Dr. Phibes by William Goldstein

Author:William Goldstein [Goldstein, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Film
Publisher: Premier Digital Publising
Published: 2011-11-17T08:00:00+00:00

The road had been reasonably clear with the high overcast yielding to good visibility as they traveled through the North London areas of Lewisham and Bromley. But as their car left Orpington and started through the open fields and wooded hillsides of the greenbelt further north, a low ground fog developed which forced them to slow down to less than twenty miles per hour in some spots.

Trout was anxious to reach the murder site, and kept wiping the windshield with his handkerchief to better see the road ahead. Schenley kept the windshield wipers going against the fog droplets, their “squish-squash” adding to the motor’s drone. They edged through the hamlet of Dunton Green, scarcely detecting it because of the fog, and began navigating the road to the south. This was a particularly desolate section surrounded by well-grazed fields out of which rose an occasional tree, its damp black branches and trunk ghostly in the fog.

“Up ahead, Tom, they’re over to the side of the road.” It was the first Trout had spoken the entire trip.

Schenley pulled their limousine directly behind the local police cars that were parked along the dirt shoulder of the road. A local sergeant waved to them as they got out. “Over here, Inspector. They found him sitting off to the side of the road.”

The sergeant joined Trout as he crossed to the stopped police car. “I’m afraid he’s quite out of it,” the man continued in a low voice.

It was Benson, Hedgepeth’s chauffeur. The locals had found him lying by the roadside. He was in such a bad way that they’d wrapped him in a blanket and propped him up in the back of one car until help could come. When Trout looked inside the car, the man was still sitting there like a mute vegetable, his eyes and mouth wide-open in a frozen expressionless gaze. Occasionally he would whine the low, hurt moan of an animal badly handled.

“What happened to him?” Trout queried the sergeant.

“We don’t know. He’s in a dangerous state of shock that had him damn near fibrillating. Whatever he’s been through or seen has about frightened him to death,” the sergeant replied sadly.

Trout shook his head, controlling his anger. “Where’s Hedgepeth?”

The sergeant nodded to the Bentley which was somewhat apart from the other cars. Its low shape was partly obscured by the fog, out of which it rose like some black memorial. The car’s cowl had been raised and its windows and doors, which were all closed tight, were frosted over.

“He’s in the back.” The sergeant pointed to the rear door as he and Trout walked along the dirt toward the car. Trout stepped directly to it, grabbed the door handle and pulled his hand away instantly. “Wow, that’s cold!”

He put on his gloves and tried again, this time yanking the door open to emit a dense vaporous billow from inside the car. When it cleared he bent low and peered inside. There, seated like a king in mufti, was Arthur Hedgepeth,

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