Comes the Dark Stranger

He pushed the cigarette into his mouth and lit it. ‘That’s right. He was the first to go. I heard the shots fired outside, and some time later Colonel Li came into the cell and told me he’d got the information he required. He said he regretted having had to shoot Simon, but war was war. He almost sounded as if he meant it.’

‘And who talked?’ Laura Faulkner said quietly.

There was a moment of complete silence as she waited for his answer, and rain tapped against the window with ghostly fingers. He turned slowly, his face calm and expressionless. ‘That’s what I’ve come to find out,’ he said.

Her eyes widened. ‘You mean you don’t know?’

He shook his head. ‘About two hours later the temple was blasted by American fighter-bombers. That’s when the curtains came down for me.’

She got to her feet and, walking across to the easel, stood looking at the unfinished landscape. After a while she said in a peculiar voice, ‘Tell me something. What happened to your regiment when it attacked?’

Shane leaned down and gently ruffled the dog’s ears with his right hand. ‘I found that out yesterday when I called at the War Office. The attack was a complete failure. There were over two hundred casualties.’

She picked up a brush and palette and started to work on the canvas. ‘Did you tell anyone at the War Office what you’ve just told me?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s been too long. They couldn’t do anything about it now if they wanted to. I discovered the other four had survived and were all living in Burnham. The clerk in charge of the records office was most obliging. For some reason he’d got hold of the idea I was trying to arrange a reunion.’

She frowned, concentrating on a particular corner of the canvas, the brush steady in her hand, and said tonelessly, ‘And are you?’

He walked across the room and stood behind her right shoulder and examined the painting. ‘I want to know who spilled his guts to Colonel Li seven years ago,’ he said, and his voice trembled slightly. ‘I want to know so bad I can taste it. I know it wasn’t me, and it couldn’t have been Graham because he was in the cell with me the whole time. That leaves Crowther, Wilby, and Reggie Steele.’

She dropped the palette and brush, and turned swiftly, her eyes flashing. ‘And what will you do when you find out?’ she said. ‘What possible good can it do to know after so many years?’

He started to turn away without answering, and she grabbed for his lapels to hold him. One of her hands knocked against the butt of the Luger, and the breath hissed sharply between her teeth. For a moment she gazed up into his face, horror in her eyes, and then she reached inside his jacket and pulled out the pistol. ‘You fool,’ she said. ‘You stupid, damned fool. What good will this do? Will it bring any of those men back? Will it help Simon?’

He took the Luger gently from her hand and replaced it in his inside pocket. As he buttoned his trench-coat he said quietly, ‘Let’s just say I’m doing this for myself and leave it at that.’

She turned from him, hands clasped in agony. ‘What right have you to come and upset all our lives like this?’ she said. ‘It’s ancient history now. Dead and buried long ago. Why can’t you leave it there?’

He ignored her outburst and turned towards the door. As he reached for the handle she cried out sharply, ‘They’ll hang you! You realize that, don’t you?’

A peculiar, twisted smile appeared on his face. ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid I shan’t be available.’

Something in his voice, some quality of deadness, caused her to shiver uncontrollably. ‘What do you mean by that remark?’ she said.

‘I mean that I’ll be dead, Miss Faulkner,’ he replied calmly, and there was a hard finality in his tone.

As he opened the door she darted across the room and caught hold of his arm. ‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded.

He shrugged. ‘That fall I had did more than restore my memory. It moved the shrapnel into a more dangerous area of the brain. It means that an attempt to remove it is essential. I’ve got a date with a brain surgeon at Guy’s Hospital one week from today. If I don’t keep that appointment I’ll be dead within a fortnight and the odds are a hundred to one against success. Quite a choice, isn’t it?’

He walked out on to the veranda without waiting for a reply, and descended the steps to the garden. Behind him Laura Faulkner was crying uncontrollably. He glanced back once and saw her standing in the doorway, the Dobermann by her side, gazing after him.

He followed a path round the side of the house, and when he reached the corner he looked back again, but this time the door to the studio was closed and the veranda deserted.

4 (#ulink_1dc22ab1-224b-5b0e-ba4b-4bf67e2f97f9)

It 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 wool-broker. 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. ‘So 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.’