'I see,' said Crammond softly. 'Do you regard yourself as a public-spirited citizen?' 'As much as anybody.' 'But you object to coming to the police station.' 'I've had a hard day,' said Mayberry.
'I'm not feeling well. I was about to go to bed when you came in.'
'Oh,' said Crammond, as though illuminated with insight. 'Well, if that's your only objection I have a fingerprint kit in the car. We can settle the matter here and now.' 'You're not taking my fingerprints. I don't have to give them to you. And now I want you to leave.' 'Ah, so that's your true objection.' 'I want you to leave or I'll-' Mayberry stopped short. 'Send for the police?' said Crammond ironically. 'When did you first meet Miss Ashton?' 'I've never met her,' said Mayberry quickly. Too quickly. 'But you know of her.' Mayberry took a step backwards and banged into the table. The book fell to the floor. 'I know nobody of that name.' 'Not personally, perhaps-but you do know of her?' I stopped to pick up the book. A thin pamphlet had fallen from the pages and I glanced at it before putting the book on the table.
Mayberry repeated, 'I know nobody of that name.' The pamphlet was a Parliamentary Report issued by the Stationery Office. Beneath the Royal coat-of-arms was the title: Report of the Working Party on the Experimental Manipulation of the Genetic Composition of Micro-organisms. A whole lot of apparently unrelated facts suddenly slotted into place: Mayberry's fundamentalist religion, his environmental interests, and the work Penny Ashton was doing. I said, 'Mr. Mayberry, what do you think of the state of modern biological science?' Crammond, his mouth opened to ask another question, gaped at me in astonishment. Mayberry jerked his head around to look at me.
'Bad,' he said. 'Very bad.' 'In what way?' 'The biologists are breaking the laws of God,' he said. 'Defiling life itself.' 'In what way?' 'By mixing like with unlike-by creating monsters.' Mayberry's voice rose. '"And God said, 'Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind.'" That's what He said-after his kind.
"Cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind."
After his kind! That is on the very first page of the Holy Bible.'
Crammond glanced at me with a mystified expression, and then looked again at Mayberry. 'I'm not sure I know what you mean, sir.' Mayberry was exalted. 'And God said unto Noah, "Of fowls after their kind"-after their kind-"and of cattle after their kind"-after their kind-"of every creeping thing of the earth after his kind"-after his kind-"two of every sort shall come unto thee, to keep them alive."
She's godless; she would destroy God's own work as is set down in the Book.' I doubted if Crammond knew what Mayberry was saying, but I did.
I said, 'How?' 'She would break down the seed which God has made, and mingle one kind with another kind, and so create monsters-chimaeras and abominations.' I had difficulty in keeping my voice even. 'I take it by "she" you mean Dr. Penelope Ashton?' Crammond's head jerked.
Mayberry, still caught up in religious fervour, said thoughtlessly, 'Among others.' 'Such as Professor Lumsden,' I suggested. 'Her master in devilry.' 'If you thought she was doing wrong why didn't you talk to her about it? Perhaps you could have led her to see her error.' 'I wouldn't foul my ears with her voice,' he said contemptuously. I said, 'Doesn't it say in the Bible that God gave Adam dominion over the fish of the sea, the fowls of the air, and every beast or thing that creeps on the earth? Perhaps she's in the right.' 'The Devil can quote scripture,' said Mayberry, and turned away from me. I felt sick.
Crammond woke up to what was happening. 'Mr. Mayberry, are you admitting to having thrown acid into the face of a woman called Ashton?' Mayberry had a hunted look, conscious of having said too much. 'I haven't said that.' 'You've said enough.' Crammond turned to me. 'I think we have enough to take him.' I nodded, then said to Mayberry, 'You're a religious man. You go to church every Sunday-twice, so I'm told. Do you think it was a Christian act to throw battery acid into the face of a young woman?' 'I am not responsible to you for my actions,' said Mayberry. 'I am responsible to God.' Crammond nodded gravely. 'Nevertheless, I believe someone said, "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's." I think you'll have to come along with us, Mr. Mayberry-' 'And may God help you,' I said. 'Because you got the wrong girl. You threw the acid in the face of Dr. Ashton's sister who was coming back from church.'
Mayberry stared at me. As he had spoken of being responsible to God he had worn a lofty expression but now his face crumpled and horror crept into his eyes. He whispered, 'The wrong… wrong…' Suddenly he jerked convulsively and screamed at the top of his voice. 'Oh, Christ!' said Crammond as Shaw burst into the room. Mayberry collapsed to the floor, babbling a string of obscenities in a low and monotonous voice. When Crammond turned to speak to me he was sweating. 'This one's not for the slammer. He'll go to Broadmoor for sure. Do you want any more out of him?' 'Not a thing,' I said. 'Not now.' Crammond turned to Shaw. 'Phone for an ambulance. Tell them it's religious mania and they might need a restraining jacket.'
CHAPTER SIXTEEN By the time we'd got Mayberry into an ambulance Ogilvie had left the office and gone home. I didn't bother ringing his home, but I did ring Penny because I thought she ought to know about Mayberry. Mary Cope answered again and said that Penny wasn't in, but this time I pushed it harder. She said Penny had gone to Oxford to attend a lecture and wouldn't be back until late. I rang off, satisfied I wasn't being given another brush-off. Before seeing Ogilvie next morning I rang Crammond. 'What's new on Mayberry?' 'He's at King's College Hospital-under guard in a private ward.' 'Did he recover?' 'Not so you'd notice. It seems like a complete breakdown to me, but I'm no specialist.' 'A pity. I'll have to talk to him again, you know.' 'You'll have to get through a platoon of assorted doctors first,' warned Crammond. 'It seems he's suffering from everything from in-growing toenails to psychoceramica.' 'What the hell's that?' 'It means he's a crackpot,' said Crammond sourly. 'The head-shrinkers are keeping him isolated.' I thanked him for his help and went to see Ogilvie. I told him about Mayberry and his face was a study in perplexity. 'Are you sure Mayberry isn't pulling a fast one?' I shook my head. 'He's a nutter. But we've got him, and a psychiatrist will sort him out for us.' 'I'll buy that-for the moment.' Ogilvie shook his head. 'But I wouldn't call psychiatry an exact science. Have you noticed in court cases that for every psychiatrist called for the defence there's another called for the prosecution who'll give an opposing opinion? Still, supposing Mayberry is established as a religious maniac without doubt, there are a few questions which need asking.' 'I know. Why did he pick on Penny-or the girl he thought was Penny? Did he act of his own volition or was he pointed in the right direction and pushed? I'll see he gets filleted as soon as he can be talked to. But you're avoiding the big problem.' Ogilvie grunted, and ticked points off on his fingers. 'Supposing Mayberry is crazy; and supposing he wasn't pushed-that he did it off his own bat, and that Penelope Ashton was a more or less random choice among the geneticists. That leaves us up a gum tree, doesn't it?' 'Yes.' I put the big question into words. 'In that case why did Ashton do a bunk?'
I was beginning to develop another headache. I'd had second thoughts about ringing Penny; it wasn't the sort of t hing to tell her on the telephone. But before going to University College I rang Honnister and told him the score. He took it rather badly. His voice rose. 'The wrong girl! The inefficient, crazy bastard picked the wrong girl!' He broke into a stream of profanity. 'I thought you ought to know. I'll keep you informed on future developments.' I went to University College and was about to enquire at the reception desk when I saw Jack Brent standing at the end of a corridor. I went up to him. 'Any problems?' 'Nary a one.' 'Where's Penny Ashton?' He jerked his thumb at a door. 'With her boss. That's Lumsden's office.' I nodded and went in. Penny and Professor Lumsden looked very professional in white laboratory coats, like the chaps who sell toothpaste in TV ads. They were sitting at a desk, drinking coffee and examining papers which looked like computer printouts. Lumsden was much younger than I expected, not as old as I was; pioneering on the frontiers of science is a young man's game. Penny looked up. A look of astonishment chased across her face and then she became expressionless, but I noted the tightening of muscles at the angle of her jaw and the firmly compressed lips. I said, 'Good morning, Dr. Ashton-Professor Lumsden.