Читать книгу The Red Paste Murders (Musaicum Vintage Mysteries) - Arthur Gask - Страница 3

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I shall never know what dreadful impulse compels me to write it all down.

My life is so many, many times forfeit to the State that were my hideous secret to become known, even now, after all these years, within an hour infuriated crowds would gather at my gate and I should be torn limb from limb without the slightest hope of mercy or reprieve.

I shall never be forgiven.

My crimes were too brutal. I spared neither young nor old, and every deed of violence that could bring pain and horror it was fiendish joy to do.

I have before me now a blurred, torn page of an old newspaper—all dim and ghostly in its faded ink. It has great, startling headlines, and all about me.

The fiend of the ages it calls me—the criminal of all time; a foul and dreadful maniac stalking through the city with his bloody hands uplifted against all mankind; a very prince of vileness; a monster that out-Satans Satan in his crimes; and so on, and so on.

So many times I wonder if it can possibly be all true, and if it be, after all, nothing but the nightmare of some cruel and dreadful dream.

How well do I remember the very exact words in which the 'Adelaide Evening Journal' recorded the discovery of the first crime. I read and re-read them so often that every line is seared for ever in my mind.

"Early this morning," they run, "a terrible discovery was made on the park lands between North Adelaide and the bank of the Torrens River. Michael Dayman, a workman in the employ of Messrs. John Shearer and Sons, the well-known agricultural implement makers of Kilkenny, was passing along a lower road when he noticed under a clump of trees what he at first thought was the form of a sleeping man.

"Approaching the spot, however, he was horrified to find that the man was dead, and that his face was covered with blood. He saw the head had been terribly battered in. Dayman communicated at once with the Bowden police, and within an hour the body had been conveyed to the city mortuary. There it was almost immediately identified as that of Alderman Charles Bentley, who had been missing from his home since last evening.

"The dreadful news at once occasioned a tremendous sensation in the city, and the flags on all the public buildings were immediately placed at half-mast. It is certain that a terrible and ghastly murder has been committed, but it is too early as yet to hazard any guess as to the motive for the crime. Robbery, however, it was not, for nothing at all had been removed from the person of the dead man. His watch, his ring, and all his other valuables were quite intact. The police are naturally reticent about the matter, but it is understood that his wounds were of a terrible nature, and that death must have been almost instantaneous after the blows.

"The utmost sympathy is extended to the deceased's relatives. The alderman was too well known to our readers for us to refer now to his public life and work. In our grief we can only say that not only has the city of Adelaide lost one of the most loyal and honored sons, but that the whole State of South Australia also, and the great Commonwealth itself, is poorer by his loss. It will be the sincere prayer of everyone that the vile and brutal murderer may be speedily brought to book."

It was a terrible thing that I should kill that poor old man, and yet his death lay only at the very beginning of my path of crime. It was as nothing to what was to follow later. Week after week, horror upon horror was to gather on the city; fear was to hang over it like a dreadful cloud, and panic even was to seize the strongest as they went upon their ways.

Did I do all this?

Could it possibly be I who was the man? Could it, indeed, be I who, in those hot midsummer days, made great strong men afraid of their own shadows, and brought this nameless terror into all their lives; who made each lonely road at dusk a path of dread and of possible foul, awful crime; who filled ten thousand gentle breasts with horror, and who made the very faces of the children blanch and whiten when the night wind stirred among the trees?

Every day almost I tell myself it must be all a dream. I could never have done such wrongs.

I was always such a coward and such a law-abiding man. I have always had such horror of violence and have always been so meek and gentle in my ways.

No—no, it is all a mistake. I have been sick and ill, and all these thoughts came only to me in the tossing of some fevered sleep. I am harmless and innocent as other men are.

But alas! often I take out that dreadful copy of the 'Times of Adelaide.' I have kept it through all these years at the bottom of my drawer. It is hidden there so that Lucy may never see it and be reminded of those days.

Oh! how it points the accusing finger at me in its stern and baleful way.

It tells so clearly how the grip of terror held the city then, and explains far better than could any words of mine to what a pitch of horror everything had come. Dated only just a fortnight after Alderman Bentley died, it is headed, "No Panic, Please."

"This morning for the eighth time during the past fortnight and for the fourth day in succession," it begins, "it is our distressing duty to record for our readers the happening of a new and dreadful crime. Last evening, about nine o'clock, Dr. Charles Smallwood, a popular and esteemed medical practitioner of Lower Unley, was foully done to death in the open public road, within a few yards of his home. With the manner of his death we have unhappily of late become only too familiar, but the reason for the brutal act is again as mysterious and as obscure as are the reasons for all the other crimes that have recently been perpetrated in our midst. As usual there was no attempt at robbery—no removal of anything from the person of the murdered man—no semblance of suspicion that he had enemies in any quarter, or that anyone had ever wished him ill. There is no suggestion of any of these things—nothing again but, as in all the other deaths, the sheer wanton lust of blood.

"What are we going to do?

"As a people it has been always our pride that in all circumstances we can keep our heads. Down all the life-story of our race we have been always stubborn and unflinching in adversity, and the greater our need the greater have been our courage and endurance. Surely we now in Adelaide have never needed these qualities more than we do today.

"With what are we faced? Let us be open and candid with ourselves. Our city is no longer secure to live in, and the shadow of a dreadful death hangs nightly on us all.

"Somewhere in our midst—somewhere unnoticed and unmarked among us—lurks a maniac of most horrible proclivities, a man of terrible and diseased mind.

"We are, of course, in complete ignorance as to how it has come to happen, but, somehow, in some poor wretch the beautiful and complicated machinery of the mind has broken down, and in its fall has loosed amongst us a ravening and ferocious beast.

"Unhappily it is not with the ordinary type of madman that we probably have now to deal.

"Outwardly he may show no signs at all of his malady, and our difficulty lies in the probability that he is not always mad. His mania may come on in paroxysms—perhaps only at night. By day, perhaps, he is a quiet and inoffensive member of the community. Maybe he works just like an ordinary man in some factory—some office, or some shop. Maybe he stops quietly at home, for we know nothing of his circumstances or conditions of life.

"At any rate, as long as daylight lasts so far his madness has left behind no trail. Then, perhaps, he is as sane as anyone in the State.

"But when night comes apparently an irresistible impulse seizes him. Every street and path and road becomes his hunting ground, and the chance of sudden death looms over everyone outside locked doors.

"With our knowledge of what has already occurred it is too much to hope that the last chapter of our trouble has been written, or, indeed, that we shall have no more dreadful happenings to record.

"How, then, shall we attempt to grapple with the evil, and what can we possibly learn to help us from a cool and calm consideration of the methods of these dreadful crimes?

"Let us briefly refer to them seriatim as they have occurred in the city and its suburbs.

"A fortnight ago yesterday, on Tuesday night, Alderman Bentley was killed on the park lands between North Adelaide and the bank of the Torrens River. (Shall we ever learn by what strange chance this dear old man became the first victim of these bloody crimes?) Two days later Police Constable Holthusen was killed almost on the same spot. Both had been bludgeoned with the same kind of heavy, blunt weapon.

"The day following, on Friday evening, Mrs. Hutton, a young and recently married woman, met her dreadful fate near South station, also, be it noted, when crossing over the park lands. Again, one fierce, vicious blow with some blunt instrument, and the poor creature was left to die where she fell.

"On Saturday nothing happened, and nothing on Sunday either. It will be remembered, however, that heavy rain fell on both these evenings.

"On Monday again a blank day, but at 9.35 that night information was brought to Woodville Police Station that Rex Ferguson, a St. Peter's boy, just over seventeen, had been chased by an unknown man for two hundred yards along the Port road. Young Ferguson is a cool, intelligent young fellow, and he describes his pursuer as a thin, medium-sized man without a hat. Unhappily, the night was dark, and he was unable to see the man's face. The escape was apparently quite accidental, for it was only by chance that Ferguson turned round to find, as he says, a black figure rushing furiously down upon him. He does not remember hearing any footsteps. He took to his heels instantly, and, being a strong runner, providentially escaped. But this is significant—Ferguson said the man held him for quite a hundred yards. He heard him plainly close behind.

"To continue—the next night, on Tuesday, a week ago today, Walter Bevan, a porter from Kilkenny station, was killed just after bathing, on the sandhills at Grange. The same black tale—bludgeoned on the head with a blunt instrument. There were other bathers near him not fifty yards away, and he was discovered almost at once. But no sound, no cry had been heard—just the same usual silent, dreadful death.

"Thursday and Friday we had nothing to record, and we are sure our readers scanned our columns in thankful relief. Some of us, indeed, were sanguine that the measures taken by the authorities and the increased vigilance of us all were already bearing fruit.

"But, no—the bloody run of crime goes on, and the week-end has been one of sustained and continued horror.

"Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, and last night, too, have all, one after another, had their awful deed to record.

"Old Mr. Perterson, of Toorak, was killed while asleep on his verandah on Friday.

"On Saturday night Mathew Crane, a tram conductor on duty, was struck on the head when actually not five yards away from his tram, just as he was altering the tram time-indicator at the terminus opposite Kensington Gardens. He died an hour later in the Adelaide Hospital.

"Sunday brought a double crime—the killing of Mr. and Mrs. Van Dene, in their own drawing-room in Medindie. It is very difficult to write calmly here. Those whose duty it was to visit the scene of the crime described it as being as terrible in its surroundings as anything the mind of anyone could conceive. For the first time the assassin had been interrupted in his ghastly work, and Mr. Van Dene had put up a gallant fight. But we cannot further harrow the feelings of our readers—the dreadful facts were detailed in our columns yesterday.

"Then last night—this last crime, the murder of Dr. Smallwood. We had hoped that the assassin was not uninjured by what happened on Sunday, or would at least have been disheartened for a time by the resistance he undoubtedly encountered. But, no—directly darkness fell last evening he returned to his bloody work, and once again a harmless and inoffensive member of the community has met with a dreadful death.

"Now there can be no hiding from ourselves that we are all living in very black and deadly peril.

"Tonight—tomorrow night—or any night until the madman is laid low it may be the fate of any one of us to suffer sudden death. It is a dreadful thing to contemplate, and we may well all feel in a state of nerves.

"But let us straight away apply the antidote and drill in forcibly to ourselves that there is not the slightest need for panic. In the end the community must inevitably prove stronger than the individual. Sooner or later, and probably much sooner than any of us think, the madman will be laid by the heels.

"It is well known everywhere that special measures are being taken for the trapping of the madman. As far as possible revolvers are being served out to responsible individuals, and police patrols have everywhere been doubled. It is an open secret, too, that bloodhounds are now on their way from Melbourne, and are expected to arrive in the city this morning. Indeed, we have received information that this afternoon the Chief Commissioner of Police is issuing placards broadcast warning everyone generally, in the event of another tragedy, not to crowd round but to stand clear of the body and give the dogs a chance.

"We can rest confident that the authorities are in every way alive to the needs of the situation, and it is up to us loyally and manfully to support them. How then can we help? In many ways. Firstly, each district must organise its own local Vigilance Society. Great credit is due in this respect to Mr. Peter Wacks, of Bowden, for being first in the field.

"On Saturday this gentleman was instrumental in forming the first Committee of Public Safety in his own district. Following upon an outdoor meeting at the station gates, at which we understand he made an impassioned and eloquent appeal for unity, he at once got together a small band of local stalwarts, and by now has each road in his neighborhood under special and particular control. And this is what all other parts of Adelaide and its suburbs must do. Special constables must be enrolled everywhere—armlets must be given out, and truncheons must be provided. Public meetings must be called at once, and within three or four days at most a new and easy running machinery should be at the service of the regular police.

"A word now for our guidance as to the probable personality of the madman we are looking for. It was not for nothing that we referred above to the nauseating details of his crimes. A man cannot commit nine murders and leave behind nothing that cannot be deduced from the environment and methods of his savagery.

"What do we gather from these cases then?

"He is certainly a young man—probably well under thirty; almost certainly, too, he is of a wiry and slight build, and undoubtedly he is an athlete.

"The testimony of young Ferguson in that respect is most important and the authorities have carefully been over the ground with him where he was chased. It is a good two hundred yards from where he points out he first saw the man running on him to where he had out-distanced him and was safe. As we remarked before, it is most significant that Ferguson was only just able to hold his own for the first half of the pursuit, and it proves conclusively that the man we are looking for is a first-class runner.

"Ferguson is one of the best sprinters in St. Peter's School—if not, indeed, the very best. He can do the hundred yards in less than eleven seconds and in the intercollegiate sports last year he also swept the board in all the races up to the half-mile. So there can be no doubt whatever that the man who chased him is something of a runner, and good runners, as we all know, are nearly always built on the light side and are rarely of more than medium height.

"It fits in, too, with everything that his footsteps were noiseless. Probably he is wearing rubber soles, or at least his heels are of rubber, and he is very light on his feet.

"In general appearance he must be quite harmless and ordinary-looking, for it is a sinister fact that he has apparently been able to approach all his victims without exciting any suspicion or distrust.

"We have said he is probably of the wiry type, for fairly strong he certainly must be. The deadly blows with which he does his ghastly work are conclusive evidence that the man is no weakling.

"Now as to the weapon he is using. All the medical testimony goes to prove that it is a short bar of iron with a smooth round knob at the end. The bar is not more than twelve inches long at most, and it is probably a part of some piece of disused machinery. It cannot be more than twelve inches long, for he must be carrying it about under his coat or in one of his pockets. Detective-Inspector Miles distinctly warned us all at the inquest last Thursday to beware of any man who was not walking with his hands both free from his pockets.

"One word now in conclusion as to what may still be before us.

"Unhappily these crimes all show an upward and progressive tendency. The first one was probably unpremeditated or, at any rate, was not undertaken with the confidence of the later ones. Poor old Alderman Bentley was struck three times, and the first two were feeble blows. In all the other cases, except in that of Mr. Van Dene, one blow and one only was inflicted. Indeed, it looks each time as if the madman had just waited and struck at his leisure—without any haste or indecision.

"Then, as to when he has committed his crimes. Here again we regretfully notice a progressive confidence and boldness in his actions. The first three murders were carried out on lonely park lands, in comparatively unfrequented spots. Then we have the attempt on the Port road, then the murder on the sands at Grange. Next he actually enters a private garden at Toorak and completes his ghastly work on a verandah. Then he kills on an open public road—a well frequented road, even at night—and kills, moreover, within a few yards and almost in the presence of another man whose nearness he must have realised. The next night he actually penetrates into a private house, and last night he again chances discovery by attacking in a main thoroughfare.

"We dwell on these things because, unhappily, we must henceforth be prepared for greater boldness still on the part of the maniac, and must realise that we are not even safe in our own homes unless behind closed and barred doors.

"Now for a few simple suggestions.

"People should not be foolhardy enough to sleep outdoors unless they have a good dog with them. No one should go out alone at night, and any promenader by himself after dark should be at once regarded with suspicion. Every house door should be locked after sunset and all families should provide themselves with a loud whistle. Any suspicious or unnatural conduct on the part of any individual should be at once reported to the police.

"We share with our readers the horror of the dreadful possibilities that lie over us, and we realise to the full the mental anguish of living under this reign of terror, but we must all be brave about it, and, we insist again, it can be only a matter of time, and perhaps very little time, before our anxieties will be over for ever and the normal condition of safe untroubled life will be resumed again in all respects."

Oh, what a dreadful thing it is for me to read this now, and what a hateful memory it calls up of all those days. Why do I not tear it up? I cannot, for its very horror fascinates me, and it has become, like my own thoughts, part of myself.

But I don't always think I was THE MAN. Sometimes I am at peace for a while, a very little while.

I kneel in chapel with my wife and boys. I hear the gentle voices mingling with my own, the music of the organ soothes me, and my thankful heart rejoices that my fears are baseless and imaginary and I am only a morbid dreamer after all.

And then—then I pass my hand upon my thigh and feel the callous where the bullet struck me and—I know it is all true—all true.

I fall violently to my prayers.