War in Heaven (Chap. 14: The Bible of Mrs. Hippy)

As the inspector was carried back to London in the first available
train, he found himself slipping from side to side on the smooth ice of
his uncertain mind. Impartially he considered that this sudden return
was likely to be as futile as any other attempt he had made at solving
the problem of the murder. But, on the other hand, there could not be
many rather undersized men in the neighbourhood of London who within the
last two months had been intimately connected with Wesleyan Methodism
and with death. When Mr. Batesby had spoken that morning it had seemed
as if two streams of things--actual events and his own meditations--
had flowed gently together; as if not he, but Life were solving the
problem in the natural process of the world. He reminded himself now
that such a simplicity was unlikely; explanations did not lucidly arise
from mere accidents and present themselves as all but an ordered whole.
He dimly remembered Mrs. Hippy, the occupant of the house next but two
to his own; he remembered that she was an acquaintance of his wife, who
had gone with her to certain bazaars, sales of work, and even church
services. If she had had a lodger who had disappeared, why hadn't his
wife mentioned it before? It was such a failure on the part of his
intimates that the inspector always expected, he told himself, and
always found.

His wife was staying with her mother, so the inspector lunched near
King's Cross, and then went on to 227 Thobblehurst Road. Mrs. Hippy came
to the door, and appeared delighted to see him. "Why, come in,
inspector," she said. "I thought Mrs. Colquhoun said you were going
away."

"So I did," the inspector said, following her to the drawing-room, as it
was solemnly called, which looked on to the street. "But I had some
inquiries to make which brought me back."

"Really?" Mrs. Hippy said, rather absently. "Inspector, can you think of
a fish in two syllables?"

"A fish?" the inspector said vaguely. "Walrus? salmon? mackerel? No,
that's three."

"It might _count_ as two perhaps," Mrs. Hippy answered. "Why did the
porpoise? Because it saw the mack-reel."

"Eh?" the inspector said. "What's the idea exactly?"

Mrs. Hippy, plunging at a number of papers on the chesterfield, produced
an effort in bright green and gold, entitled in red _Puzzles and Riddles:
a Magazine for All_. "They're offering a prize," she said, "for the best
ten questions and answers of that sort. They say it's one of the best
ways, but rather out of date. But I think they're splendid. Look, I've
done four. Why does the shoe-lace?"

She paused, got no answer, and said delightedly, "Because the button-holes.
The next--"

"Good! Splendid!" the inspector cried. "Splendid, Mrs. Hippy. I suppose
they'll print them all if you win. And you're sure to. You'd be good at
cross-word puzzles. But I won't disturb you long. I only came to ask if
you could tell me anything about a fellow named Pattison you had
stopping here,"

"Mr. Pattison?" Mrs. Hippy said, opening her eyes. "Why, do you want to
arrest him? I don't know where he is; he left me a month ago."

"Where did he go to? Can you tell me that?" Colquhoun asked.

"Canada," Mrs. Hippy answered. "At least, he said he was going to. But
he was a funny creature altogether. Not sociable, if you understand.
Dull, heavy, so to speak. I lent him all the old numbers of this"--she
waved _Puzzles and Riddles_, "but he didn't work out a single one, though
I told him the easiest. And he spoilt my Bible, scribbling all over it.
My mother's Bible too--not the one I take to church. But there, it
always seems to be like that when you try and help. People don't deserve
it, and that's a fact."

"Perhaps you won't mind helping me, all the same," the inspector said.
"Could I see the Bible? And did you know that he was going to Canada?"

"Not to say _know_," Mrs. Hippy said, looking longingly at the
competition. "He _said_ he was going; and one morning he wished me
good-bye and said he'd send me a postcard. But he never has done."

Further interrogation made it clear that her knowledge was of the
slightest. She sometimes let two rooms, furnished, to a single
gentleman, and the late Mr. Pattison, arriving at Victoria one day and
seeing the card in her window, had taken them, with solemn assurances of
respectability and a month's rent in advance. He had seemed to be rather
worried, though what about Mrs. Hippy had never understood. He had come
to the Wesleyan Church she herself attended several times, but it had
not seemed to calm his distress. He had borrowed a Bible from her, and
had scribbled everywhere in it. Finally he had told her that he would be
leaving for Canada shortly, and had departed one morning, carrying a
suitcase and bidding her a final farewell.

As the rooms had been thoroughly "done out" and were now empty, awaiting
the arrival of Mrs. Hippy's married sister, the inspector went through
them with care and without success. He then withdrew with the Bible to
his own deserted house and gave himself up to its study.

The scribbling seemed entirely haphazard. It was everywhere--on the
fly-leaves, in the margins, and here and there right across the pages
themselves. It consisted largely of fragmentary prayers, ejaculations,
and even texts. A phrase which occurred on the printed page would be
rewritten and underscored in the margin; and this seemed to have been
done especially with such phrases as record or assert the Mercy and
Compassion of God. Sometimes this repetition would be varied by a wild
"I believe, I believe" scrawled against averse, by an "He saves," or a
"God is love." On the other hand, certain verses were marked by a line
and a question mark. "Depart from me, ye cursed," was heavily lined; so
was "he that is filthy, let him be filthy still"; so was "I have
delivered him over to Satan." The sayings about the unpardonable sin
were scratched heavily out; so was "He will have mercy on whom He will
have mercy." In the midst of these fantastic scrawls there appeared here
and there a carefully written comment. Against "God shall be all in all"
was written in a small, sedate hand: "Lies," and against "reconciling
the world to Himself" appeared, similarly, "Not true."

The fly-leaves, the back of the New Testament half-title, and the spaces
between the various books were occupied with longer jottings. The first
of these seemed to be a kind of discussion. It was not easy to decipher,
but it appeared to be a summing up of the promises of salvation and an
_argumentum ad hominem_ at the end. But the very end was the words,
heavily printed: "I am damned."

This sort of thing, whatever religious mania it suggested, was not of
much use to the inspector. It brought him no nearer to discovery why the
murdered man, if Mr. Pattison were he, had got himself murdered. Farther
on, however, he found himself, at the end of Deuteronomy, confronted
with the single word: "Gregory." Nothing followed, but it raised his
hopes wonderfully. Still, it was one thing to read "Gregory" and another
to prove that Gregory had slain the writer. He went on turning the
pages.

At the end of job there was a whole sentence. "He won't let me go and
Jesus won't get me away." This might be Gregory or it might, as the
inspector suspected, be meant for the devil. Well, if Mr. Pattison and
the devil were on those terms, all wasn't lost yet.

Between two of the minor prophets was scrawled: "I saw her to-day; so
she is out"; after which there was a blank, till, on the back, of the
half-title of the "New Testament of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ,"
there came this longer note:

"I will put it all down. I am James Montgomery Pattison. I am forty-six
years old, and I know that the devil will kill me soon. I have done his
will against my wishes too long and I cannot get away from him now. When
I heard Mr. Macdermott preach I thought my heart was opened and the Lord
had come to me and saved me, and I testified to my master, who was a
worse sinner than I. But he has me too fast and I cannot escape. I have
served him and the devil together for twenty-four years, since he caught
me robbing him. I have done forgery and worse. I have stood by and seen
him swear the woman I seduced into prison for soliciting him; and now I
cannot get free. He is going to kill me; it is in his eyes and face."
There came an outburst of appeals to God and to Christ, and the record
resumed. "He had Louise put into prison to torture me. It was him all
through." There was a blank space, and then, written in the steady,
sedate hand, "I have gone back to him altogether, and he will kill me.
This is what comes of God."

On the very last page of the book, enclosed in a correct panel, with
decorative curves flowing round it, was printed in clearly and
precisely: "Mr. Gregory Persimmons, Cully, Mr. Fardles, Hertfordshire."

The inspector shut the book and went into the kitchen to make himself
tea.