Following Sarah’s instructions, he found the street without difficulty. People were standing about on the pavement in uneasy little groups, obviously curious about what was going on. A pest-control van was parked in front of number 20, which was one of the terrace of small Victorian villas. Nearby were two police cars.
The house door was open, but when Guy tried to go in, he was stopped by a uniformed policewoman.
‘D’you live in this house? she questioned him.
‘My name is Guy Archer,’ he told her. As he spoke he realised he’d slipped into his old authoritative military manner again, a habit he’d been struggling to lose. Softening his tone, he continued: ‘Miss Armstrong of the Public Health Department asked me to be here.’
‘Wait outside, I’ll check.’ Unsmiling, she disappeared briefly into the house, returning almost right away. ‘Miss Armstrong will come out.’
She looked very young and attractive in her uniform. He was tempted to ask her about the two casualties, if only to get her talking, but one glance at her set face was sufficient to inhibit him.
Mary did not keep him waiting. ‘Oh, Guy, am I glad you’re here!’ she exclaimed as she came out of the house. The WPG stood to one side to let her pass. ‘This is an awful mess, much worse than we feared. The whole ground floor is badly infested with beetles. We must have killed hundreds already. The men are still spraying.’ ‘What did you mean on the phone by “two more”?’ ‘That was your secretary, was it, who took the message? I didn’t want to upset her. Mary frowned, clearly worried. ‘It was a Mr and Mrs Roberts. Apparently Mr Roberts’ sister had a key and let herself in when they didn’t answer the bell. She found them in the kitchen. Dead, of course. Beetles crawling all over them.’
‘And worms?’ he demanded.
His mouth tasted stale as he suddenly visualised him self back in that old school with the beetles exploring his face and penetrating under his clothes; and then he saw the dead tramp again with those giant creatures feeding on him obscenely..
‘No,’ she answered very definitely. ‘No maggots, no worms, whatever you care to call them. Unless they’re buried in the woodwork somewhere. Beetles are bad enough by themselves. Guy, you should have seen those poor people. The sight would scare anybody. I wanted to run out of the house screaming; but of course I couldn’t, could I?’
She was confessing to him, he realised. Her hand was on his arm and she was standing very close to him, as though afraid of being overheard.
‘1 can tell you, because you’ve experienced it as well, that same fear,’ she went on. ‘Evan doesn’t understand, though he tries. He thinks being bitten by insects is merely unpleasant and nothing else, but when you know you can’t escape from them, there are so many, and they’re overwhelming you, and there’s nothing you can do to.. ’
'Mary, get a grip on yourself,’ he said quietly. ‘Calm down now.’
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t let the side down.’ Her voice had hardened. ‘Not this time. But seeing those people dead in there brought it all back. I’m not normally like this.’
‘Tell me, was there any smell from the beetles this time? he asked. ‘That poison gas they seem to use?’
‘Oh yes, that too. Which didn’t help.’
‘I still wonder if that doesn’t have an effect on the nerves,’ he suggested. ‘We talked about this before.’
She shook her head. ‘Guy, I’m rather ashamed of being a coward. It’s something I never knew about myself before and it’s not easy to live with.’
He made another attempt to reassure her, but she refused to listen to any excuses. Instead, she changed the subject and began to explain how she had sent the two beetles in the jar to an entomologist friend at Oxford; he already had three or four antlered specimens, she said, and if there was anything in Guy’s theory about the defensive gas, he was the man to find out. While she talked, Guy stared at the house where the Robertses had died, irritated that there seemed to be nothing he could do. He interrupted her at one point to ask if he might take a look inside, but she told him he’d only be in the men’s way, which was probably true.
‘By the way. I’ve some news for you, Guy,’ she added. ‘Tony is going to be all right, though they’re keeping him in hospital overnight, apparently. And Evan — Detective-Sergeant Evans — has been talking to the pathologist doing the post-mortem on that security guard who died at the workshop. They say he bled to death. ‘I saw no blood on the ground.’
‘Nor did the constable who found him. As though something had sucked him dry — those are the words he used. It ties up with the tramp and the dog.’
From the house came the voices of the pest-control men, and a second later ‘two of them appeared at the front door carrying some of their equipment. One was a lanky, youngish man in stained white overalls and he seemed to be in charge. He came over to tell Mary that they had done all they could for the time being, but they would be back in a day or so to see how effective the treatment had been.
‘Nasty little brutes, aren’t they?’ he commented cheerfully, removing the face-mask which had been hanging loosely around his neck. ‘Nearly took a bit out o’ my finger, one o’ them, only I had my gloves on. But he’ll not try that again. I broke him in half.’
‘Downstairs, were they?’ Guy enquired curiously.
‘Odd that,’ the young man agreed. ‘Usually wood-borers get established in the loft. In the rafters. The grubs can live there in the timber for years before you know you’ve got ’em. Not these buggers, though. Couldn’t find any trace of anything under the roof. Come from beneath the floorboards, these have, an’ behind the skirting. Still, you live an’ learn!’
Two more men came out of the house and began loading the gear into the van.
‘Hey! One of the neighbours detached himself from the group a few yards up the street and came striding towards them. ‘Hey, you’re not packing it in, are you? What about the other houses?
Guy had noticed him before. He'd driven up in a sleek BMW, which glinted ostentatiously in the pale sunshine, like something out of a commercial. He was a tough-looking character in jeans and a brown leather jacket; probably he’d been in more than a few brawls too, judging from his face and hefty fists.
‘Know nothing about any other houses,’ the young pest-control man said. ‘We was told only this address.’ ‘Look, mate. I don’t care what they told you. I want my house checked same as this one.’ He blocked the pavement in front of the van, refusing to let the men pass. ‘At least have a dekko, for Chrissake! I’ve got my kids living there. How would you feel?’
‘Yeah, he’s right!’ The other neighbours had joined him and were crowding around. ‘You can’t jus’ quit like that, not without doin’ somethin’.’
‘I do what the office tells me.’ The young man was defending himself. ‘You book with them if you want your houses done,'
‘You’re not Moody leaving here till you do have a look,’ the brown-jacketed tough threatened.
The young man turned to Mary in despair, it’s more than my job’s worth,’
‘To spare five minutes?’ The policewoman came across to find out what was going on, and he turned to her, ‘Look, miss. We know what you’ve been up to in that house, an’ we want our places given the once-over while these blokes are here.’It’s not too much to ask, is it?’ Mary cut in before the policewoman had a chance to reply. ‘Where d’you live?’ she demanded.