The Screaming Gull Read online

  Its bleak and forbidding appearance almost daunted me. But I stuck out my chin and thought of Merriman. He wouldn’t have hesitated. His brown eyes would have been steady and his head high. Moreover, in the opinion of the tram conductor, wasn’t I a plucky customer?

  I marched up the wide stone steps, pulled strongly at the bell and heard a melodious tinkle sounding somewhere to the rear of the house.

  Almost a minute had passed and I was about to ring again, when the big carved door was opened a few inches.

  “Who is there?” demanded a man’s high-pitched voice.

  “I wish to see Sir David MacLaren,” I said, “on business of extreme urgency.”

  “What is the name, sir?”

  “That does not matter,” I replied. “Is Sir David at home?”

  “He is. But he has had a tiring day and I should not like to rouse him from his bed for no purpose.”

  I felt a slow anger creeping in my mind.

  “I tell you I must see Sir David. Will you please inform him that I come on the matter of ‘The Screaming Gull’?”

  The door was suddenly closed, and for an interminable time I stood kicking my heels on the doorstep. It was bitterly cold now, I thought, and I began to wish that after all I hadn’t forgotten my scarf. For a cowardly half-second, indeed, I longed to wake up and find everything a dream.

  Then the man with the high-pitched voice was inviting me to enter. His clipped, suspicious manner had changed to one of considerable respect and suavity, and inside the softly-lit hall I saw that he was probably a butler. In many ways, however, he was rather unlike the usual type. For one thing he was fairly young — about thirty-five, I imagined — and for another he was powerfully built and clearly in good physical condition. He had a lean, intelligent face and bright eyes. And in one of the side pockets of his dark jacket I noticed the bulge of a queerly shaped object, which I realized with something like a shock was a revolver.

  He showed me into a room which opened oft the hall and switched on the electric light.

  “Please be seated,” he said. “Sir David will be down almost immediately.”

  I sank into one of the luxurious leather-covered arm-chairs and waited. There was a silence in the big house, which made my imagination play scurvy tricks with my nerves, and I began to be intensely curious regarding the identity of Merriman’s friend, Sir David MacLaren. I had never before heard his name mentioned in connection with public or private work, and so far as I knew he might have been anything from an actor to the last representative of an ancient family.

  The room in which I found myself, however, was certainly not one which could have been furnished by a poor man. The brown, leather-covered chairs and couch were opulent and sleek, while the thick-piled, dark-green carpet was an Axminster on which I imagined one could have slept without uneasiness. The walls, save for that in which the fire place stood, were hidden by bookcases, and I was rather surprised to see that one of the three sections was filled with volumes dealing with legal and medical subjects. Another section contained several books on ciphers, while the third was given over almost entirely to detective and mystery fiction.

  In one corner stood a heavy mahogany desk, while in the centre of the room was a plain, dark-stained table bearing ashtrays, two glass boxes of cigarettes and one of small cheroots. It was obviously the library of a man who loved comfort and solid, old-fashioned surroundings.

  I had been seated for almost five minutes when I heard a car draw up outside. I was startled; for there was a sudden quick rattle of light feet on the steps and the sound of a key being inserted in the door.

  The footsteps continued across the hall, and with a whirl of her evening frock a girl entered the room. She was wearing white, which set off to advantage her delicate complexion and dark, short hair. Her blue eyes were the sweetest I had ever seen.

  *

  I jumped to my feet.

  “Good evening!” I said inanely.

  She was clearly as disconcerted as I had been and a little ring-less hand went up to her white throat. But she recovered her poise on an instant.

  “Shouldn’t it be good morning?” she reminded me.

  I looked at the toe of my right shoe and strove desperately to find something about which to speak. I had very little knowledge of the ways of girls; for up to that moment my experience of them had been limited to the assistants in our emporium.

  “Er — er — cold weather!” I remarked.

  I saw her face twitch a little and she turned away, a suspiciously bright light in her eyes.

  “You’ll be wanting to see Daddy,” she said at last. “Can I ring for some coffee? The butler, I see, hasn’t yet gone to bed.”

  “No, thanks,” I answered. “I — er — I never drink coffee late at night. Keeps me from sleeping.”

  “Dear me! Have you a delicate constitution, Mr…?”

  “William Dunbar is my name. My sister believes I am not too robust.”

  “Well, Mr. Dunbar, I think your sister is all wrong. You look a particularly large and healthy young man, in my opinion.”

  “D’you think so, Miss MacLaren?” I asked quickly. “I feel well enough myself.”

  She pressed a button to the left of the mantelpiece.

  “Then coffee it is,” she smiled. “And black at that. I’m fainting for a cup. You know, Mr. Dunbar, I’ve been dancing all evening with a man who wears number eleven in shoes.”

  “Good lord!” I exclaimed “Was he a policeman?”

  She looked at me seriously. But before she could answer a tall, erect man with grey hair and a long aquiline nose stepped into the room.

  *

  “I am Sir David MacLaren,” said the newcomer in a soft, deep voice which reminded me of that belonging to Paul Robeson, the singer. “You have a message for me?”

  He would be about six feet in height, I saw, and was stoutly built, though I should not have said that he possessed an ounce of superfluous flesh. His little military moustache was almost white, and it fringed a mouth straight and inflexible as a rod. His long chin did not seem out of place along with his gaunt cheeks and grey, cold eyes, which, sunk deep beneath heavy eyebrows, were protected by steel-rimmed spectacles.

  “I have come from Merriman,” I said.

  I paused, at a loss to continue, wondering about the girl. Could the news of Merriman’s plight be told in her presence? She made no effort, however, to leave the room, sitting down instead in one of the wide chairs.

  “Mr. Dunbar is afraid to speak while I am here,” she explained to her father.

  “I see,” said MacLaren with a faint smile, turning to me again. “But Maureen is my chief assistant. She has my complete confidence… I say, please sit down. And won’t you smoke?”

  “No, thanks,” I replied. “I don’t smoke.”

  “Oh, goodness!” exclaimed Maureen. “Mr. Dunbar, you’ve just got to take a cigarette with me! There Daddy goes lighting one of his little cheroots and we must retaliate!”

  It ended up that I drank black coffee in some quantities and smoked three cigarettes. My education had begun.

  Later I told Sir David and his daughter in some detail of all that had occurred on the two previous days. When I had finished they both looked worried, uncertain and a little hurt.

  “It looks bad,” said MacLaren almost musingly, but though he spoke calmly I could see the muscles taut along his heavy jaw. “Merriman knew the ropes better than any of the others.”

  “Won’t you let me help?” I butted in eagerly. I was rather out of my depth; but it annoyed me to see the dull, frightened look in the girl’s eyes. “Won’t you explain all this mystery to me?”

  There was a moment’s silence, and suddenly I felt an indefinable, strange chill creep into the atmosphere of the quiet room.

  “How,” asked Sir David at last, as if a new thought had struck him, “how can we trust you? How can we be sure, Dunbar, that your whole story is not a pack of lies?”

  “Oh, D
addy!” exclaimed Maureen.

  It was as if I had received a slap stingingly on the cheek. I felt the slow flush creep into my face, and I bit my lower lip hard. MacLaren’s eyes, behind the steel spectacles, were cold and forbidding.

  “You can put through a trunk call to the Stranraer Cottage Hospital,” I said, striving to keep my voice steady. “You can ask whether the patient that was admitted yesterday afternoon with a bullet wound above his heart knows William Dunbar.”

  Sir David remained seated, his eyes fixed on my face, for only a couple of seconds. Then he rose smartly.

  “I shall do as you suggest,” he said.

  *

  When he had left the room Maureen smiled across at me. I thought she looked utterly adorable in the sleeveless white frock, her little, rounded chin pushed forward as she smoked her cigarette. A queer, mad pulse began to throb in my temples.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, her red mouth curved and warm. “I believe in you. But my father has got to make certain. It’s part of his job.”

  “I’m glad you don’t think me a liar,” I answered, trying to keep my eyes cool. “But I must confess all this affair has left my nerves jumping. I was ready to fight with your father just now for doubting my good faith.”

  “I don’t wonder,” she returned. “You’ve had a hectic couple of days. For a delicate youth I think you’ve come through them extremely well!”

  I laughed a little sheepishly; but next moment she had grown serious again.

  “Please don’t think me terribly rude,” she said, “when I talk to you like that. I’m only trying to make myself believe that there are no such things as work and duty and struggle and fear. And somehow I know you’ll understand. I — I can’t think of you as a stranger… Do tell me, Mr. Dunbar — what is your profession?”

  “I — er — I haven’t got a profession,” I answered haltingly. “I’m a — a damned draper!”

  “Why ‘damned’?” she asked, her eyes brightening.

  “Miss MacLaren,” I said earnestly, “I don’t know what’s happened to me these last two days. I’ve got all worked up. I’m tired of the drapery business. I’m tired of being molly-coddled. I’m tired of being the white-haired boy. I want to do something better than marking the prices on pins and pants. I want to kick out at somebody, if you know what I mean. I want — ”

  I stopped abruptly, appalled at my audacity. Here I was talking to a girl whom I had met for the first time only about half an hour ago as if I knew her better than any other person in the world.

  “Go on, Mr. Dunbar,” she encouraged. “I’m beginning to see what you meant by ‘damned’.”

  But I was self-conscious now, because I couldn’t tell her exactly what else I wanted to do. It concerned herself too much.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You can’t possibly be interested in my droll little ideas.”

  “On the contrary,” she smiled, “you’re a most interesting person. Anyone who imagines he is delicate and in spite of that beats Douglas Fairbanks at his own game must of necessity be interesting.”

  “Who’s Douglas Fairbanks?”

  “Oh, goodness!” The expression seemed to be a favourite one of hers. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to the pictures!”

  I decided to expose the whole bitter truth. I wasn’t going to be friendly with Maureen under false colours.

  “No, I’ve never been inside a cinema. My sister Annie won’t allow me to go. She says picture-houses are full of germs.”

  “Your sister Annie’s a — a… Your sister takes far too much care of you, young man!”

  “Young man!” I exclaimed, slightly nettled by her patronizing tone. “Bet you I’m years older than you are!”

  She threw back her bobbed head and laughed. During the last few minutes she seemed to have forgotten entirely about the serious business which her father’s departure from the room had interrupted.

  “I’m twenty-four,” she said “You’ll be — er — thirty?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m twenty-seven.”

  “A mere child!”

  I didn’t retort as I might have done. Indeed, I grew a little gloomy.

  “You’re quite right, Miss MacLaren!” I answered. “I know absolutely nothing about anything. I’ve never lived. I’ve never had any excitement or any desperate adventures. I’ve never been — ”

  “In love!” suggested Maureen calmly.

  “No,” I said, flushing. “I’ve never been in love either. I’ve missed everything. That’s why I want to kick over the traces now. But, Miss MacLaren, why won’t you tell me something about yourself? My act is over.”

  “I can’t tell you anything — yet, Mr. Dunbar. You see — ”

  “I’m still under suspicion.”

  As I spoke Sir David MacLaren re-entered the room. His face was lined and grave, and I saw that his hands were clenched. He looked neither at Maureen nor me, but kept his gaze fixed on the small table.

  “I’ve just spoken to the matron of the Stranraer Hospital,” he said very carefully. “Merriman died at ten o’clock this evening, without having regained consciousness since his admittance. There is a warrant out for the arrest of William Dunbar, Ashgrove Cottage, Cairngarroch, on a charge of murder!”

  Chapter 3

  At first I did not quite realize the import of his words, and I sat motionless, staring into MacLaren’s cold, colourless face, trying to grasp his meaning. Then I shifted my gaze and looked across at Maureen. Her cheeks, which a moment before had been touched with colour, were as white as death, and there was a kind of pitiful light in her eyes.

  “Wh — what do you say?” I asked.

  “You are wanted for murder,” repeated MacLaren, slowly and with great distinctness. “The details of your appearance are identical with those which, the matron says, have been published by the police.”

  “But I didn’t — I didn’t” I stopped as the full horror of the thing came home to me.

  “You didn’t… what?” demanded MacLaren, his thin lips set in a straight line.

  “I didn’t murder him! I didn’t murder him! My God! How can you think that of me?... What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to phone for the police. If you are innocent you will be able to prove it easily enough, I have no doubt. Maureen! Here is a revolver. Guard him until I return.”

  “But, Daddy…” began Maureen. Then, looking at his face, she became silent, and accepted from him the small black firearm.

  Again MacLaren left the room, and I sat transfixed in my chair.

  My hands were trembling and a great dreariness had descended on my mind. I had been getting on rather well, I thought, with Merriman’s commission. I had begun to believe that after all I was a fairly good average specimen of humanity. I had been imagining myself receiving Merriman’s congratulations when I returned to Stranraer. And I had met Maureen.

  Now everything had been overset like a house of cards. Merriman, whom I had liked better than any man I had ever met, was dead. And, by some ironical chance, I was being accused of his murder… I tried to keep my lower lip stiff and found the task difficult.

  I believe Maureen understood to some extent what was passing in my mind, for, putting the revolver aside, she came over quietly to where I sat and put her slim white hand on my shoulder.

  “You can prove that you are innocent, can’t you?”

  “Of course” I was beginning.

  Then I stopped. I looked up at her wildly and somehow I found her hand in mine. All at once I had realized my hideous position, and there flashed through my memory a picture of Dr. Anderson, his sunken, dark eyes watching me suspiciously.

  “No!” I gasped. “I can’t! I can’t prove that I’m innocent. You see, no one — no one save Merriman, myself, and his assailant — knew that I had rescued him from the sea. Then I told Aunt Jane and Dr. Anderson that Merriman had shot himself accidentally. But there is nobody who could testify to his having left the cottage during the n
ight and to a shot having been heard outside while I was in the house. My aunt actually heard the noise, but I told her it was a motorcar tyre puncturing… Miss MacLaren, I kept everything secret. I did it because I saw that Merriman wanted his movements covered. I did it for him, because I liked him.”

  “I see.”

  That was all she said. But she did not pull her hand from mine and I gripped it as a man slipping over the edge of a precipice might clutch at a bunch of heather. I felt weak and desperately ill.

  “What about Merriman’s job?” I asked shakily at last. “The job he had to complete before February the first?”

  “Other men will carry on,” she answered. “But no one knew as much about the work as Merriman — except perhaps myself.”

  I was about to speak when her hand tightened in mine.

  “Father is coming,” she whispered. “Get away before he comes! The windows behind you open out on to the street. I’ll say you overpowered me and rushed off before I could stop you… I will volunteer for Merriman’s job, and you will help me! If we win through then you will be able to clear your name. If we don’t — well, never mind. Meet me tomorrow at twelve — outside McVitie’s. Disguise yourself somehow. I’ll explain everything then.”

  I hesitated for a moment, surprised and at a loss. But at last I had gathered my woolly wits together.

  “Thanks!” I said. “You’re the finest girl!”

  Then I made a dash for the windows and dropped out, just as Sir David MacLaren, having crossed the hall after completing his telephone conversation, paused outside the door to turn the handle.

  *

  I spent most of that night wandering through the streets of south Edinburgh, my heart filled with sorrow for my sister Annie and Aunt Jane and with abject terror for myself.

  There were few people abroad during the first hours of my vigil; but on several occasions I saw policemen approaching with solid tread and I ran through dark alleys and across dim and eerie green parks, possessed by the haunting fear of a heavy hand falling on my shoulder. I was aware that by this time my description would be known to almost every member of the force in the country.