the hell’s going on?” Trench sound aggressive.
I went over to Judie and made her sit down. She seemed almost fixed to the wall against which she had been standing, as if trying to push her way through it backwards. When I got her to move, her limbs moved jerkily like those of a puppet, and she was still silently screaming, I could tell.
Poole made gurgling sounds and kept pointing jerkily with his finger. Finally he managed to put words together, unevenly but slowly making sense.
“His arm—his bloody arm—dear God!”
I looked but I could make no sense of the words. Granted, Hammond might be unconscious but he looked normal enough to me. “What are you talking about, Poole?”
He did not answer directly, it was quite clear he had lost us. “I kept my head at first, I rang for an ambulance. Granted I went to pieces after, but I rang for an ambulance.”
Trench shouted. “Blast the bloody ambulance. What’s this about his arm?”
“Look for yourself!” Poole shouted back. “Feel Hammond’s left sleeve, there’s nothing in it.”
I went forward and felt for myself. Hammond was wearing a light summer jacket, but the sleeve was absolutely empty. I felt up to the shoulder but there was nothing there whatever and I knew, with a cold feeling inside me, that there was no rational explanation.
There was no blood; if a man has an arm torn off at the shoulder, he bleeds. The thought stopped me investigating further. Suppose some accident of nature had halted the gush of blood, perhaps arteries and veins had somehow temporarily sealed themselves. I could start a fatal hemorrhage by just poking around. I decided to wait for the ambulance; perhaps Poole had done the sensible thing.
I don’t drink much, but I always carry a small flask in case of emergencies. I gave some to Judie first; she was still taut and almost colorless.
“What is it, please? I don’t usually drink.”
“Perhaps not, but you need it now, just a sip or two, it’s brandy.”
I gave Poole extra, he could barely bring the flask to his lips. I was worried about Hammond; his breathing seemed regular enough but very shallow. As I say, I was afraid to do too much in case I made things worse.
“Now tell us what bloody happened.” Trench had been waiting for some color to return to Poole’s cheeks.
“I don’t know a lot.” Poole seemed to have got a grip on himself at last. “I was standing over there, facing the sofa, and going through some of my notes when suddenly there was this awful smell. I looked up and, as I did so, the entire room was suddenly filled with a thick gray mist, really thick. I couldn’t see my own hands or the outline of the window: it was near enough darkness to be absolute. I sensed movement like someone moving around. Then there was this funny sound that upset me more than anything, it was sort of half a sob and half a scream. I’m certain it was Hammond but, of course, I can’t prove it, I don’t know.”
Trench had turned an odd color himself and took a quick gulp from my flask. “Go on, go on, what then?”
“There’s not much more to tell, the mist just vanished as if it had never been, and everything was the same except for Hammond. His eyes were closed, his face was twitching, and he seemed to be having some sort of minor fit. I went forward to help him but before I could touch him he went limp. I tried to get hold of him but it was then I found the empty sleeve and, it was then, I admit, I went to pieces.”
Before anyone could comment, the bell rang and there was a heavy knock at the door.
“Ambulance here! Open the door please.”
Two paramedics came in with a folding stretcher and the taller of the two made a quick check. “Not too good, what’s the main problem?”
“He—he’s lost an arm,” said Trench
“Good God!’” They made a swift examination then the taller one looked up. “What is this—some sort of sick joke?”
“We don’t understand.”
“Then I’ll bloody spell it out for you. It is true that this man has lost an arm but not today, not last year, but I’d say from around birth. This man looks to me like a very bad case of Thalidomide brought about by his mother taking the drug when she was pregnant. There is no sign of wounds or surgery here—look for yourself.”
“But he had an arm when we came,” said Poole in a thin high voice. “It’s true, I swear it.”
“There’s his wrist watch there within a few centimetres of your hand.”
“That’s his car in the drive,” said Poole, “he drove us here. Check it out, look at his driving license.”
Neither of the paramedics would actually look at us, but the smaller one said: “That’s as maybe, not our problem. The local authorities, the police and so on, can sort that out later. In the meantime it’s lucky you sent for us, he’s in a bad way, vital signs are deteriorating fast.”
“You mean he’s dying?” Trench’s face seemed to twitch.
“I cannot pass an opinion on that, sir, but he’s none too good. We’ll have to get him onto intensive care fast.”
We watched them carry him, numbly. All of us found it hard to take in.
“There will be an inquiry,’ said Trench. “No doubt about that.”
“With all due respect,” said Poole, “if he dies, there’ll be an inquest. Dear God, what will we say, what answers can we ever give? If we say he lost an arm, they’ll not only ask where it is but who or what took it.”
“We’d better sit down and work it out,” said Trench, “agree on one story and stick to it.”
“Agreed, but not here, for God’s sake,” said Poole. “In a nice normal hotel where I’d feel safe. Incidentally, I’m finished with this lark for good; you won’t find me investigating anything out of the normal, ever.”
“You’d better ring for a taxi,” I said. “Hammond had his car keys in his pocket.”
I went over to Judie. “I don’t think a small cramped flat is your scene at the moment, girl. I’ll book a single room for you at the hotel; you’ll feel safer there and you’ll have company.”
We decided to stay a week, then go to our homes, but we broke up before that. The police arrived to inform us that Hammond had only survived for eighteen hours; actual cause of death had yet to be determined.
They asked questions but, in complete honesty, we had little to tell them. Trench and I had been upstairs and Judie had been in the kitchen washing cups. Only Poole had been in a position to see anything, and he had enough sense to play it down. “I was looking out of the window and I heard this noise behind me—”
“This talk about the arm, sir?”
“We were all very upset at the time.”
“Yet according to paramedic
