The Refuge by Kenneth Mackenzie Page B

atmosphere for the last time, while she lay cold and lifeless in an airtight refrigeration chamber, a body among other unwanted bodies each in its narrow deathly little cell, I decided that Alec should arrange with the owners, if possible, to purchase the entire furnishings of the flat for what they cared to pay, so that like certain others in the building it could be rented furnished. I would probably never enter or see into it again, and I was not inclined to have anything more to do with what had belonged to her, even though many of the material things I myself had given her cried out softly to be remembered and taken away. Miss Werther could look after it—that would be better still, better than Alec. For the rest, all was ended tonight, all, and there must be no loose threads. On this I was absolutely determined, just as I was determined that Alan too should never come in here again. There must be no loose threads for him either, for youth can become entangled in such things more easily even than maturity, to its own confusion.
    I became aware that Hubble had returned to the room behind me and was waiting, so I switched off the bedside lamp at the door switch and closed the door. As I turned to him I saw again that look of simple compassion in his blue friendly eyes.
    ‘Shall we go?’ he said. ‘There’s nothing more, I think.’
    The place suddenly felt dead and empty, as though no one had ever lived there. I looked at none of it as we let ourselves out; I would have welcomed the suggestion of a haunting ghost, but there was no ghost, nothing but a still emptiness containing nothing, expecting no one.
    There was still much to be done, and I clung to that thought. When Hubble was settled in my flat, I went down and called Alec from the first landing, apologizing for having kept him out of bed for so long. He followed me up in silence. No doubt the thought of meeting a policeman professionally in some way outraged his law-abiding soul. But Hubble was all kindliness and brevity now, when he questioned him.
    ‘I heard
her
wireless,’ Alec said in a more confident tone. ‘That would
be
at seven p.m., sir, because I had just gone
up
to
look
at one of the off
-peak
hot-water
tanks
, and it was coming
down
I heard
it
, quite a while after Mr. Fitz, I should say Mr.
Fitzherbert
, had gone off to the office, which is why I remember, for as you know Mr. Fitz and Alan was very friendly with Miss Martin, poor thing, and they was always in and out of one another’s flats when at home. Oh—I hope I do not divulge unwanted information, Mr. Fitz?’
    ‘Go ahead, Alec,’ I said. ‘Did you hear the wireless stop?’
    ‘No, sir, but one of her
friends
came, and when he
knocked
he could not
get
an answer, so
he
came downstairs to
me
and says was Miss Martin
out
? and I says not that I am aware of, because mostly I hear the tenants
come
and
go
, and he says “
Well
,” he says, “she does not
answer
her door so I presume,” he says, “she has gone
out,
though
she
was
expecting
me.” So I said to him, “
Well
.
.
.”’
    ‘What time was this?’ Hubble asked gently. Alec, interrupted, looked confused for a moment; his fixed stare over Hubble’s head wavered and came back to the present.
    ‘About eight o’clock I think it was,’ he said.
    ‘And what was the visitor like?’ Hubble asked.
    ‘Like, sir?
He
was one of these
foreigners
, very foreign in his way of
speaking
, with a big dark mo and glasses.’
    ‘Kalmikoff,’ I said. ‘He’s a musician, an irritating fellow she seemed to have known for years. One of those fugitives from Communist Russia who become rabidly communist the moment they reach a country of refuge. Like most of them, he is quite futile and harmless—irritating to talk with, but an excellent musician. You may have heard of him, even if you have not heard him play. He is a violinist.’
    ‘I may have heard of him,’ Hubble said. ‘As for music, I know nothing about it. Did he stay or