It seemed to Judy, swaying and nodding by the side of her bed, that sleep was coming at her in the form of large mattresses. They seemed to pile softly on her, and no sooner had she shaken off one than she was being smothered by another. Between these mattresses of sleep small stabs of reason reached her benumbed brain. Clara had Joseph Bloomfield’s letters. Clara knew that she, Judy, had found out something which could connect her with the death of Mr. Former. Clara got rid of people she did not want. Clara must be waiting for her to go to sleep and then she would bring her hypodermic. But Nicholas was coming. Nicholas would be here any minute with her case. She must get downstairs. She must get to Nicholas. But sleep had now got hold of her legs. She seemed to have no control over them, no ability to make them move. The only thing she seemed able to do was to keep herself from lying on the bed. Each time a mattress of sleep overwhelmed her some part of her brain continued to say, “You mustn’t lie down, don’t lie down.”
Between one wave of sleep and another Judy heard the stairs creak. She dug her nails into her arm and forced her eyes open. Clara was coming up. Clara must not be allowed to think the sleeping-draught had over-come her. She was waiting for that moment, but it had not come yet. It must never come. She was startled by a knock on her door. Clara spoke in her normal voice.
“Judy, Judy.”
“She thinks I’m asleep,” thought Judy. “Now I’ll startle her.” With a terrific effort she forced herself to answer.
“Yes.”
Clara put something down outside the door.
“It’s your suit-case. Mr. Parsons has brought it round.”
Judy, still keeping herself awake, listened to Clara’s retreating footsteps. At the bottom of the stairs Clara spoke again.
“Thank you, Mr. Parsons. Good night”
Judy, struggling hard against unconsciousness, grasped what had happened. Nicholas had brought the case, had not been satisfied at Clara’s reply that she was asleep, and had insisted on seeing the suit-case taken up. If only she had not tried so hard to keep awake. He must have heard her voice and been satisfied. She tried to shout, but the one word to Clara seemed to have exhausted her powers in that direction, for her mouth would barely open and all that came through in the way of sound was a confused mumble. It was then she remembered the whistle. The whistle which, since the night when Clara came to her room, she had worn round her neck.
Drugged sleep, Judy discovered, is like an anaesthetic in the coming-round stage. One moment you are in this world seeing and reasoning, and the next you have drifted away again out of reach. Judy, clutching at the bed to steady herself, found her patches of sanity not long enough. The whistle seemed to have caught on a strap, probably of her cami-knickers. She pulled, and then even while she was pulling, forgot what she was trying to do and let her hand slip away from her throat, then in the next patch of sanity it was all to be done over again. But by degrees her need for the whistle became fixed in both her conscious and her subconscious mind. She clawed at the ribbon round her neck and muttered “whistle, whistle” even while sleep had overcome her. In doing so she must have pulled too hard, for suddenly the ribbon broke. She had nothing on but her frock and the cami-knickers; the frock was held in at the waist by a leather belt: undo the belt and the whistle would fall to the floor. It took time for her to reason this and what seemed to be aeons of time to take off her belt. Finally it was accomplished, and with a soft thud the whistle fell on the carpet. Clutching at the bed, she leant forward, struggling through her sleep-dimmed eyes to see it, and at that moment there was another creak on the stairs. Confused as she was with sleep, she felt terror.
“I can’t lock the door. I can’t lock the door. No furniture to keep her out. She came before. No furniture to keep her out. I must find the whistle. The window’s open, Nick would hear me in a moment if I blew it. I must find the whistle. I must find the whistle.” Judy was on her knees now, her head nodding, her eyes dimmed, but her hands were patting the carpet. “I must find the whistle, I must find the whistle.” At that moment the handle of the door was softly turned.
A frenzy seized Judy. She was not entirely sure what she was doing, but her hands dabbed at the carpet faster and faster. She was conscious that Clara was with her in the room. She did not look up or say anything. She knew she had one hope and that was the whistle.
Clara came across the room to the end of the bed.
“Saying your prayers? That’s a very good idea. You need to. You won’t be here to-morrow morning.” She leant on the bed-head, her voice rising slightly. “I never wished you any harm, I don’t dislike you really, but you’ve interfered. I knew you were a danger from the day you came to the house. I told you not to stay the moment I knew you’d worked in a hospital. You were a fool not to listen to me.”
Judy stretched too far in her search for the whistle and fell over. It was an appalling effort to struggle back on to her hands. It was so much easier to lie on the floor. Clara looked at her almost with sympathy.
“It’s no good struggling, you know. They’re quite excellent, those sleeping tablets. One is quite a good dose and I dissolved three in boiling water. I think you dislike me. That’s queer. I think you’d sympathize if you understood. I won such a good scholarship. I can see myself now, working in bed with the light of a little bit of candle. Propping my books on the pram-rail while I marched the newest baby up and down. Hanging my books above the washtub so that I could learn without touching the pages with my wet fingers. I’ll never forget the day when I won that scholarship. When I came home and Mother said, ‘You persuade your father to do a decent job of work instead of standing on a box preaching and then you can take it.’ Something seemed to snap in my head. I knew my father. Roaring and ranting good-for-nothing. The one good laugh I’ve ever had was the day I heard they’d shut him up because he thought he was one of the apostles.”
Judy’s hand touched the whistle. She was groping with such feverish energy that even as she touched it she had moved away again and lost it. A little cry of rage moaned out of her. Clara looked down at her.
“I tell you not to go on struggling. You’ll only exhaust yourself. They really are good those sleeping tablets. From that day when I knew I was never to take up my scholarship I swore that one day I’d have a child of my own and that child should live like royalty. It should have everything. More than everything. Money to spend, servants to wait on it. I couldn’t hope for a good marriage, so I took Alfred. He was the best I could hope to get. I chose him because of the chemist’s shop. A shop’s a very nice bit of property, there’s something to pass on. The day Desmond was born I looked at him and I said, ‘You’re not coming into nothing like I did. The shop’s doing nicely and every penny it makes will be spent on you’.” Her voice cracked. “Then that bomb came.”
Judy’s little finger touched the whistle. She knew now in what direction it lay. She began to move with more caution. Clara looked at her as if she was a tiresome child.
“Come on, do get into bed. I don’t want the trouble of undressing you afterwards. I suppose it might seem natural that you’d fallen on the floor and there’ll be a post-mortem anyway, but still, you’ll be more comfortable in your bed really. I don’t know how long it is before it takes effect, and maybe there’s pain; you’d be better lying down.” She looked to see if Judy were listening. “Are you listening to me? Get up now and take your things off.” Seeing no response she shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well, there’s no hurry. Besides, if you don’t mind the floor, I suppose I needn’t. I never bothered how Alfred’s grandfather went. I hope he suffered. Take my Desmond and shut him up! My Desmond, who’s going to be waited on hand and foot! Queer how life turns out. When the old man was dead it came to me all of a flash what I would do. Clear everything out of the house, the dog and the old woman and just keep Aunt Rose. There’s Desmond’s servant for him; kick her, knock her about, he can do what he likes, no money to pay and we can live here, kept and fed and comfortable until Desmond’s eighteen. I dare say she’ll have gone naturally by then. It’s the right thing to do, you know. Give the children a chance. To be a child without a chance, that’s hell. I’ve been through it and I know. Seems hard, the old people were happy enough, but they’d had their time, so had that smelly old dog. It was right they should go. Queer life is. It’s all turning out just as I said it would. My child lacking for nothing, brought up like a prince with somebody to wait on him hand and foot.” She looked down at Judy again. “Oh, come on, I can’t stand here all night. You poor little fool, what did you want to meddle for? Nobody knows how the old man died. I don’t suppose you could do any harm, but I can’t risk it.”
Judy’s little finger was touching the whistle. She moved her hand. Queer how blunt and awkward fingers could become. Why could not they pick the whistle up? She started to mutter. “It’s under my hand. Why can’t I pick it up? Go on, pick it up. You’ve got to blow it. I must blow it.”
Clara suddenly lost patience. She leant down and caught hold of one of Judy’s arms.
“Come on, my girl, get up.” She gave her another pull. “Get up and put on your nightdress. What’s the point of fighting? If you let yourself go to sleep you won’t feel a thing.”
Judy, at the touch of Clara’s hand, got the necessary strength. Her fingers closed on the whistle, but the effort for the moment overcame her. Once more she rolled on the floor.
Clara held her hypodermic up to the fading fight. It was merely custom that made her do it. She knew that the dose was there. She leant down to have another look at Judy.
“She’s out now. I wonder if there would seem anything funny in her being on the floor. It doesn’t really matter if there does. They won’t find anything wrong.” She came round the bed and knelt by Judy’s side. “Afraid the needle’s a bit blunt, but I couldn’t go buying any and the doctor took away the two new ones of the old lady’s.”
Judy heard what Clara said. She knew what was about to happen. The whistle was in her hand. She knew she must blow it. She made a convulsive movement. Clara held her by the wrist.
“Lie still now. Go to sleep. Nobody wishes you any harm. Just one prick of the needle and off you go.”
Judy knew suddenly what she must do. She gave one more convulsive jerk which, for a second, threw Clara’s hand off. Then, with a superhuman effort she rolled herself under the bed, and at the same time blew her whistle. It was the last effort she was able to make. Under the bed wave after wave of the mattresses of sleep piled up on top of her, but just as her eyes closed she was conscious that her efforts had been in vain. She felt fingers gripping her wrist.
Judy opened her eyes to find Doctor Mead holding her wrist.
“Well, you’ve had a fine sleep, young lady. You could do with some lunch now, I should think, couldn’t you?”
Judy stared at him.
“I thought I was dead.”
Lady Parsons came and sat on the edge of the bed.
“And you very nearly were, dear. If Nick and the police had not got there in time.”
“Nick. Where is he?”
Lady Parsons looked at Doctor Mead.
“Do you think we might leave the patient? I know Nick would like a word with her.”
Nicholas knelt by Judy’s bed.
“Oh, darling, I am an idiot. You see, the police decided to act the moment they heard our story. One of them came up to the place with me just in case you should whistle. When Clara told me you were asleep I damn nearly called up my old cop and burst in. I did watch her take the suit-case upstairs, and if you hadn’t answered I’d have knocked her out for six. I am an idiot.”
“Where is she?”
“Locked up. I expect she’ll be a ‘His Majesty’s pleasure’ affair. We’ve wired to Bloomfield, he’s fetching Desmond to-morrow. Miss Rose is going back with Mother. She can’t travel for a day or two. She was pretty upset over the whole thing. My goodness! I could kick myself. If that cop and I hadn’t already got that ladder waiting, and if I hadn’t legged it up the ladder like a two-year-old when your whistle blew, there’d have been no more Judy.”
Judy held out her hand to him.
“Your mother says I’d better tell you that I’m in love with you.”
He put his arm round her and drew her to him.
“You don’t know about my work, darling. I could be blown to pieces to-morrow. That’s not much of a husband, is it?”
“I don’t want to seem fussy, but as one who’s just missed popping off the world I think you’re making rather a fuss about what is merely a possibility. After all, for quite a while yesterday my death was a certainty and it hasn’t happened.”
Nicholas held her tighter.
“Why didn’t I knock that blasted woman on the head? When I think what nearly happened! I am an idiot.”
“When I think how precarious life is and how precarious you’re making our happiness, then I know you’re an idiot.”
He drew her to him.
“Really? Then don’t let’s be idiots any longer. Besides, it’s not as though I was marrying an ordinary girl, is it, my little lioness?”
T H E E N D