The Smog

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Authors: John Creasey
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very great care,” Palfrey said to Hill.
    â€œI’ll put some mechanics onto it straight away. Sergeant, see to it.”
    â€œYes, sir.” The man picked up a field telephone near his chair.
    â€œAnd I’d like to go and see this dig,” said Palfrey. “Can I have one of the regulation masks?”
    â€œAnd a protective suit,” Hill recommended.
    â€œIn the next room, sir,” the corporal volunteered. “The kitchen.”
    Hill nodded, and led the way. As they reached the door, Palfrey paused and turned on his heel.
    â€œAny further casualties reported?”
    â€œBirds and animals only, sir—no human casualties. The whole area is cordoned off, of course, with an electrified wire fence.”
    â€œYes. Any reports of anyone trying to get through?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œHow many corpses have been removed?”
    â€œFifty-one, sir. The operation is still proceeding.”
    Palfrey nodded, and went out with Hill. One man was in charge of the masks and uniforms next door and in a mild way Palfrey marvelled at the efficiency with which the military had taken over. It was almost as if they had been in control here for weeks, not just a few hours. Masked and safely clad, he went out by the back door, and stood for a moment, studying the situation.
    The land rose upwards in a gentle slope from the end of a patch of grass on which stood a child’s steel framed swing, a see-saw, and one or two gaily painted toys. Beyond this was a vegetable garden in which everything was wilting; an orchard; and at the end of the orchard, a shed which, wider than an average garden shed, looked more like a large summer house or cabin. Beyond this in turn, masked men in the now familiar protective clothing were digging.
    The uncanny thing was that they dug down into the rising blanket of smog, which rose thickly about their feet, thinning a little at waist height.
    â€œLooks as if they’ve found one source,” Hill muttered grimly.
    Palfrey nodded as they went on to the shed, the door of which stood open. On the threshold they paused. Two men were standing inside a hole which was at least five feet deep, dug in the floor of the shed, and they were on either side of a big container, of the kind in which Calor or Butane gas was stored. One end of this disappeared into the earth; from the other, thin pipes rose to the surface, controlled by valves and stop cocks.
    â€œSo we’ve found one source,” Lieutenant Hill said, and this time he could not keep the excitement out of his voice.
    Palfrey nodded, as for the second time he saw a picture of Grace Drummond’s face in his mind’s eye.
    Â 

Chapter Eight
Source
    Â 
    Palfrey stayed with the investigating team and watched the story unfold.
    Yet more pipes leading from the big tank led hundreds of feet along the ground, surfacing through holes drilled in the ground. All the pipes led to the Manor House. There was no doubt that the means of distributing the carbon monoxide had been discovered. Sooner or later what had happened this morning would have happened; there was as yet no way of telling whether it was simply a case of accidental escape of the gas.
    â€œI still don’t see how it rises up through the topsoil,” Hill had said.
    â€œWorm holes and mole and rabbit holes, sir,” volunteered a sergeant in the team. “You’d be surprised at just how many tunnelling animals and insects there are. The gas has been released through little valves in the pipes—” he pointed to marks in a plastic hose, rather like a garden watering hose – “and the pump we saw back at the shed created sufficient pressure. Once the gas was released it found its way through the crevices and holes and loose earth. Very simple, sir, really.”
    â€œYes,” said Palfrey. “But why? Any ideas, sergeant?”
    â€œNot really, sir, except that a clever johnny who could fix a thing like

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