He Got What She Wanted .sx by NIGEL MORLAND .sx He was haunted by an Income-Tax man- and She by Desire .sx THE years have passed at times like beads told by ancient fumbling fingers ; in other moods I have seen those years race , tearing out of my uncertain grasp , leaving me with a sense of time laughing at me .sx But Time in its flight has no pity , nor have the skies mercy .sx I have tried to flee my twin devils only to see them running at my side , pacing me with nonchalant disinterest , neither mocking nor savage , just there .sx They stay , impalpable , inflexible , constant , yet beyond reach as a man's shadow .sx And when did it actually start ?sx The first frail tendons of misery wrapped round me unseen tentacles as tenuous as the first shoots of a malignant tumour which remains unknown .sx . and triumphant on the day the surgeon's knife finds it and is defeated by it .sx It grew round me like that , sheltering in my sense of shame , overwhelming me until I could do nothing , bringing with it a resurgent second devil , one I thought I had lost .sx A monstrous towering pair , the hunger and the thirst , the unfilled , the unslaked .sx . But autobiography is apt to run amok with a writer's sense of drama , for I am , indeed , a writer by trade :sx were I on my death-bed , as well I might be , my pen would record the moments as the self-experimental researcher notes his symptoms .sx Writing is surely nothing but the tape recorder of its creator .sx He might hide , with thin furtiveness , behind the hedge of fiction , yet , nevertheless , all writing is merely the writer playing to the audience of himself , abject before the rowdy despot of the subconscious mind .sx I write because I must , write as Dr. Jekyll might have written when Mr. Hyde was absent .sx But I have no doubts of my closeness to my Mr. Hyde .sx I am both a human being and the devil's cherished , indissolvably one in an unending oneness .sx When I look round and see my friends , such as they are , and when I think on [SIC] them I am lost in a sense of wonder .sx They see me as I see myself now in the mirror on the far side of this table at which I am writing .sx Ordinary ?sx Indeed so .sx A slightly built man of medium height ; slim , rather feminine hands , small feet and good bones .sx My face is simply that , the epitome of John Doe :sx quiet blue eyes , dark hair and what the nice-minded call pleasing features .sx A man , a passable , civilised , modest man of perhaps forty .sx Obviously cleanly ; obviously of good parentage and of good education .sx Those who attend to my wants call me 'sir' and I treat them fairly ; head waiters are polite to me .sx My friends see all that in me , too .sx " Frank Damon ?sx " so they would answer an enquiry , " old Frank ?sx Lord , yes , a nice chap. Quiet , you know .sx Good company over a drink and a useful man at bridge and tennis .sx Writes , you " - here that inevitable apologetic English chuckle- " and good at political stuff .sx Thrillers as well .sx " Here the amused smiles .sx " Never read the things myself , of course !sx But they must be good .sx He makes money .sx " Old Frank , and I look in the mirror at old Frank , one invisible devil on each shoulder .sx I always did like political science , but thrillers pay , not that I really need it .sx I use a pseudonym , John Laker Considine ( carefully chosen , that- Carr , Chandler , Charteris , Cheyney , Christie ; and Considine fits neatly in the middle on the shelves , picking up some reflected glory) .sx You know my characters ?sx Dr. Malobo ?sx The Red Aces of Justice ?sx Rafferty of Scotland Yard ?sx Colourful stuff , wild , and perhaps melodramatic , but impervious to my devils .sx John Laker Considine and his bright jackets .sx Poor old shadow !sx Piling up wilderness of escapism for those who would flee themselves .sx And behind this veritable escapist stands his 6alter ego , the substantial presence of Frank Damon , old Frank , the nice chap who would give everything in his world , unto the clothes he wears , to become John Laker Considine who dwells in his one-dimensioned pseudonymous world .sx Out of the windows of my gracious study I can look across my small garden , backing on this house my family left me , and becoming Hyde Park .sx On the other side , the front of the house , is the rear of Knightsbridge .sx A noble and valuable house , big for a solitary man , and one that I love .sx However , I digress .sx With my ballpoint in my hand and my thoughts arrayed , my greater morbidities shrink back though they do not leave me entirely , even with the spring brightness of Hyde Park to delight my eyes .sx Brightness in Nature in no way detracts from my devils .sx The one , the older one , I endured and continue to endure though its continuation shocked me ; the second devil came on me a year after Dunkirk , over a decade ago ; it was the more awful of the pair .sx Fortunately it was in London in the chaos of war with bombs turning civic life to ruin .sx I was able to disappear , for money I had and I was able to buy oblivion and secrecy .sx That second devil came on me so stealthily that I did not believe it at first ; then I shrank back affrighted , crushed , nauseated .sx I had to bear it alone- and it is only now , thinking on it all , that I understand how the leper must feel .sx My mother and father died before the Second World War broke out ; they left me this house in which I have returned to live again , and they left me money .sx Writing I took up as a release from myself , and as a means to power without visibility- a purely morbid passion !sx Yet I always require anonymity .sx That is easily found in London .sx The world and the people I knew before Dunkirk went with those same tides of war which washed smooth the sands of my acquaintance , enabling me to start again .sx So , too , went Mary Damon .sx The world had no need to recall her at all , for those same tides had washed her away as well .sx But this little man must come enquiring .sx A troublesome little man , seemingly as harmless as a fly on the wall :sx brownish- hair , skin , eyes- and slight .sx Not young , and sadly dressed , with fraying cuff edges and a dusty old hat , a man you could see with a cake and a glass of milk in a cheap restaurant , a man no one would ever notice , wholly a human zero except , perhaps , in his name- Arthur George Zink .sx He was here last week , enquiring so mildly , blinking at me from behind his thick spectacles , affable , self-effacing , desiring not to trouble me , enquiring for Mary Damon , apologising for bothering me , gentle , kindly Arthur George Zink- as weakly persistent as a dripping tap , so damnably , politely , endlessly persistent !sx I see the tremendous juggernauts of bureaucracy hauled by regiments of Arthur George Zinks , little men and even little women at their eternal writing , making their entries , adding their sums , putting one and one together , until a total must emerge .sx And asking questions , unavoidable questions , persistently , persistently .sx . The inspector's glare was ferocious .sx " You think that , sir ?sx " He put both hands on the desk , leaning forward to tower over the plump amiability of Superintendent Leeds .sx " It's the fifth one- don't forget it .sx " Leeds beamed at Detective-Inspector Chater .sx Because they had become friends when they met as uniformed probationers on their two basic years , they usually forgot rank when alone .sx " You're letting the thing infuriate you , Tom- " Chater threw up his arms and sat down , placated by the use of his Christian name .sx " Naturally I'm a trifle distrait .sx " He glared .sx " Five kidnappings and five kids returned without a hair of their dear little heads being harmed , without a single mother screaming blue murder after the first knowledge of the thing- " Chater jerked a thumb to indicate all New Scotland Yard .sx " The pundits must be delighted .sx " " They are indeed .sx " Leeds flapped his hands at the lean black Highland fury of his friend .sx " But I'm your super , old boy .sx Won't the mothers say a thing ?sx You can tell me .sx " " Tush !sx Compounding , dammit !sx And do they care ?sx " Chater sniffed .sx " Ach !sx And how can I move ?sx I can't even prove they've paid or how much or where .sx Women !sx " " Kids all right , I s'pose ?sx " " I've got my methods in finding out .sx Aye , they're bonny .sx Clean , well-fed , cared for , happy as Larry .sx I've known a few kidnappings but none like this .sx " " And why won't the mothers talk ?sx What's behind it ?sx Can't you get one of the Yanks to come across and help us ?sx They're used to the snatch racket .sx " Leeds grimaced .sx " Now , Tom .sx We're in a cleft stick , you know it .sx Nobody's complained , at least the complaints've been withdrawn as soon as made .sx We can't prove anything , or even how the money passed- " " There's such a thing as compounding- " " Be quiet , Tom .sx It'd be a hellish charge to get across in court .sx Can you see the Attorney-General's face if he was asked to support a charge against a mother for compounding when her child has been kidnapped and she wanted it back ?sx " Leeds leaned forward .sx " Tom , get the bastard , will you ?sx Apart from everything else , it's a dirty business .sx " Chater snorted irately .sx But this is not work .sx I have the newest adventure of Dr. Malobar to finish , a matter of ten thousand words , yet I find essays at autobiography so fascinating , the ancient principle of confession being good for the soul !sx It may be .sx It is also a minor antidote to devils .sx I am feeling clearer in mind , more comfortable .sx There is the Malobar manuscript to fetch .sx I am old-fashioned in that I write in longhand , for my mind constructs and perfects the next sentence while I am still writing .sx The folder of manuscript lives in the built-in cupboard in the bedroom , for no sensible reason .sx When I opened the door and bent to pick up the folder , a wave of nostalgia swept over me .sx Not for months had it happened .sx Perhaps the spring air intensified the deep scent of gardenia , that well-remembered scent .sx All carefully preserved , hanging there , the outer world of Mary Damon .sx . there was the coral taffeta with the full skirt , the brown check suit- a costly article- bought in Bond Street , and the ivory satin cloak that had gone to all the best theatres in London .sx There was the fur coat- Persian lamb , a most expensive thing , costly , too , but I saw it as hateful , for only the other day I read of what happens to those small lambs .sx . I touched garment after garment , each fashioned article had a memory a decade old , a story , an appeal , and each reached out to me , disturbing me , hurting- me , a man , a writer of bloodthirsty tales , John Laker Considine , no less !sx But the requested Danegeld was paid in the coinage of uneasy recollection which memory demanded .sx I was a fool , a thrice damned fool to keep these things here , a stupid danger in their way , yet I could do nothing , could not get rid of them any more than could a mother throw away the relics of a dead child .sx Five children kidnapped- and no clue to the guilty .sx Then it began worrying me again , that probing little man , that subtle and insinuating Zink .sx A wholly absurd name which comes dangerously close to Mary .sx . God forbid that he can disinter her , yet in a most shocking sense he can do that if he comes too close , and then ?sx These morbid thoughts did not help me .sx I thrust the pen at the paper , back again at my table , and thought of Dr. Malobar , 'The tall man with the dramatic green eyes seemed to tower over the whole room , a growing domination of terror .sx ' There it stopped , a hiatus which remained .sx It was no use trying ; I could not write .sx That brownish little man of the frayed cuffs and the dusty hat would not leave my mind .sx