Unable to dispel them, he deliberately let himself drift off into a reverie. Perhaps the association of the funereal rain and the tiresome pain below his sternum was responsible for the gathering sense of foreboding in his mind. Formless ideas rose towards consciousness, and he stirred uneasily in his chair. Without realizing it, he found himself thinking of his wife’s death, an event shrouded in pain and a peculiar dream-like violence. For a moment he was almost inside his wife’s dying mind, at the bottom of an immense drowned lake, separated from the distant pinpoint of sky by enormous volumes of water that pressed upon his chest In a flood of sweat, Elliott awoke from this nightmare, the whole tragic vision of his wife’s death before his eyes. Judith was alive, of course, staying with her married sister at the beach-house near Worthing, but the vision of her drowning had come through with the force and urgency of a telepathic signal.
‘Judith!’
Rousing himself, Elliott hurried to the telephone in the hall. Something about its psychological dimensions convinced him that he had not imagined the death scene.
The sea!
He snatched up the phone, dialling for the operator. At that very moment Judith might well be swimming alone while her sister prepared tea with the children, in sight of the beach but unaware she was in danger ‘Operator, this is urgent,’ Elliott began. ‘I must talk to my wife. I think she’s in some sort of danger. Can you get me Calcutta 30331.’
The operator hesitated. ‘Calcutta? I’m sorry, caller, I’ll transfer you to Overseas—’ ‘What? I don’t want — ‘ Elliott stopped. ‘What number did I ask for?’
‘Calcutta 30331. I’ll have you transferred.’
‘Wait!’ Elliott steadied himself against the window. The rain beat across the glazed panes. ‘My mistake. I meant Worthing 303—’
‘Are you there, caller? Worthing Three Zero Three — ‘ Her voice waited.
Wearily Elliott lowered the telephone. ‘I’ll look it up,’ he said thickly. ‘That wasn’t the number.’
He turned the pages of the memo pad, realizing that both he and Judith had known the number for years and never bothered to record it.
‘Are you there, caller?’ The operator’s voice was sharper.
A few moments later, when he was connected to Directory Inquiries, Elliott realized that he had also forgotten his sister-in-law’s name and address.
‘Calcutta 30331.’ Elliott repeated the number as he poured himself a drink from the whisky decanter. Pulling himself together, he recognized that the notion of a telepathic message was fatuous. Judith would be perfectly safe, on her way back to London with the children, and he had misinterpreted the vision of the dying woman. The telephone number, however, remained. The enigmatic sequence flowed off his tongue with the unconscious familiarity of long usage. A score of similar memories waited to be summoned into reality, as if a fugitive mind had taken up residence in his brain.
He picked the newspaper off the floor.
Dr Krishnamurti Singh. Scotland Yard believes he may be able to assist them in their inquiries ‘Assist them in their inquiries’ — a typical Fleet Street euphemism, part of the elaborate code built up between the newspapers and their readers. A French paper, not handicapped by the English libel laws, would be shouting ‘Bluebeard! Assassin!’
Detectives are at the bedside of Mrs Ethel Burgess, the charwoman employed by Dr and Mrs Sing/i, who was yesterday found unconscious at the foot of the stairs Mrs Burgess! Instantly an image of the small elderly woman, with a face like a wizened apple, came before his eyes. She was lying in the hospital bed at the Middlesex, watching him with frightened reproachful glances — The tumbler, half-filled with whisky, smashed itself on the fireplace tiles. Elliott stared at the fragments of wet glass around his feet, then sat down in the centre of the sofa with his head in his hands, trying to hold back the flood of memories. Helplessly he found himself thinking of the medical school at Calcutta. The halffamiliar faces of fellow students passed in a blur. He remembered his passionate interest in developing a scientific approach to the obscurer branches of yoga and the Hindu parapsychologies, the student society he formed and its experiments in thought and body transference, brought to an end by the death of one of the students and the subsequent scandal For a moment Elliott marvelled at the coherence and convincing detail of the memories. Numbly he reminded himself that in fact he had been a chemistry student at — Where?
