That Hideous Strength

I

UP till now, whatever his days had been like, Mark had usually slept well: this night, sleep failed him. He had not written to Jane; he had spent the day keeping out of sight and doing nothing in particular. The wakeful night moved all his fears on to a new level. He was, of course, a materialist in theory: and, also in theory, he was past the age at which one can have night fears. But now, as the wind rattled his window hour after hour, he felt the nursery terrors again: the old exquisite thrill, as of cold fingers delicately travelling down his back. Materialism is in fact no protection. Those who seek it in that hope (they are not a negligible class) will be disappointed. The thing you fear is impossible. Well and good. Can you therefore cease to fear it? Not here and now. And what then? If you must see ghosts it is better not to disbelieve in them.

He was called earlier than usual, and with his tea came a note. The Deputy Director sent his compliments and must ask Mr. Studdock to call on him instantly about a most urgent and distressing matter. Mark dressed and obeyed.

In Wither’s room he found Wither and Miss Hardcastle. To Mark’s surprise and, momentarily, to his relief Wither showed no recollection of their last meeting. Indeed, his manner was genial, even deferential, though extremely grave.

“Good morning, good morning, Mr. Studdock,” he said. “It is with the greatest regret that I-er-in short, I would not have kept you from your breakfast unless I had felt that in your own interests you should be placed in full possession o? the facts at the earliest possible moment. You will of course regard all that I am about to say as strictly confidential. The matter is a distressing or at least an embarrassing one. I feel sure that as the conversation proceeds (pray be seated, Mr. Studdock) you will realise in your present situation how very wise we have been in securing from the outset a police force-to give it that rather unfortunate name-of our own.”

Mark licked his lips and sat down.

“My reluctance to raise the question,” continued Wither, “would, however, be very much more serious if I did not feel able to assure you-in advance you understand-of the complete confidence which we all feel in you and which I very much hoped” (here for the first time he looked Mark in the eyes)” you were beginning to reciprocate. We regard ourselves here as being so many brothers and-er-sisters: so that whatever passes between us in this room can be regarded as confidential in the fullest possible sense of the word, and I take it we shall all feel entitled to discuss the subject I am about to mention in the most human and informal manner possible.”

Miss Hardcastle’s voice, suddenly breaking in, had an effect not wholly unlike that of a Pistol shot.

“You have lost your wallet, Studdock,” she said.

“My-my wallet?” said Mark.

“Yes. Wallet. Pocket-book. Thing you keep notes and letters in.”

“Yes. I have. Have you found it?”

“Does it contain three pounds ten, counterfoil of postal order for five shillings, letters from a woman signing herself Myrtle, from the Bursar of Bracton, from G. Hernshaw, F. A. Browne, M. Belcher, and a bill for a dress-suit from Simonds and Son, 32A Market Street, Edgestow?”

“Well, more or less so.”

“There it is,” said Miss Hardcastle pointing to the table. “No you don’t!” she added as Mark made a step towards it.

“What on earth is all this about?” said Mark. His tone was that which I think almost any man would have used in the circumstances but which policemen are apt to describe as “blustering.”

“None of that,” said Miss Hardcastle. “This wallet was found in the grass beside the road about five yards away from Hingest’s body.”

“My God!” said Studdock. “You don’t mean . . . the thing’s absurd.”

“There’s no use appealing to me,” said Miss Hardcastle. “I’m not a solicitor, nor a jury, nor a judge. I’m only a policewoman. I’m telling you the facts.”

“Do I understand that I’m suspected of murdering Hingest?”

“I don’t really think,” said the Deputy Director, “that you need have the slightest apprehension that there is, at this stage, any radical difference between your colleagues and yourself as to the light in which this very painful matter should be regarded. The question is really a constitutional one “

“Constitutional?” said Mark angrily. “If I understand her, Miss Hardcastle is accusing me of murder.”

Wither’s eyes looked at him as if from an infinite distance.

“Oh,” said he, “I don’t really think that does justice to Miss Hardcastle’s position. That element in the Institute which she represents would be strictly ultra vires in doing anything of the kind within the N.I.C.E.-supposing, but purely of course for purposes or argument, that they wished, or should wish at a later stage, to do so-while in relation to the outside authorities their function, however we define it, would be quite inconsistent with any action of the sort; at least in the sense in which I understand you to be using the words.”

“But it’s the outside authorities with whom I’m concerned, I suppose,” said Mark. His mouth had become dry and he had difficulty in making himself audible. “As far as I can understand, Miss Hardcastle means I’m going to be arrested.”

“On the contrary,” said Wither. “This is precisely one of those cases in which you see the enormous value of possessing our own executive. Here is a matter which might, I fear, cause you very considerable inconvenience if the ordinary police had discovered the wallet or if we were in the position of an ordinary citizen who felt it his duty-as we should ourselves feel it our duty if we ever came to be in that very different situation-to hand over the wallet to them. I do not know if Miss Hardcastle has made it perfectly clear to you that it was her officers, and they only, who have made this-er-embarrassing discovery.”

“What on earth do you mean?” said Mark. “If Miss Hardcastle does not think there’s a prima facie case against me, why am I being arraigned in this way at all? And if she does, how can she avoid informing the authorities?”

“My dear friend,” said Wither in an antediluvian tone “there is not the slightest desire on the part of the Committee to insist on defining, in cases of this sort, the powers of action of our own police, much less, what is here in question, their powers of inaction. I do not think any one had suggested that Miss Hardcastle should be obliged in any sense that limited her own initiative-to communicate to outside authorities, who by their very organisation must be supposed to be less adapted for dealing with such imponderable and quasi-technical inquiries as will often arise, any facts acquired by her and her staff in the coudre of their internal functioning within the N.I.C.E.”

“Do I understand,” said Mark, “that Miss Hardcastle thinks she has facts justifying my arrest for the murder of Mr. Hingest, but is kindly offering to suppress them?”

“You got it now, Studdock,” said the Fairy. A moment later, for the first time in Mark’s experience, she actually lit her cheroot, blew a cloud of smoke, and smiled, or at least drew back her lips so that the teeth became visible.

“But that’s not what I want,” said Mark. This was not quite true. The idea of having the thing hushed up in any way and on almost any terms when it first presented itself a few seconds ago had come like air to one suffocating. But something like citizenship was still alive in him and he proceeded, almost without noticing this emotion, to follow a different line. “I don’t want that,” he said, speaking rather too loud, “I’m an innocent man. I think I’d better go to the police-the real police, I mean-at once.”

“If you want to be tried for your life,” said the Fairy, “that’s another matter.”

“I want to be vindicated,” said Mark. “The charge would fall to pieces at once. There was no conceivable motive. And I have an alibi. Everyone knows I slept here that night.”

“Really?” said the Fairy.

“What do you mean?” said Mark.

“There’s always a motive, you know,” said she, “for anyone murdering anyone. The police are only human. When the machinery’s started they naturally want a conviction.”

Mark assured himself he was not frightened. If only Wither didn’t keep all his windows shut and then have a roaring fire!

“There’s a letter you wrote,” said the Fairy.

“What letter?”

“A letter to a Mr. Pelham, of your own College, dated six weeks ago, in which you say, ‘ I wish Bill the Blizzard could be moved to a better world.’”

Like a sharp physical pain the memory of that scribbled note came back to Mark. It was the sort of silly jocularity one used in the Progressive Element-the kind of thing that might be said a dozen times a day in Bracton about an opponent or even about a bore.

“How does that letter come to be in your hands?” said Mark.

“I think, Mr. Studdock,” said the Deputy Director, “it would be very improper to suggest that Miss Hardcastle should give any kind of exposition-in detail, I mean-of the actual working of the Institutional Police. In saying this I do not mean for one moment to deny that the fullest possible confidence between all the members of the N.I.C.E. is one of the most valuable characteristics it can have, and, indeed, a sine qua non of that really concrete and organic life which we expect it to develop. But there are necessarily certain spheres-not sharply defined, of course, but inevitably revealing themselves in response to the environment and obedience to the indwelling ethos or dialectic of the whole-in which a confidence that involved the verbal interchange of facts would-er-would defeat its own end.”

“You don’t suppose,” said Mark, “that anyone could take that letter to be meant seriously?”

“Ever tried to make a policeman understand anything?” said the Fairy. “I mean what you call a real policeman.”

Mark said nothing.

“And I don’t think the alibi is specially good,” said the Fairy. “You were seen talking to Bill at dinner. You were seen going out of the front door with him when he left. You were not seen coming back. Nothing is known of your movements till breakfast-time next morning. If you had gone with him by car to the scene of the murder you would have had ample time to walk back and go to bed by about 2.15. Frosty night, you know. No reason why your shoes should have been specially muddy or anything of that sort.”

“If I might pick up a point made by Miss Hardcastle “, said Wither, “this is a very good illustration of the immense importance of the Institutional Police. There are so many fine shades involved which it would be unreasonable to expect the ordinary authorities to understand but which, so long as they remain, so to speak, in our own family circle (I look upon the N.I.C.E . . . Mr. Studdock, as one great family) need develop no tendency to lead to any miscarriage of justice.”

Owing to some mental confusion which had before now assailed him in dentists’ operating-rooms and in the studies of headmasters, Mark began almost to identify the situation which seemed to be imprisoning him with his literal imprisonment by the four walls of that hot room. If only he could once get out of it, on any terms, out into the free air and sunlight, away over the countryside, away from the recurrent creak of the Deputy Director’s collar and the red stains on the end of Miss Hardcastle’s cheroot and the picture of the King which hung above the fireplace!

“You really advise me, sir,” he said, “not to go to the police?”

“To the police?” said Wither as if this idea were completely new. “I don’t think, Mr. Studdock, that anyone had quite contemplated your taking any irrevocable action of that sort. It might even be argued that by such an action you would be guilty-unintentionally guilty, I hasten to add-of some degree of disloyalty to your colleagues and specially to Miss Hardcastle. You would, of course, be placing yourself outside our protection . . .”

“That’s the point, Studdock,” said the Fairy. “Once you are in the hands of the police you are in the hands of the police.”

The moment of Mark’s decision had passed by him without his noticing it.

“Well,” he said. “what do you propose to do?”

“Me?” said the Fairy. “Sit tight. It’s lucky for you that it was we and not some outsider who found the wallet.”

“Not only fortunate for-er-Mr. Studdock,” added Wither gently, “but for the whole N.I.C.E. We could not have been indifferent . . .”

“There’s only one snag,” said the Fairy, “and that is that we haven’t got your letter to Pelham. Only a copy. But with any luck, nothing will come of that.”

“Then there’s nothing to be done at present?” said Mark.

“No,” said Wither. “No. No immediate action of any official character. It is, of course, very advisable that you should act, as I am sure you will, with the greatest prudence and-er-er-caution for the next few months. As long as you are with us, Scotland Yard would, I feel, see the inconvenience of trying to act unless they had a very clear case indeed. It is no doubt probable that some-er-some trial of strength between the ordinary executive and our own organisation will take place within the next six months: but I think it very unlikely they would choose to make this a test ease.”

“But do you mean they suspect me already?” said Mark.

“We’ll hope not,” said the Fairy. “Of course they want a prisoner-that’s only natural. But they’d a damn sight rather have one who doesn’t involve them in searching the premises of the N.I.C.E.”

“But, look here, damn it!” said Mark. “Aren’t you hoping to catch the thief in a day or two? Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“The thief?” said Wither. “There has been no suggestion so far that the body was rifled.”

“I mean the thief who stole my wallet.”

“Oh-ah-your wallet,” said the other, very gently stroking his refined, handsome face. “I see. I understand, do I, that you are advancing a charge of theft against some person or persons unknown”

“But, good God!” shouted Mark, “were you not assuming that someone stole it? Do you think I was there myself? Do you both think I am a murderer?”

“Please!” said the Deputy Director, “please, Mr. Studdock, you really must not shout. Quite apart from the indiscretion of it, I must remind you that you are in the presence of a lady. As far as I can remember, nothing has been said on our side about murder, and no charge of any sort had been made. My only anxiety is to make perfectly clear what we are all doing. There are, of course, certain lines of conduct and a certain mode of procedure which it would be theoretically possible for you to adopt and which would make it very difficult for us to continue the discussion. I am sure Miss Hardcastle agrees with me.”

“It’s all one to me,” said the Fairy. “Why Studdock should start bellowing at us because we are trying to keep him out of the dock, I don’t know. But that’s for him to decide. I’ve got a busy day and don’t want to hang about here all morning.”

“Really,” said Mark, “I should have thought it was excusable to”

“Pray compose yourself, Mr. Studdock,” said Wither.

“As I said before, we look upon ourselves as one family and nothing like a formal apology is required. We all understand one another and all dislike-er-scenes. I might perhaps be allowed to mention, in the friendliest possible manner, that any instability of temperament would be viewed by the Committee as-well, as not very favourable to the confirmation of your appointment. We are all speaking; of course, in the strictest confidence.”

Mark was far past bothering about the job for its own sake: but he realised that the threat of dismissal was now a threat of hanging.

“I’m sorry if I was rude,” he said at last. “What do you advise me to do?”

“Don’t put your nose outside Belbury, Studdock,” said the Fairy.

“I do not think Miss Hardcastle could have given you better advice,” said Wither. “And now that Mrs. Studdock is going to join you here this temporary captivity-I am using that word, you will understand, in a metaphorical sense-will not be a serious hardship. You must look upon this as your home, Mr. Studdock.”

“Oh . . . that reminds me, sir,” said Mark. “I’m not really quite sure about having my wife here. As a matter of fact she’s not in very good health “

“But surely, in that case, you must be all the more anxious to have her here?”

“I don’t believe it would suit her, sir.”

The D.D.’s eyes wandered and his voice became lower.

“I had almost forgotten, Mr. Studdock,” he said, “to congratulate you on your introduction to our Head. It marks an important transition in your career. We all now feel that you are really one of us in a deeper sense. I am sure nothing is further from your intention than to repel the friendly-the almost fatherly-concern he feels about you. He is very anxious to welcome Mrs. Studdock among us at the earliest opportunity.”

“Why?” said Mark suddenly.

Wither looked at Mark with an indescribable smile.

“My dear boy,” he said. “Unity, you know. The family circle. She’d-she’d be company for Miss Hardcastle!” Before Mark had recovered from this staggeringly new conception, Wither rose and shuffled towards the door. He paused with one hand on the handle and laid the other on Mark’s shoulder.

“You must be hungry for your breakfast,” he said.

“Don’t let me delay you. Behave with the greatest caution. And-and-” here his face suddenly changed. The widely opened mouth looked all at once like the mouth of some enraged animal: what had been the senile vagueness of the eyes became an absence of all specifically human expression. “And bring the girl. Do you understand? Get your wife,” he added. “The Head . . . he’s not patient.”