The Touch of Death (7 page)

They continued to walk slowly. The sight-seeing party had moved away from the geyser; they were drawing closer to it.

They went down some steps. Water whirled about them, now and again so deep that they had to step high over it. Boiling water still spouted from the geyser.

They crossed a rickety wooden bridge over a calm stream – with steam rising from little pools on the banks.

“You can catch trout in that,” she said, “and cook them in the pools without moving.”

“There are a lot of things you can do with trout.”

“Yes, aren't there?”

They moved away from the stream, and were hidden from the group ahead and from Palfrey's men behind by the tall bushes. The lane was narrow. Here and there they saw little pools of boiling mud – the smell of sulphur was very strong, here.

“You could become a great man,” Rita Morrell said, unexpectedly.

“Really?”

“I mean it.”

“I doubt it.”

“What makes you think that Palfrey's worth working for or that he's doing the right thing?” she asked.

“I haven't seen him murder anyone yet.”

“He asked you to sacrifice yourself for him, didn't he?” she said. “If he wants to do this, why doesn't he do it himself, instead of hiding behind you – and behind others, like Monk-Gilbert?”

“He can't be all over the world at the same time.”

She laughed. The sun shone on her eyes and on her beauty, and there seemed nothing but purity in her; and goodness.

“He's fooled you,” she said.

“Perhaps I'm easily fooled.”

“Most people are. I think you—”

She broke off, and shrugged.

“Go on.”

“I think you could do very well,” she said. “Monk-Gilbert was impossible, we couldn't persuade him that he was wrong, but you might listen to reason.”

“I'm always prepared to listen to reason.”

She stopped and looked up at him, half-smiling. They were in sight of Palfrey's men behind them, now; and the sightseeing group had gone towards the
pah
, the native village of bygone days; the voice of the guide travelled faintly back to them.

“I'd almost forgotten how good-looking you are,” she said. “I wonder if you will really listen to reason.”

She walked straight on, obviously determined to leave him alone. He didn't hurry after her. Palfrey's men followed her.

Banister walked towards the
pah
and watched her as she walked towards the main road, where a car waited for her. He stood in the shadow of a huge, magnificently painted totem pole as she climbed into the car, waved and drove off.

 

 

Palfrey telephoned almost as soon as Banister reached his hotel. Banister repeated Rita's words
verbatim
, or so nearly that it made no difference. It was not easy, but it had to be done.

“So she asked you to change sides,” Palfrey said musingly.

“That's right.”

“But went off without explaining any more.”

“Yes.”

“You know,” said Palfrey, in the casual way he had of making the most outrageous things seem normal, “we'll have to be extremely careful. It
looks
like a complete change of method. Until now, you were on the receiving end of murder. Now they're probably impressed by your immunity.”

Banister knew all about that, but had not seen its possible significance so vividly before.

“They may try to bribe you,” Palfrey went on.

“If you think—” Banister's voice sharpened in a flash.

“Steady, Neil, I only said that they might try!” It was easy to picture Palfrey's smile. “They won't expect to succeed. They may think that you'll pretend to fall for it, so as to fool them. In fact, they'll be trying to fool us. Just play your hand cautiously for a few days.”

“You're watching Rita all the time, aren't you?”

“We know just where she is and where she goes, but she hasn't been in touch with anyone else yet – not anyone we've any reason to suspect,” Palfrey said. “She's moved to Brent's, one of the biggest hotels. She doesn't appear to have made any friends, and she's only seen the Scotts twice since she moved.”

“She must know that she's being closely watched,” Banister growled. “I can't understand it.”

“What part of it?”

“Why she's in New Zealand. How can she get away? A small airplane wouldn't help her, it's nearly fifteen hundred miles to Australia. I'd say that this is the most difficult place in the world to disappear from.”

Palfrey said slowly: “I agree. Fully.”

“Yet she can't
want
to be caught.”

“That's the question,” Palfrey said. “Does she? Is she hoping to pull off some kind of elaborate confidence trick?”

Banister didn't speak.

“See how it goes,” Palfrey advised at last. “Don't take it for granted that there's nothing to worry about, either. This might just be a ruse to make you careless and easier to kill. Not that I think she'll kill you—”

“Palfrey,” said Banister slowly, “I don't know how much you know or how far you've guessed. But she experimented with
fatalis
today. She touched my hand. She was prepared for failure, but she might have succeeded. If she'd killed me, she would have been on the run. Others escaped from Canada, England, other places, but she couldn't have escaped from New Zealand – could she? She was prepared to take a risk which meant almost certain capture. Why?”

The chuckle sounded in Palfrey's voice again.

“She might have decided that you would be worth dying for!”

Banister flared up.

‘'Flippancy's all right in its place, but—”

“Flippancy might keep you sane before this is over,” Palfrey said lightly. “You didn't arrange to meet Rita again, did you?”

“No.”

“Just sit back and wait for her to get in touch with you,” Palfrey advised.

Sitting back and waiting wasn't easy. Yet the tension eased. With Palfrey's warning fresh in his mind, Banister wasn't careless; simply wasn't living so much on his nerves for a few days.

Then, on the fourth day, Rita telephoned.

“I want to talk to you,” she said. “That's if you trust yourself to me!”

There was a laugh in her voice.

“Where?”

“At the lake,” she said. “Perhaps we could take a boat out. Supposing I call for you at your hotel, you're nearer the lake than I am.”

“All right,” Banister said.

“And it will give you time to telephone Palfrey!”

Banister was smiling when he lifted the receiver again, to call Palfrey. She had the ability to make him smile, and to raise his spirits in spite of everything that he knew about her. He was pondering over that when Palfrey answered. Palfrey appeared to have given up all pretence at secrecy, and was working in the open just as freely as Banister; and if the man Mike were right, Palfrey ought to be in London, directing operations.

“What did she want?” asked Palfrey.

“You
heard
her?”

“I've just been told that she telephoned, but haven't had a report of what she said yet.”

After a pause, Banister said slowly: “When are you really going to trust me?”

“Trust isn't in doubt,” Palfrey said, “but what would happen if you went out and didn't come back? We'd be completely in the dark – we can't work that way.
I'm
checked, whenever it's possible.”

Banister didn't answer.

“What did she say?”' asked Palfrey.

Banister told him, almost word for word.

“I think you can take a boat out,” Palfrey said. “We'll have you closely watched.”

Banister said: “Palfrey,” and made it a challenge.

“Hmm?”

“I ought to hate the sight of her, but I don't.”

Palfrey said quite soberly: “Neil, every now and again we get an exceptional agent. You're one of them. Not one in twenty new men would have thought it worthwhile to tell us that. Or had the courage. Thanks. A saint could fall in love with a Delilah, without being able to help himself.”

Banister didn't speak.

“Have a nice time on the lake,” Palfrey said. Lapsing into inanity seemed to help him.

 

Soon they were gliding gently over the calm water. Banister dipped the sculls in occasionally, and then let them rest. Rita sat against gaily coloured cushions. Her eyes were narrowed, but that was probably against the bright light. She dangled her right hand in the water, the fingers causing a series of little waves and a tiny wake.

“Wouldn't life be wonderful,” she said quite calmly, “if it were always as peaceful as this?”

“Wouldn't it?”

“It could be,” she said. “There's no reason why there should be wars and rumours of wars and murder and pestilence and famine, and—”

She broke off.

“Crazy world,” said Banister.

“I think,” Rita said, “that a way of making life – the world
– really
peaceful – has been found.”

“Wonderful!”

“I prefer you when you're serious.”

“But it would be wonderful,” he protested. “Tell me about it.”

“Not yet,” she said. “Neil,
fatalis
was discovered by accident. No one knew what it could do. Then we began to experiment. We found that it would be the one weapon that would frighten everyone.”

Banister broke in roughly: “That's right, you could make them feel frightened – you could terrify them. You could make them wonder whether the hand of their closest friend could be taken safely – or whether they could step into a car, brush against any man, woman or child, go to a theatre, be among people anywhere – and be safe. You could work on their minds with fear, and twist and torment them. Don't tell me, I know. I saw what happened to Monk-Gilbert. I was with him while it happened. I don't like your little ways.”

She said quietly: “That's because you are filled with prejudices and conventions – you don't see things as they really are. Neil, I've a proposition to make.”

He didn't answer.

“I'm serious.”

“Go on.”

“Come away with me,” she said. “Let me show you exactly what we are doing. I think you'll probably agree that it's good, not bad. You could come back and try to convince Palfrey.”

“And if I thought it was bad?”

“You could still come back.” She was eager. “You wouldn't be able to lead Palfrey to us, we'd make sure of that. If you threatened any danger, you'd be killed. That would be a silly risk to take, wouldn't it?”

Banister said bitingly: “It isn't exactly a tempting invitation.”

“I thought you would have leapt at it,” Rita said, and now she laughed at him. “It's what you want to do, isn't it? It's why you're working for Palfrey, surely. At the moment he doesn't know what is going on. This would be a big chance to find out. I don't have to plead with you,” she added, and her manner grew suddenly offhand. “I had a lot of difficulty in persuading my—friends—to agree to let you come. You must please yourself.”

He didn't answer.

“
Palfrey
will tell you to accept,” she said, an ugly sneer spoiling her voice. “The risk won't be his – it will be yours. He'll agree that it's a chance which you might not get any other way.”

She was probably right.

“Why select me?” he asked, savagely. “Why not try someone else, someone who has more influence with Palfrey?”

“Oh, you fool,” Rita said, very softly. “You dear, beloved fool. I want
you,
not any man. I want to spent the future with you – all of it. I couldn't before. I had to leave you, but I meant to come back. I love you so much, my darling. I had to watch my own friends try to kill you, but as soon as I could, I stopped them. I've permission to take you with me, to save your life. Come with me, and try to understand.”

He could not find words.

She looked away . . .

 

Banister watched her disappear into the entrance of her hotel – in fact there were several entrances, and hers was in the middle. She didn't look round as she moved with that astonishing ease and grace. The doorway, the street, the air, seemed emptier, drabber, when she had gone.

Banister walked towards the end of the street and his own hotel.

She had spoken so simply. “I love you so much,” she had said, as if that explained everything.

It was only now that he was really rejecting the thought, seeing it for what it was – a different way of breaking down his resistance. Palfrey had talked of plot-counter-plot, and could not have been more right. Yet Banister wanted to believe her.

Would
Palfrey say that he should go?

Banister reached the hotel, and went up to his room on the first floor. He opened the door. He stopped abruptly, for a newspaper was spread over a table which had been pulled closer to the door, so he couldn't fail to read the headline. It was a small one, marked with blue pencilled crosses.

It read:

 

MYSTERY PLAGUE IN INDIA

Village Wiped Out

 

He couldn't hear a sound except that of his own breathing, and the thumping of his heart. He didn't ask himself who had put the newspaper there – he just read on.

 

“Reports from Malpore Province, Central India, tell of a village of fifteen hundred people wiped out by a mysterious plague. A Government technician, arriving on a visit to the village in order to help to increase food production, found every inhabitant dead – some in their homes, some in the streets.

“According to the first report, many wild animals were found dead also. Vultures which had descended to pick flesh off the bones of the dead had also died. Wild animals which would normally have gone to attack the village now gave it a wide berth, according to later reports. Government officers and a medical unit have been dispatched to investigate.—Reuter.”

 

Banister's heart still beat furiously, but he was beginning to think again. He closed his eyes, and tried to picture the village. He didn't know India except from books and pictures, but he could imagine that place. He could see the flashes as the people died. He could imagine the horror in the people who had touched the
fatalis
carrier – the killer, like the fish. He seemed to see the pool again and the fish swimming, with the sun on all their colourful beauty – and then the killer sliding in from the bucket, and fish after fish rising; and as it rose each fish took on the face of a man, of a woman or of a child.

Banister dropped the paper. He was smoking a cigarette, although he didn't remember lighting it. He stood by the window. He could just see a corner of the main street, and the road which led towards Whaka, in one direction, and towards the lake in the other.

He could see Rita's face, her smile, hear her reasoned arguments.

He clenched his teeth.

There was a tap at the door.

He spun round, swiftly; one could be certain of nothing, and Rita might have talked as she had to lull him into a false sense of security.

“Who's that?”

“Palfrey.”

“All right,” he said, and went across and opened the door.

Palfrey was alone.

“Come in.”

He saw Palfrey's eyes narrow, as if surprised by the look on his face. It was characteristic of Palfrey not to speak but to notice the newspaper, in the crumpled heap, and pick it up. He smoothed it out and read.

“Did you send it?” Banister demanded.

“No.”

“Did you know about it?”

“A week ago.” Palfrey was taking cigarettes from a gold case. Palfrey was just an ordinary human being, rather tall, slightly round-shouldered – with that weak-looking chin and the full, generous mouth and the friendly eyes which could change so disconcertingly, and with lids which sometimes seemed to hide their brilliance. Men almost worshipped him, remember. “It's the first one to leak into the Press.”

“So there have been others,” Banister said, and the words seemed to choke him.

“Three others.”

“Where?”

“China, not far from Pekin. Greece – a little mountain village near the Albanian frontier – and Ireland.”

“
Ire
land?”

“Eire,” Palfrey said very precisely, “if you prefer it that way. A tiny village in the hills near Killarney. No one heard about it for several days.”