McMillan; but not a word did they utter during a four-hour period of interrogation. It seemed to James — and the matter surprised and troubled him — that their quiet confidence, even in their present plight, remained as profound and audacious as ever.

About four o’clock in the afternoon the Chief Constable, Major David Dallas, M.C., arrived by car in Campbeltown, and on his recommendation the Glasgow branch of the C.I.D. was immediately communicated with. On the face of it, events were moving too swiftly for the local force. Major Dallas had also a long interview with the prisoners, but both smiled evilly at him and said nothing.

James had a much needed bath and change of clothing, and ointment and a bandage were placed on his injured forearm by Mrs. Kelly, who was intensely curious, but asked no questions. Afterwards, he had tea — including cold ham — and subsequently wrote the article over which, in the intervals of excitement during the day, he had been cogitating with some earnestness. As darkness fell he interviewed Mr. Archibald MacLean at the latter’s own home — Major Dallas and Inspector McMillan also being present — and his carefully propounded theories shocked the three gentlemen to a considerable extent.

This fact, however, did not prevent Mr. MacLean from setting to work with feverish energy immediately upon James’s departure. Indeed, the young lady who had charge of the telephone exchange in Campbeltown that night heaved an unmistakable sigh of relief when, at four a.m., the Fiscal, before hanging up the receiver for the last time, bade her a curt “good night” across the wires.

*

Thursday, for three reasons, may be termed the second most notable time-unit in this chronicle of notable events; though it must give pride of place, in point of actual importance and excitement, to the following Wednesday.

James handed ten closely written quarto sheets to Andy at eight o’clock — according to his promise — and Big Peter breathed again.

“That’s what I call an article, James!” Andy said, glancing over it. “Hellish good!”

The editor felt suitably rewarded for his pains. Andy, despite his language, was a critic of some discrimination.

“Thanks!” James replied shortly. “Get that set up as soon as you can. I’m going to the police station for a last prowl round. But I’ll be back to read the proofs in half an hour. That’ll be all the ‘copy’ for to-day, I think.”

But James was mistaken in his thought … The article itself, which first appeared in print some four hours later, clearly explains the exact situation, and important parts of it may with advantage be quoted here.

A glaring double headline, set lovingly by Peter, introduced the matter, THE MISTLETOE MURDERS, it read: WERE THEY THE WORK OF A VAST TERRORIST ORGANISATION? James, it ought to be recorded, wondered if this last blatant suggestion did not savour too much of the melodramatic, and hesitated for a considerable time before allowing it to stand. But, in the final issue, he decided that it would at any rate prove effective in arousing public interest, and he gave it his blessing.

The sub-headings were less extraordinary. “Death of the Rev. Archibald Allan,” they ran. “
Gazette
Editor’s Strange Experience. Assailants Escape. Exclusive to the
Campbeltown
Gazette
.”

The first five paragraphs described the finding of the Rev. Archibald Allan’s body, the manner in which his death had been found in actual fact to have been murder, and James’s own escape from the hands of O’Hare and Muldoon. And, at this stage, several lines had been inserted by the harassed editor, not long before the actual hour of publication. Their late arrival, indeed, had caused Peter ten minutes of the bitterest anguish. The new information ran as follows:

*

Last night, however, O’Hare and Muldoon contrived to effect a sensational escape from the Campbeltown Jail. About midnight, when Constable McNair, the governor of the prison, was making his final tour of the premises, OʼHare asked if he might be allowed pen, paper, and a lamp, as he wished to occupy part of the night in writing out a statement for the police. Naturally, Constable McNair was only too willing to accede to the request, and brought the necessary articles to the cell. Knowing the strength of the prisoner, he did not, of course, unlock the cell, but passed them through the small aperture in the door. As he did so, OʼHare engaged him in conversation, and, according to his statement, Constable McNair remembers nothing from that moment, when a huge hand shot out from the small opening in the door and gripped his throat, until some ten minutes later. Regaining control of his senses, he found OʼHareʼs cell and Muldoonʼs empty. Apparently OʼHare had been successful in throttling the jailer into insensibility and thereafter in taking the keys of the cell from the ring at his waistbelt.

A hue and cry was immediately raised, but so far the culprits have remained undiscovered. Their sudden appearance yesterday, and their equally sudden disappearance early this morning, seem to be shrouded in mystery; for, though the police have made extensive inquiries, no one in the district can supply definite information concerning their movements. The car which they used, however, has been discovered to be the property of Messrs. John Hewitt & Co., Ltd., the well-known Campbeltown firm of motor engineers. It was hired out to a man answering OʼHareʼs description about midday yesterday, ostensibly to take himself and his companion on an important business mission to Tarbert.

*

James did not mention in his article that after summoning assistance during the night Constable McNair had fainted three times, and was now lying in the Cottage Hospital feverishly babbling of green, glaring eyes. Nor did he mention that since hearing of OʼHareʼs escape an awesome feeling had come to him that only he himself could stand between the sweetness of the world and the dark powers of OʼHare, and that somewhere — some time — the final issue would be fought out between them. James had continued:

*

Such are the facts connected with the local tragedy, and it ought to be pointed out that the Campbeltown police, who are to be assisted in their investigations by Detective-Inspector McKay and Detective-Sergeant Wilson of the Glasgow branch of the C.I.D., are in possession of several valuable clues which, they are confident, will lead to the apprehension of the guilty person or persons.

*

The last sentence, of course, was straining the fact almost to breaking-point; for, with the exception of the sprig of mistletoe, the police had found absolutely nothing to aid them in their task. Sergeant MacLeod’s visit to the home of the murdered man in Dell Road and his questioning of Miss McMurchy, the housekeeper, had been to no purpose. The Rev. Archibald Allan, like the Right Rev. Kenneth Millar, had left the house during the forenoon, remarking only that he intended visiting friends in the course of the day, and might not be home for lunch. Among his papers were found no letters or documents which, at first sight, would seem to point to the identity of the murderer. And even to the clue of the mistletoe, as a means of getting into touch with the criminals, little importance was attached either by the Fiscal or by the Chief Constable.

But James held a very different view, a fact which he made abundantly clear in the short but sensational section which brought his article to an abrupt but effective conclusion. This was what he had written:

*

The Campbeltown Gazette, after making full and extensive inquiries, is of the opinion that on Midsummer’s Eve other murders besides that of the Rev. Archibald Allan took place.

The results of our investigations, stated briefly, are as follows:

Six Protestant clergymen and three Roman Catholic priests died that night — all of them, apparently, as a result of the storm, and seven of them by electrocution. But on the bodies of the Rev. George Manderson, Logiemar, Aberdeen; of the Rev. Augustus Wainwright, Islebay, Cumberland; and of Father Melville Davidson, Layford, Yorkshire, were found red marks similar to those found on the body of the Rev. Archibald Allan. Local authorities at first attached no importance to such evidences of foul play, and in two cases they had not even been observed until a search for their presence was suggested by the
Gazette
. No mention of them, of course, was made in the daily Press.