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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Fantastic Adventures, October 1945, with "The Dummy of Death"
Then, in ghastly tones, the dummy began to speak.
Delbert was large for a dummy, large enough to turn the tables and
put Johnny Orchid, the ventriloquist, on his lap in their unusual act!
THE huge neon sign over the theatre entrance said,
JOHNNY ORCHID
SENSATIONAL VENTRILOQUIST
AND HIS
DRAMATIC DUMMY DELBERT
The sign had brought throngs of theatre-goers to the Strand theatre for five straight weeks. Johnny Orchid had more dough than the knew how to spend. Enough of it to assure him of being able to return to Haiti for the extensive research work he had been doing on King Christophe's ancient citadel.
There was nothing about Johnny Orchid to suggest that he pored over old history books and spaded over and over the ancient soil in the high courtyard of the black tyrant's fort. Johnny Orchid was a gentleman, from the cuffs of his stiffly starched shirt to the shiny, patent leather shoes he had chosen for the stage. His thin, almost eager face and sparkling eyes told of his wonder at his swift rise to the bright lights.
He owed that to Delbert, the great wooden voodoo god he had brought from Haiti.
Someone nudged Orchid's elbow. He didn't look around for he had become accustomed to the jostle of New York crowds.
"Come on down out of the clouds," a friendly voice said. "That damned dummy of yours has turned over again."
The smile faded from Orchid's face as he looked down to the level of the passing crowd, then lower, to the top of Phillip Newton's white head. His eyes traveled over the thin, wrinkled face, to the straight lips of the small watchman. "He's what?"
"Delbert's turned over," Newton said. "You left him lying on his left side when you went out after the first show. He's on his right side now."
Orchid swore. It wasn't in anger, just surprise and bewilderment.
"Look here, Newton," he said gravely, "that's been happening for three weeks. I'm giving you ten bucks a week to keep an eye on that dummy. I don't like the idea of people tampering with him, even if it's their idea of a joke."
The crowd was growing thicker before the ticket windows of the Strand. The second stage show was due to start in ten minutes. People jostled Phillip Newton's slight body until he retreated back against the wall of the building. Orchid followed, and they stood there staring at each other, worry in their eyes. Each suspected the other of having more to say than had been said. Each suspected something hidden, almost sinister in the fact that Delbert had been turned over again.
"I been watching that darn hunk of wood ever since you told me," Newton said in an aggrieved tone. "No one goes near the cabinet. No one has touched him tonight, but he's turned over."
"Probably got the heart-burn," Orchid said with the ghost of a smile. "I'm about due for the act. Suppose you watch twice as hard, and try leaving cheap whiskey alone for one night. That might have something to do with what's happening."
HE turned, fought his way toward the alley and sighed when he left the edge of the swirling crowd to find himself in the darkness beside the theatre. He mopped his forehead, and walked toward the stage door. A car swept past him, halted near the door and a girl climbed out. She wore a neat blue serge suit and small hat that hid few of her golden curls. Deep blue eyes twinkled at Johnny encouragingly.
"How's Delbert tonight?" she asked. "Been restless again?"
Orchid caught up with her and together they walked up the steps and into the dark region behind the stage. The orchestra out front was playing loudly, introducing the first act.
"Newton says Delbert has turned over again," Orchid said. "When I catch the practical joker that's having his fun at my expense, I'll wring his silly neck."
Joan Leland grasped his arm above the elbow and pretended to measure huge muscles with her fingers.
"Ooh! What a big strong giant!" She laughed playfully.
Johnny Orchid grinned. Maybe he was putting the act on a little thick. He had never been blessed with a very strong body. As the army had so fittingly expressed it, "Go home, son, you're wasting your time and ours."
Johnny Orchid hadn't gone home. He had gone to Haiti, found a little success at ventriloquism at Port Au Prince, hit on the idea of using a huge voodoo god for a dummy, and come back to New York to sweep them in the aisles with Delbert.
"You'd better get dressed," he told Joan Leland. "After you've watched Pete pull rabbits out of his hat, how about a steak with me? Finding a steak right now is a much better trick than Peter Leland, Magician Extraordinary, ever pulled on the stage."
The girl laughed.
"Pete makes a living for his sisters," she said proudly, "and without carrying a piano-sized dummy around the country."
Orchid took the point well.
"Delbert will be the death of me yet," he said. "Darn good thing he doesn't eat, or I'd have a bigger feed bill than P.T. Barnum did in his busiest days."
They parted, Joan Leland climbing into the upper regions back-stage to her dressing room, while Johnny Orchid went to see if Delbert was actually on his right side in the huge, coffin-like packing box. He reached the box, half hidden in the shadows and stared at the aged wooden dummy with frank disapproval. Delbert had really turned over again.
THE placard on the edge of the stage read: "Johnny Orchid and his friend Delbert." Out front the audience was laughing. Loud belly-laughs and feminine giggles filled the place with mirth. The startling part of it all was the fact that Johnny hadn't as yet spoken a word. It had been this way every night.
Johnny Orchid had a sling arranged by ropes that hung from above, so that the heavy wooden god hung in the sling and Johnny sat on a chair beneath, giving the impression that Delbert was actually sitting on his knee. Delbert, so named by a press-agent, had been carved by primitive knives and polished by centuries of rain and sun. Until his visit to New York, Delbert had been housed in a thatched hut on the shore of a jungle river. He sat through the ages, a huge tree trunk six feet in height, great painted red eyes, and a nose that hung down to his chin. Arms were there, projecting to his fat hips. The face, the arms, every inch of the jungle god, were representative of ancient dignity and horror.
As is so often true, uprooted from his own habitat, Delbert made a silly sight on a New York stage. Crowds paid a fortune to see him, and to laugh at his ill-proportioned body.
The laughter died out slowly. They were waiting. Johnny Orchid opened his lips slightly and sent a roaring, primitive voice from the wooden lips of the statue.
"Why so much silly laughter among you human jackals?"
It wasn't humor that caused new laughter to sweep through the audience. There was no humor. Perhaps the very thought of stern condemning speech coming from those harsh lips, caused it. Johnny Orchid was no fool. With Delbert, he was experimenting with a new type of entertainment. The same type that makes a man laugh when a waiter dumps a glass of milk down the neck of the diner beside him. Stark, animal humor that causes men to chuckle at the antics of two apes fighting to the death behind bars of the zoo.
Johnny said:
"Well, Delbert ol' pal, how are you feeling tonight?"
Again Delbert's voice seemed to take root deep in his wooden throat and pour out over the auditorium.
"Haven't been feeling so fit. New York weather is bad. Ought to do something about it."
Again the audience chuckled.
"And just what could we do? People talk about the weather but they don't do anything about it."
Delbert's voice was harsh, cruel: "I'd do something about it! Call the witch doctors. Call on the Snake God. In Haiti, man does what he wishes by calling on the gods."
THE laughter wasn't so full-hearted this time. The words were spoken in such a harsh, inhuman voice that the audience marvelled at the ability of Orchid, as it had done from the first. Some thought him even more talented tonight. They didn't notice that his face had suddenly turned pale. There was a long pause. Then Johnny Orchid's voice came again, slowly, almost uncertainly.
"Suppose," he said in an unnatural tone, "we call in a god or two and bring on some of that weather you're talking about?"
Delbert's synthetic voice roared out again:
"You're a fool to play with emotions and powers of which you know so little," he said. "Do you imagine that man has been a fool throughout the centuries, simply because these low apes indulge in a fool's empty laughter?"
Johnny Orchid was using strong language. Stronger than he had ever used before. His spectators didn't entirely like it. A few laughed, probably at themselves. Several catcalls came from the balcony. Johnny Orchid thought fast. Just before he had entered the theatre, he felt that clammy, damp air that always preceded a storm. Now he grinned wanly.
"New York needs rain tonight," he said. "How about bringing that storm we need. Go ahead, Delbert, call on your god to bring rain."
The audience was holding its breath. The place was hushed. From the wings, Joan Leland stared at the pair in the spotlight. Her eyes were clouded. No smile touched her lips. A few actors and the stage manager stood together, watching Johnny Orchid.
"O God of Voodoo, by the Snake God of the deep places," Delbert's voice said in a low, rumbling tone, "cause rain to fall on these benighted sons of ignorance."
That was all, and no response greeted him. It was silent, as though they were waiting. Waiting for something they had never dreamed could happen, and couldn't believe now.
An old man in the front row stood up.
"I'm getting out of here," he said. He hadn't spoken loudly, but his voice carried back to the last row of the theatre. People began to shuffle their feet nervously.
A drop of water hit the edge of the stage and sizzled as it touched a foot-light. Then another, and another. Johnny Orchid slipped out from under Delbert and stood up. He wanted to leave the stage, and yet he didn't dare.
"Good God!" a masculine voice shouted, "it's raining."
IT was raining. Water, first a drizzle that dampened the floor, then a downpour of water that grew loud, sweeping from the ceiling, pouring down on the audience. A wild scramble ensued as men and women sought to reach the doors. They poured out of the aisles and toward the exits. The manager rushed out upon the stage and tried to make his voice heard above the sound of the throng.
"Don't leave! The sprinkling system has been tampered with. Everything will be in order."
No one heard him. No one but Johnny Orchid.
Then the stage was deserted, and Johnny Orchid was standing close to Joan Leland in the wings. Theatre people gathered in little groups, talking in awed voices. The manager was arguing loudly with the men who ran the show backstage.
Johnny Orchid heard one of them say:
"We checked everything. The sprinkling system is okay. That damned dummy really made it rain, and right inside the Strand!"
Joan clutched Orchid's hand tightly.
"Johnny." She kept repeating his name over and over, her frightened eyes staring into his. "Johnny—what—"
"I don't know," he said humbly. "I don't know..."
"But—the water. Where did it come from? Why did you change your routine? They'll hate you. They'll call it witchcraft."
"I couldn't help it," he admitted. "You thought that was my voice? It wasn't. After it happened, I tried to go through with it and make the best of a bad show."
Her lips parted with wonder.
"You don't mean—Delbert?"
Johnny Orchid nodded miserably.
"I do. I couldn't say a word out there on the stage. The voices you heard both came from Delbert. I was the dummy."
SPENCER WALLACE came into Johnny Orchid's dressing room. Orchid was removing the make-up from his face and trying desperately to think of a way out. He watched Wallace through the mirror, wondering what kind of revenge the manager of the Strand would want for emptying the theatre in the middle of the show.
Wallace strode up and down the room, then turned and looked at Johnny Orchid's back.
"Well," he said, "what happened?"
Johnny Orchid didn't know. He had a hunch, but it wouldn't be wise to air it at the present time.
"The sprinkling system went haywire, didn't it?" he asked innocently.
"You know damned well it didn't. You made some kind of a charm with that wooden dummy of yours. That was rain that fell out there."
Johnny Orchid tried to grin. He turned around and faced his boss.
"Now, Mr. Wallace," he said in a tired voice, "surely they haven't fed you a story like that? How could it rain inside a theatre?"
Spencer Wallace was a short, rather stout man with a naturally pink face. Now it turned several shades darker.
"I—I'm damned if I know," he admitted. "I looked at those sprinkling heads myself. They haven't been turned on."
"The roof was leaking," Johnny suggested.
Wallace grinned sourly.
"Now who's suggesting the impossible?" he asked.
Johnny Orchid was thinking of that twelve-week contract and the money that had been coming in every week. He was trying to avoid the quarrel he considered inevitable.
"I know you're ready to fire me," he admitted. "But, Mr. Wallace, I can't be responsible for every strange accident that happens in your theatre. You know as well as I do that I can't start rain pouring from the ceiling with a lot of double talk and the help of a piece of wood."
Spencer Wallace shook his head. "I don't know how or why it happened," he admitted, "but it did."
Orchid frowned.
"And I'm on my way out now," he said sadly. "I'm packing."
Wallace cleared his throat several time.
"I wouldn't be too hasty about leaving," he said. "I'll raise your salary fifty a week and give you a percentage on anything over the normal profits, until you get ready to leave the Strand."
JOHNNY ORCHID dropped a jar of make-up cream and tried to recover it as it rolled under the table. He made strange, animal-like sounds in his throat and seemed to be choking. When he managed to sit up again, his face was the color of beet-juice. "You'll what?"
"I'll give you fifty more a week," Wallace said eagerly. "Seventy-five, if you think that isn't enough."
By this time, Orchid had control of himself. He leaned back against the dressing table and crossed his legs. He looked very business-like.
"No more rain storms though," Wallace said hastily, before Orchid could speak. "The papers are on the streets already, telling about the downpour. They all think it was a fake, but one of the cleverest publicity gags that has happened in years."
Orchid remained silent. He could learn more right now by listening.
"The house is packed," Wallace went on. "They demand another performance tonight. I talked with Reynolds, critic from the Times. He says you've got one of the finest voice changes he's ever heard. Says it startled him. He could have sworn that the dummy was talking."
"He had nothing on me," Johnny admitted. "I was under that impression myself."
Wallace smiled.
"Cut the kidding," he said, "and get back out there on the stage. Reynolds said you ought to sit on the dummy's lap and reverse the act. It ought to be worth some extra laughs. But listen, no more of that rain business. It's expensive."
Johnny Orchid felt wonderful, in a way, but a queer dread still hung over him. Maybe this was only the beginning. He wasn't quite sure how it could happen, but he was going to be careful after tonight that the conversation didn't veer around to the weather.
"No rain," he promised and started for the door.
"Go on right after the next act is over," Wallace said. "Take all the time you want. Give the morning papers something to rave about."
ORCHID went down the stairs on the double to find Joan Leland and her brother still on the stage with their act. It was reaching the rabbit and hat trick, and he had just time to step outside and buy a paper. He stopped beside the box in which Delbert had been placed, opened the lid and looked inside. Delbert was lying on his right side, his cracked, aged old timbers glistening with water. He looked younger somehow, bathed by the water that had fallen on the stage. Uneasily, Johnny Orchid closed the cover and went out the stage door into the alley. Out front he found a long line of would-be patrons waiting at the ticket window. He bought a paper and read the headlines as he went in.
VENTRILOQUIST PERFORMS
STARTLING RAIN TRICK
Rain Falls On Audience At Strand
And Ventriloquist Proves That
His Act Is Not All Wet
He was reading the story under Reynolds' by-line as he reached the door. He stopped suddenly, the hair on his neck prickling with a sudden feeling of impending disaster. An ear-slitting scream came from somewhere in the vast, dim world back-stage. Johnny Orchid started to run. He noticed, as he passed the wings, that John Leland had left the stage, and the orchestra was introducing the tumbling act. The orchestra seemed to pause with the scream, then played louder than ever. Heads turned this way and that. He heard the stage manager, half hidden among the props, speak in a low, hoarse voice.
"One of you guys get up to the dressing rooms. There's someone in trouble."
Footsteps sounded behind Orchid as he ran up the three flights of iron stairs toward the line of women's dressing rooms. He couldn't know who had screamed, but the very silence that followed the outcry made him feel that he was urgently needed.
He saw a number of girls in the hall, carrying towels, clad in odds and ends of their wardrobe.
Joan Leland was at his side.
"Thank God," Johnny said. "I thought for a minute..."
"Johnny! That scream. It was horrible. It seemed to come from Eve's room."
Eve Leland and Joan might have been twins. Eve danced in the chorus. She looked and acted so much like Joan that they could have doubled for each other. Orchid reached the door of Eve's room. He jerked the doorknob and it fell loose in his hand, broken on the inside. He kicked the door with his foot and the frail plywood panel broke under the blow. A stage hand caught up with them.
"Get away from there!" he said. He was a big man with a desperate, brooding expression on his face. He put his shoulder to the door and pushed just once. The door buckled in and fell to the floor. Behind Orchid, Joan put her hand over her mouth quickly to suppress a scream. Then she was sobbing pitifully, trying to force her way past him into the tiny room.
JOHNNY ORCHID held her back while the stage-hand went in. The
man bent over the slim, partly clad form lying on the floor. He stood up again, and turned to face Johnny Orchid. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. Eve Leland's body was stretched across a trunk, and where her head should have been, there was nothing. In one corner, like a broken pumpkin, lay a mass of red pulp and matted hair.
It didn't look as though the murderer had used a knife, Johnny thought, with sickness growing inside him.
It looked as though something with horrible strength had torn the head away from the body.
The hall was filled with people now, all talking excitedly. Johnny drew Joan away from the door, pushed her gently along the hall and through the crowd. Then a big, good-natured redhead was speaking to him.
"My name's Reynolds, of the Times. Heard about some trouble back here."
Johnny motioned toward the door of Eve's room.
"Murder," he said.
He heard Reynolds whistle softly and then he was alone with Joan, trying to comfort her. He didn't talk. This wasn't the time to talk. He put an arm around her waist, got her to her dressing room and found a cold towel for her forehead. Then her brother said a few words to Johnny that didn't make much sense, but had to do with rage and horror and grief. Johnny Orchid went out and left them together. He wandered downstairs. A police siren was howling in the distance, but he didn't really hear it.
He was thinking about something else. He was thinking that poor Eve Leland had had no enemies. Eve had looked like Joan. Exactly like her. He and Joan had been close during these past weeks. And now they were engaged to be married.
Johnny Orchid remembered too clearly how that head had been wretched free of Eve's body, like a plant torn from the soft earth. How the inside doorknob had been pulled from the door, breaking the bolt cleanly in two.
He went toward Delbert's box and lifted the cover. The dummy was as he had left it, lying on its right side. He stared fixedly at the huge, carved hands, big enough to break a man in two, were they of flesh and blood. He shrugged, disgusted at himself for being so foolish. He closed the lid of the box and stared at the hinge that hung there without a lock.
Then he went upstairs and brought down the heavy padlock which he used when he was on the road. He slipped it through the hinge and snapped it together. Somehow a vast load was lifted from his mind when he went back up to Eve's dressing room. There remained a vague, uneasy feeling that he might have been able to prevent the murder. He wasn't sure that the right girl had died. From now on he would have to take extra precautions to make sure that Joan was never left alone.
THE police were not the ignorant, story-book variety of blundering idiots. They investigated quietly, never letting a clue escape careful scrutiny, never giving up. But three weeks had passed since the night Eve Leland died and they hadn't come far.
Johnny Orchid knew it when they questioned him time after time. He told his story carefully and honestly. He didn't mention the old superstitions that had arisen to drive him half mad. He wasn't trying to protect anyone or—he shuddered—anything. God knew if Joan were to suffer the same fate he would never forgive himself. It wasn't that he needed to protect anything. He just wasn't sure.
If he started to tell the police about voodoo curses, they would lock him up, but not for murder. He couldn't let that happen, because Johnny Orchid was pretty sure that he owned a murderer. He had to make sure beyond a doubt, and after that, he had a job to do.
He could destroy Delbert at once. Oh yes, Johnny Orchid had thought of that. He could have the box, Delbert in it, carted away and burned. If he did, perhaps his guard would relax. Perhaps he'd let down. Let down while the murderer, the real murderer had another chance at Joan.
No, Delbert had to remain alive. For several reasons, he had to be given his freedom. Johnny Orchid needed that contract with the Strand. Without Delbert, he might as well pack his bags and get out. That would take him away from Joan. Away from the very thing that made a future for Joan and him possible.
Perhaps it was his imagination. Perhaps Delbert could talk, and only that. He had nothing concrete to give foundation to his distrust of Delbert. Just that vague, uneasy feeling a man gets when he isn't quite sure.
Delbert had to remain free. Had to show his hand. Meanwhile, the contract remained to bring in the necessary cash, and Johnny Orchid could stay in the theatre, stay close to Joan every minute.
THE back-stage of the Strand had forgotten Eve's death in three weeks. Forgotten, that is, just how horrible murder had looked. They continued to stare suspiciously into dark corners and avoid dim passageways. The chorus flirted with the cops and made nasty remarks about the lack of brains among the detectives. Beyond that, the show did go on and Johnny Orchid started to climb again, this time toward a radio show, a five year contract with Spencer Wallace and some nice offers from Hollywood. Orchid was now billed:
DELBERT AND HIS HUMAN DUMMY JOHNNY ORCHID
The stage was turned into a jungle, with the back-drop of palms and a thatched hut. In a clearing, seated on a log, was Delbert. On his knee sat Johnny Orchid, dressed in Charlie McCarthy style with monocle in one eye and top-hat perched on his head.
Johnny Orchid didn't tell anyone that, as he sat there on that wooden knee with a wide artificial smile on his face, he was unable to speak a word.
It was true. Once mounted on his perch, his voice left him and became the property of Delbert. It was Delbert who carried the audience into fits and gales of laughter. It was Delbert who became the ventriloquist and sent his voice through Johnny Orchid's lips.
When the curtain went down, Johnny Orchid was frightened more each time of what he was doing. He had a job to do. He had to find out if his fears had been groundless. He had to go on taking advantage of the enormous sums of money that were coming his way.
PETE REYNOLDS of the Times became a good friend of Johnny Orchid's. After that night of death, when Reynolds had rushed back-stage to scoop every other paper in town, he had taken Johnny and Joan out for dinner. The next week it was a trip to Chinatown, and after that, Reynolds took Joan out alone because Orchid had to work out some new routine stuff for Wallace.
Not that he had any control over what would happen on the stage. Luckily, when gags were used that Johnny Orchid didn't expect, Spencer Wallace gave him credit for working them up privately, and thought more of his ventriloquist act because each new routine brought in bigger box-office receipts.
The night Pete Reynolds took Joan to Coney Island, Johnny Orchid worked late in his dressing room. It was close to midnight when he finished figuring out how much more money he'd need to buy the laboratory outfit he wanted to take back to Haiti, with enough left over for a honeymoon in Bermuda.
He thought he heard a slight sound below on the main floor, but as Philip Newton made the rounds every hour, he credited the sound to him. Then he heard Pete Reynolds shout hoarsely. Reynolds was supposed to have taken Joan straight home. Why had he come back to the theatre?
Orchid was on his feet, going down the iron steps as fast as he could without falling headlong into the darkness. Reynolds hadn't spoken. Instead, his shout was an expression of sudden fear and an urgent plea for help. Orchid could hear the scuffling in the darkness, then Phillip Newton's flashlight came on, swept across the floor of the stage and stopped on the sprawled figure of a man.
Orchid reached Reynolds' side and fell to his knees, finding the man's pulse. He was alive. He shouted to Newton to bring water. Newton came back and Johnny had Reynolds' head on his lap. He reached for the tin cup of water and bathed Reynold's forehead.
"He gonna be all right?" Newton asked in a low voice.
The place was silent and his words carried across the empty stage and died against heavy curtains.
"I think so," Johnny said. He listened to Reynolds' quiet breathing, and saw the man's eyes open slowly.
"Johnny, for God's sake, what was it?"
Orchid shook his head.
"I went through here ten minutes ago," Newton said. "There wasn't anybody."
"Why did you come back here?" Orchid asked. "Is Joan all right?"
Reynolds struggled up on one elbow.
"All right?" He looked puzzled. "Of course! I took her home. I came back here to talk with you, Johnny. Took a chance on catching you before you left."
Phillip Newton was nodding.
"I let him in," he said. "Then I was sitting out there by the door. I heard him shout and I came in. Darned if I could see anyone..."
"There was someone in here all right," Reynolds said. He stood up, rubbing his neck. Purple marks were coming out under his chin and on the back of his neck, "Someone jumped me as I reached the stairs. Strongest hands I ever felt. They were like iron."
"Or wood—" Johnny was thinking.
THEY stood there, the three of them, outlined by a single lamp over the stairs. The floor in front of them was still bright with the spot of Newton's light.
"What happened sort of knocks my speech all to pieces," Reynolds said, staring hard at Johnny Orchid.
"I suppose we ought to call the police," Johnny said, "They'll want to look around."
Newton seemed to jerk himself back to reality.
"There's a plainclothes man who's been standing in front of the theatre every night since the murder," he said. "I'll call him."
He shuffled out, leaving only the single bulb to light their faces. Pete Reynolds looked ill at ease. He still held a hand tenderly on his neck.
"Joan and I went to Coney Island," he said.
"I know. She said she needed something to get her mind off what happened. I'm sorry I couldn't have gone along."
Reynolds shifted his feet noisily on the floor. He stared down at them.
"Maybe it's just as well you didn't," he said.
Johnny Orchid's face looked suddenly bleak.
"I don't get it," he said. He was afraid he did get it, but he didn't want to say anything, yet.
"Well—" Reynolds stammered. "Joan and I have been out a lot lately. I wasn't trying to pull any funny stuff on you, Johnny. Joan has been a pretty good pal."
"Uhhuh," Orchid said in a tight voice. "Go on."
Footsteps sounded inside the stage door and voices drifted closer to them. Newton was talking excitedly to someone.
"Joan and I are going to get married," Reynolds blurted out. "Joan thinks she made a mistake. She wanted me to tell you..."
Whaam!
Johnny Orchid wasn't sure just how it happened. Somehow his fist shot out without his bidding and cracked against bone. He stood there, legs apart, eyes blinded, blinking down at the inert form at his feet. Then someone jerked his arms behind him and was talking tersely in his ear.
"Wise guy, huh? Trying to get him the second time, before we got here to stop you."
HE was fighting then, trying to break away. The flashlight was on his face, blinding him. He cursed and fought like a madman. He wasn't sorry he had hit Reynolds. He hated him. Hated Joan. He felt as though something very valuable and precious had suddenly gone to pieces before his eyes.
Dumbly, he knew that it was the plainclothes man who was holding him. The cop who had stood out front for three weeks, waiting for a murderer to come back. Still, he couldn't control his own voice. Didn't want to control it.
"He stole my girl!" he shouted. "The dirty—"
"Shut up."
His arm was twisted upward violently. "Shut up or I'll break your arm."
The pressure was worse. Then one arm was free for a second and he pivoted trying to land a blow. Something came down on his head with the force of a lightning-bolt. He knew for an instant why the arm had been free. The cop had reached for his sap. Johnny Orchid sank down to the floor feeling sick, feeling all washed up inside and sick of everything and everyone in the world.
"Joan and I are going to be married."
He could hear those words again, seeping in through a world of blackness.
"Joan thinks she made a mistake. She wanted me to tell—"
IT was curtain time. Johnny Orchid came down from his room slowly, hating to face Joan Leland, hating to go on after what had happened. He had been released from police headquarters, but they hadn't fooled Orchid. He was being watched now. Watched every minute, until such time as definite evidence could be found against him. He hadn't seen Reynolds since last night. Some time after Orchid was taken in, Reynolds had called, refused to prefer charges, and the police had let Orchid go home. Now, ready to go on with the act, he felt crushed and lost inside.
Joan Leland was walking toward the bottom of the stairs. Halfway down he paused, watching her head as it bobbed upward toward him. Then, grimly, he went toward her, his hand clutching the rail tightly. They passed and Joan's face was very pale. He thought he could see tears streaked on her cheeks. He didn't look up as he reached the stage. He could feel her staring down at him from above. He didn't trust himself to look up at her.
He strode across the room to Delbert's box. Even before he got there he knew something was wrong. The lock was twisted and broken.
He tried to show no concern, hoping that Joan was no longer on the balcony above. He opened the box slightly, stared inside.
Delbert was gone.
He closed the lid quickly, hooked the lock in place and wandered away. Out of sight among the curtains, he stopped. It was possible that the dummy might have broken out, if it were capable of moving of its own free will. He already believed that Delbert could move by himself. Phillip Newton had proven that by watching the box night and day, only to find Delbert's position changed.
What about the act?
He couldn't go on. He had to locate the dummy.
He went through the door that led into the theatre proper and up the aisle toward Spencer's suite at the front of the building. Spencer looked up and smiled as he came in.
"I understand they've been pretty hard on you at police headquarters, Orchid," he said pleasantly. "Don't let it worry you. This murder business is bad. Everyone has to be willing to do his bit to clear it up." Orchid nodded.
"Look here, Spencer." He tried to sound angry and shocked. "Someone has stolen my dummy. The lock has been broken on the box and the dummy has been removed."
Spencer whistled.
"Good Lord," he said and stood up, dropping his pen on the desk. "It would take three men to lift the thing."
Orchid opened the door.
"Take a look for yourself," he said.
TOGETHER, they reached the box and Spencer examined the broken lock and the interior. He arose, his forehead wrinkled, brushed his trousers and sighed.
"I'll put some men on the trail right away," he said.
"That doesn't solve the problem of getting a dummy for your act."
Orchid wanted to get away. To search for Delbert, before—
"Suppose we cancel that contract," he suggested. "I'm all washed up anyhow. The papers will link me with the murder. You won't make a dime on me from now on. I'm ready to quit."
Ready to quit. He was ready to go as far from New York as he could get. To leave everyone and everything that reminded him of Joan Leland.
"Take it easy." Wallace sat down on the box and lighted a cigarette. "We can get a small dummy for you to use until we locate the other one. The contract stays as is. You're going to do all right."
That's the way it ended. A standard-sized dummy was found and the act was ready.
A half-hour had passed since Wallace had refused to release him. Orchid wanted to leave the theatre to search for Delbert. He made sure the dummy wasn't in any of the dressing rooms. He searched every empty room, and gave up only when the orchestra started to introduce his own act.
He hurried downstairs, carrying the small dummy under his arm. He started toward the stage, then stopped short. Something was moving in the shadows near Delbert's box. He ran toward it and found only the closed box.
Had he really seen something move in the shadows?
He opened the lid hurriedly.
Delbert lay peacefully in the box.
THE spotlight was in his eyes, blinding him. He sat on Delbert's knee and suddenly his voice was gone—transferred to the huge dummy. The act went along evenly. The blood in Johnny Orchid's veins was like ice water. Once more he was listening to his own voice, and knowing that he could not say a word. Once more he let Delbert speak for them both, and wondered what power was in the wooden figure that could snatch his voice away and speak freely without throat, brains, or soul.
This experience had become common to Orchid. He had argued with himself many times, sure that if he continued to go on the stage and allow the dummy to speak as it did, some disaster would occur. It was reasonable to believe that if Delbert could speak, he might mimic humans in other, more dangerous ways.
The dummy was making a big bit tonight. Delbert's wit was sharp and he seemed aware of the terror he had aroused in Johnny Orchid's heart.
"What would you do, Johnny," Delbert asked, "If I were to leave here one of these days and let you make a living without me?"
Chuckles from below.
"I'd have to get along somehow," Orchid's voice came, small, very low.
"Without me to carry the act," Delbert said, "you'd find yourself sitting on the floor without a contract to read on lonely nights."
It went on like that, with Delbert throwing out deliberate, wicked feelers to drive Orchid closer to madness.
"I went out for a walk this evening," Delbert said, and the audience howled at the thought of the huge wooden god strolling along the street. "I had to see a man," Delbert said.
Orchid's mind was working furiously. Was Delbert trying to confuse him or was the dummy trying to give him an inkling of what had happened?
THE show was over and Orchid left Delbert in the care of the stage hands. He went to his room. His door was ajar. He went in to find Joan Leland staring at him, her back to his dressing table, eyes filled with tears.
"Johnny," she said in a small voice. "I'm sorry."
He turned around and started to close the door behind him.
"Please, Johnny. I want to talk to you."
His heart was beating furiously. He felt cold and tired inside.
"I don't see what there is to talk about," he said.
She came toward him hesitantly.
"Just before the show, I was with Mr. Reynolds."
Orchid swore softly.
"It's Mr. Reynolds now, is it?"
She nodded, quite close to him now. Her eyes were red and swollen.
"It always was," she said. "Johnny, I didn't send him here that night. He asked me to marry him. I told him I wasn't sure. He's been a grand person. Somehow he misunderstood me. Tonight when he said he had told you I didn't love you—that I was going to marry him, I was so angry I could have killed him. Don't you see? I wasn't sure of anything, after losing my sister and being mixed up in this terrible mess. I'm sure now, Johnny. I'm sure that I was a fool. That I couldn't love anyone but you."
She was desperately appealing at that moment. Johnny knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to sweep her slim fragrant figure into his arms and cover her lips with kisses.
Still, something made it all sound wrong. He was sick. Sick of himself—everything.
"I'm damned if I know what to say," he said. "I—I'd like to work it out in my own mind. When Reynolds came to me, I saw red. I'm sorry I hit him. Maybe he wasn't to blame after all. I don't know. I've got to think."
He went out, leaving her there alone. He went downstairs slowly. Phillip Newton was coming in from the stage door. He looked haggard.
"Mr. Orchid."
Johnny waited for him to cross the room.
"They just called the theater to contact Mr. Spencer. He has left and I told them so. The police said if you were here to tell you to stay until you hear from them. There's been more trouble, terrible trouble."
Johnny Orchid waited.
"Mr. Reynolds has been murdered," Newton said. "Strangled in his apartment, about two hours ago."
It took a while for the message to sink in. It couldn't make much difference now, Johnny Orchid thought.
"Thanks for telling me."
Head down, he wandered into the darkness of the deserted stage. Something about Delbert's box seemed to draw him. He went toward it slowly, shuddering at the thoughts that filled his mind. Murdered two hours ago. Delbert had been gone at the time
Reynolds was murdered.
He lifted the lid slowly. He heard Newton's soft footsteps behind him. The watchman's flashlight went on, outlining the silent wooden figure in the box.
"Funny about that dummy being gone, wasn't it, Mr. Orchid?"
Newton's voice startled him.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, it was."
The circle of light moved slowly over the dummy and halted on the huge, wooden hands. It didn't move away, and neither of them spoke.
The light made the hands look alive, almost human. On the fingers of the right hand were small dark blotches. Blotches that might be human blood.
INSPECTOR Rand McFall sat easily back in the chair, its front legs tilted, the back against Johnny Orchid's dressing table. The small room was filled with people. Spencer Wallace stood by the window, staring down absently at the crowd gathering for the afternoon matinee. Johnny Orchid, Joan Leland, Joan's brother and two police officers made up the remainder of the group.
Joan's face was made up carefully, no trace remaining of the tears Johnny Orchid had seen last night. Her brother sat close to her, his arm on her shoulder.
Inspector Rand McFall was a large man. Large smile and big paunch. He wasn't a man who pushed people around. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but edged with the bite of hard steel.
"I don't think there is much mystery here," he said finally. "You, Mr. Orchid, and Miss Leland were in love. Miss Leland admits that Reynolds asked her to marry him. I have two witnesses who saw Orchid attack Reynolds. You admitted, Orchid, that you hated him. Last night you caused confusion by a silly story about your dummy being missing. You wanted to get away from here and stay out of sight. Afterward, you conveniently found the dummy and the show went on. I believe that you, and perhaps Miss Leland also, visited Reynolds' apartment and murdered him."
Joan remained silent. Johnny Orchid's face was expressionless. How could he tell them that Delbert was a murderer? They would arrest him at once as a mental case.
"How do you explain the death of Joan's sister?" he asked. "Why would I want her out of the way?"
McFall shrugged.
"We'll work on that angle later," he said. "Maybe she played around with you, and Miss Leland here," he nodded toward Joan, "took care of her and Reynolds both."
The room was filled with sound suddenly. Joan was crying, her face pressed to her brother's chest. Johnny Orchid was calling McFall seven kinds of a damned fool and the police were pushing Johnny around and trying to quiet him. The door opened and Phillip Newton came in. He carried a gun. It was a big revolver with the business end making wavery, frightening motions toward everyone in the room.
THE place was suddenly hushed again. Orchid was too startled to go on resisting the uniformed men. Joan was silent, turned to face Newton, leaning back in her brother's arms. McFall stood up slowly, his eyes gone hard.
"What the hell are you waving that thing for?" he asked.
It didn't seem to frighten Newton.
"I'm the murderer," he said, his voice filled with drama.
Spencer Wallace, still at the window, swore softly.
"You wouldn't kill a fly," he said. "Cut out the theatrical stunt."
McFall didn't seem to be so sure.
"Look here," he said, "put down that gun and say what's on your mind. You can't get away with another killing."
Newton's gun hand was steadier.
"I can if anyone tries to get me," he said. "You're trying to railroad Johnny on two murders he didn't commit. Johnny and Joan are all right. I hated Reynolds and I didn't like Joan's sister. That's all the reason I needed for killing them. You got to accept my written confession for being responsible for the whole business."
McFall laughed suddenly.
"So that's the act, is it? Night watchman confesses all in a moment of weakness."
He walked slowly toward Newton.
"Stay away from me or I'll shoot."
McFall kept on moving, slowly, his eyes on Newton's face.
"No you won't," he said. "Give me that gun before you hurt someone with it."
He reached out and took the weapon from Newton's hands. The old man's head bowed suddenly and he started to sob.
"I thought you'd believe me," he said. "Johnny and Joan ain't to blame. You'd never believe me if I told you who the murderer was. I thought..."
"You thought you could play hero," McFall said evenly. "Well, you can't, and you can't confuse us by naming another murderer. We don't have any faith in you. Now go back downstairs and to work. Next time you feel like playing murderer, go out and do something to get punished for."
He waited until Newton was outside, then closed the door softly. He went back to his chair and sat down. He stared hard at Johnny Orchid, then at Joan Leland. There was a faint, sardonic smile on his lips.
"Good God," he breathed. "Melodramatics seem to be the thing around here. Can't you people come down to earth and act like human—"
A thin, piercing scream echoed and re-echoed through the vast stage below them. McFall was across the room like a cat, with the door thrown wide open. The officers were behind him, staring down the long flight of iron stairs. McFall turned toward the room again, his eyes narrow, lips white.
"Here is one murder you two didn't commit," he said and started down on the double. One of the cops came back into the room. The other followed McFall.
"Hell," the cop said and wiped his forehead. "What goes in this joint?"
JOHNNY ORCHID went for the door. The cop tried to stop him and Orchid slugged him from way down. The cop's chin went back with a snap and he sank to the floor.
Joan was through the door behind Johnny Orchid.
"Johnnie, don't go down."
He didn't even hear her.
Johnny was sure of his murderer now. Phillip Newton had been alone. Delbert was down there. No one else. The stage door was locked when Newton was away from it.
He heard Inspector McFall swear, then two gun shots came in quick succession. He was near the bottom of the stairs now, and could see McFall standing with legs far apart, emptying his gun into the darkness toward Delbert's box. The cop who had followed McFall was lying on the floor, out cold.
Orchid ignored the gun. He went toward the box, running fast. It was dark among the curtains. He heard McFall shout a warning, then a huge, wooden arm swept out and clutched his waist. Johnny Orchid didn't cry out. He was whirled around high in the air, held tightly.
"Hold your fire," he heard McFall shout. "You'll hit Orchid."
Then it was quiet again, save for groans of the cop who was lying on the floor, with a broken arm.
Johnny Orchid's voice was gone.
He knew he was in Delbert's arms. He waited as Delbert sat down slowly on the box and placed Johnny Orchid tenderly on his knee.
Johnny tried not to look up. He didn't want to see the Satanic, ugly face. He had to look.
Delbert was alive all right. His round, red eyes blinked slowly. Hot breath came from the thick wooden lips. His arm around Johnny was tight, yet not too tight.
It was like being on a small stage. A darkened, prison-like stage, with a small audience made up of McFall, Joan and the others. They stood about ten feet away, all showing various stages of horror and surprise.
Johnny Orchid wanted to shout—to warn them away. His lips were silent. He couldn't make a sound.
Then Delbert spoke.
"I'm glad you came down, Johnny," Delbert said. "I'm ready to leave and I was coming up after you."
Johnny Orchid waited, unable to move, unable to speak.
"The old man was a fool, Johnny," Delbert said. "He tried to take credit for what I did. I hate people who steal credit, Johnny. I killed the old man."
Killer. Killer three times. Wooden hands that strangled Joan's sister, strangled Reynolds, crushed the life from poor old Philip Newton.
Then Johnny's voice spoke, but it wasn't Johnny Orchid who said:
"But why, Delbert? Why did you kill?"
Delbert's voice sighed.
"You shouldn't have brought me here, Johnny," it said. "In Haiti I was powerful. Many centuries ago, powerful men of voodoo tried to give me a heart, a soul. Tried to make me live. I was too old then, too dried out and stiff. The heart was there, all contained in herbs and the bodies of animals. It wouldn't work, Johnny, not until you brought me where the air was cool and damp. Until you spoke to me and gave me a voice."
JOHNNY ORCHID knew that Delbert was enjoying himself. Delbert had been trained to be dramatic. Johnny had trained him.
"You threw your voice at me," Delbert said, chuckling a little as though it were a great joke. "And Johnny, it was so funny. I'll never forget the expression on your face when I actually was able to catch your voice and keep it for my own."
Orchid stared out at the small ring of people before him. McFall held his gun limply at his side. Joan wasn't frightened for herself any more. She was frightened for Johnny Orchid. He saw that in her eyes and was glad.
Then his eyes travelled beyond them, to the battered, misshapen form of Phillip Newton.
"You wonder why I killed?" Delbert asked. "Listen to me closely. You planned to return to Haiti. Haiti is my home, Johnny, and I love it very much. If you belonged to me, I could take you back and I could talk for I was alive. Perhaps in Haiti I could not move again if I grew dry and stiff. At least, I could always talk."
The huge hand released Orchid's waist and stroked his shoulder.
"You are mine, Johnny. Do you understand that? You are mine. I tried to kill that girl." The hand pointed to Joan. "I will kill her before we go, Johnny. The first time I killed the wrong one. My eyes were not strong yet, and I could not see well. They look alike.
"You wonder why I killed the one you call Reynolds? He was angry with you and I don't like to have people angry at Johnny. They might hurt him and steal my voice."
Delbert chuckled, and it was like the sound of huge, dry branches rubbing together in the wind.
Inside Johnny Orchid a voice kept saying:
"You've got to destroy him. You've got to destroy him before he murders Joan."
There were matches in his pocket. Perhaps he could find some way to use them, since Delbert was of wood....
"Don't be angry at Delbert, Johnny," the dummy said softly. Its eyes were fixed on Joan. "We will go to Haiti, Johnny. They won't hurt us there."
DELBERT was on his feet suddenly, sending Orchid sprawling on the floor. He started to lumber across the stage toward Joan. Orchid was on his feet behind the dummy. He fumbled for the matches. He kept going, unnoticed by Delbert, a lighted match in his hand.
McFall was watching Orchid.
Delbert's eyes were on Joan now, and he saw no one else. The girl backed away slowly, her hand over her mouth. McFall was waiting, his eyes slitted.
Johnny Orchid knew they would work together. He saw it in McFall's eyes.
"Now," he shouted. "Knock him over!"
McFall must have been a good football player in his day. He made a flying tackle at Delbert's waist and it actually moved the dummy, making him sway for an instant before he caught his balance. At the same time the others closed in, trying to avoid the swinging arms, trying to get a hold on the giant creature.
Delbert roared with rage.
"Stay away! Stay away! I kill only the girl."
He picked them off like insects. McFall spun half a dozen yards across the room and came down on his back. He stood up, shaking his head, and came in again.
Delbert fell heavily, and McFall landed on his chest. Another cop sat on the wooden feet. Johnny Orchid applied the flaming match to the wood. With a scream of pain and hate, Delbert rolled them over and sent the cop against the wall, head first. His great arm swung around and caught Johnny Orchid around the waist. He sent Orchid spinning through the air into the heavy back-drop curtains. Orchid hit hard. The wind went out of him and he lay still, the match still burning, close to the heavy curtains.
Joan screamed a warning to McFall, and the flame caught and roared upward. Even Delbert stood still for a moment, his dull, fascinated eyes on the fire. Then McFall got too close to him, trying to reach Orchid's side. Delbert smacked McFall down to the floor and went after Joan. The girl started across the room, up the stairs toward the dressing-rooms. McFall was on his feet again, groggy.
"Send in an alarm!" he shouted to one of his men. He had his guns out again, firing into Delbert's back. The flame was roaring up now, lighting the dim, high places behind the curtains. Orchid rolled over with his arm over his face. He got to his feet groggily. He saw Joan, high up in the wings, trying to reach her room. McFall was up there too. He had worked himself to a spot on the stairs, a bare ten feet below Delbert, and was pumping lead into the dummy's back. Delbert stood there, staring first at the girl, then down at McFall, wondering which one he should destroy first.
ON the far side of the stage was a duplicate flight of stairs. Orchid staggered toward them, then up, holding the rail with both hands, trying to find a breath of air in the flaming hell.
Over the stage itself, a steel grill-work stretched from side to side. Flames, still a long way below the catwalk, sent up a heat that was unbearable. Orchid grasped a length of rope, dragging it after him as he ran out on the catwalk. Across from where he stood, Delbert was once more lumbering after the girl. She had gained the questionable safety of her room.
Orchid stretched the rope from one side of the cat-walk to the other. It was barely a foot above the steel supports. He ran the remainder of the distance across, facing Delbert on the landing.
The door to Joan's room crashed in. McFall was laying across the steps below, his body bent backward in an arc. Men didn't bend that way, alive.
"Delbert!" Johnny Orchid shouted. "Come on! We've got to get out of here!"
Delbert turned toward him.
"First I kill the girl, Johnny," he said. "Then I come, Johnny."
"I can't wait," Johnny shouted. "The firemen are coming. We've got to get across the stage and out the other way before they come."
Delbert stared down. Men were streaming in through the stage door. Water was already playing on the flaming curtains.
"Come on," Orchid cried. He started to run back across the cat-walk over the stage. He didn't look back. He could hear Delbert lumbering after him. The smoke was thick, almost impossible to face. He took a deep breath and plunged in.
He knew where the rope was tied, and cleared it easily. He heard the cat-walk rumble under Delbert's tread.
"Johnny," Delbert was calling. "We're safe. We'll go—"
THUD!
The voice was cut short as the vast wooden form hit hard, vibrating the cat-walk. Then a fearful howl came from the open space below the cat-walk as something struck, crashing loudly on the stage below.
Orchid stopped running now. The smoke was rolling up around him, but he didn't care. Joan was safe, and this time he was sure he had got his murderer.
Then he saw Joan coming toward him across the cat-walk. The smoke was clearing and men, below, were working with water and their axes. Below him, in the center of the stage, lay a charred, blackened log. It was split down the center and burned black from end to end.
Delbert....
Johnny Orchid saw the look in Joan's eyes as she reached him. He didn't need his voice now. He didn't have to say a word. It was all written there on Joan's face.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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