Read Online Ritual in the Dark by Colin Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

the back wheel. The road was being repaired, and the noise of the pneumatic drill filled the air with vibrations that drowned the noise of machines from the printing works opposite. The café was beginning to fill with the lunch-hour crowd. There was no sign of Payne in either of the two rooms. He took off his raincoat, and placed it on an empty corner table to reserve it, then went to the counter to order. When he came back to the table a man was sitting there. Sorme said without enthusiasm: Hello, Bobby. The man said:
    I’m well, Gerard. How’re you? Ah hope ye don’t mind if I sit down?
    The watery eyes regarded him with anxiety. He said:
    No. I’m waiting for Bill Payne.
    That’s all right. Ah’ll go when he comes. Well, you’re looking well, m’boy.
    Sorme looked across at the tired, unshaven face, and repented his brusqueness. The Scotsman looked as if he hadn’t eaten or slept for several days. He said:
    Can I offer you a cup of tea?
    No thank ye, Gerard. Ah’ve just had one. But Ah’ll tell ye what you could do. Ah’m expirin’ for want of a smoke, and Ah’ve only a threepenny piece to ma name. Could ye lend me a couple of bob—or a shillin’d do.
    Sorme said embarrassedly: I dunno. I suppose so.
    He pulled out the wallet, and, removing a folded ten-shilling note, handed it to Robert Drummond.
    If you can change that, you can have two bob.
    Thanks, man. Ye’re savin’ ma life.
    Sorme looked at his watch; it was half past twelve. Drummond came back, and dropped four florins in front of him. He held out the open packet of Woodbines. Sorme shook his head.
    Thanks, I don’t.
    Ye’re lucky.
    Sorme noticed the trembling of the hand that lit the cigarette.
    The Scotsman sat down, and sighed a cloud of smoke. He detached a shred of tobacco from his lower lip; his eyes closed:
    Aahh! My first today.
    His eyes opened, and looked directly at Sorme for the first time.
    Well, lad, what’ve ye been doin’ since I saw ye last?
    Nothing much. Tell me, Bobby, do you know anything about these Whitechapel murders?
    Only what ah’ve read in the papers. Why, do you?
    No. Until yesterday. I’d never even heard of them. I never read the papers.
    Drummond said: Did I ever tell ye about the murder I got involved in in Glasgow?
    No.
    Well. Ah wasn’t exac’ly involved. But the girl livin’ in the room next to me got strangled one night. And the funny thing was, I haird her cry out. And I just lay there and did nothing.
    Why?
    Why? It’s hard to say.
    He stared, brooding, over his second cigarette. The woman called: One liver and chips. Sorme collected it from the counter and paid. When he sat down, the Scotsman said slowly:
    Yes, I can tell ye why. Have ye ever wanted something badly—wanted it a lot more than it’s worth?
    Occasionally, Sorme said. He shook tomato ketchup on to the plate.
    She was a shapely girl, y’understand, not pretty. An’ she didn’t have regular men friends, as far as I could make out, but she wasn’t a hardened virgin either. Men sometimes stayed overnight—not always the same man, y’see? And it was a temptation—to knock on her door one night on some excuse and say: How about it, ma dear? An’ I don’t think she’d have refused—I don’t think so.
    Sorme asked, through a mouthful of liver: Why didn’t you?
    He shrugged, stubbing out the cigarette:
    I can’t say. Ah was younger then. . . shy.
    He looked at Sorme and smiled suddenly. It was a curiously candid smile.
    But on the night it happened, I haird her cry out, and thought she was having a nightmare. I thought: Why not now? an’ got halfway to the door. Then I started to sweat and shake. I’d thought about it so long, I wasn’t prepared to get it so suddenly. So I lay in bed, feelin’ ma heart thumpin’ and tryin’ to work up the courage. Then I haird someone movin’ about, and thought: She can’t sleep. . . But I didn’t go. And the next day, they found her strangled.
    Did they ever catch him?
    Yes. They