The Fly PDF

The sound of a telephone ringing has always made me uneasy. I have liked telephones, and here in France we now have so many of them that you are never safe from interruption. The worst thing is when the telephone rings in the dead of night. If anyone could see me turn on the light to answer it, I s...

The sound of a telephone ringing has always made me uneasy. I have liked telephones, and here in France we now have so many of them that you are never safe from interruption. The worst thing is when the telephone rings in the dead of night. If anyone could see me turn on the light to answer it, I suppose I would look like any other sleepy man annoyed at being disturbed. But the truth is that I am fighting down the feeling that a stranger has broken into the house and is in my bedroom. I only get back to a more normal state when I recognize the voice at the other end and when I know what is wanted of me. However, I had become expert at overcoming this fear and had trained myself to speak calmly, no matter what said to me. So when my sister-in-law phoned at two in the morning, asking me to come over, but first to warn the police that she had just killed my brother, I spoke in my usual calm manner. 'How have you killed Andre? Why?' 'But Francois...! I can't explain all that over the telephone. Please call the police and come quickly.' 'Maybe 1 had better see you first, Helene?' I said. 'No, call the police first, or they'll ask you awkward questions. They'll have enough trouble believing that I did it alone... And I suppose you ought to tell them that Andre... Andre's body, is down at the factory... under the steam hammer.' 'He's where?' 'Under the steam hammer! Please come quickly, Francois! I can't bear it much longer!' Have you ever tried to explain to a sleepy police officer that your sister-in-law has just phoned to say she has killed your brother with a steam hammer? 'Yes, Monsieur, I hear you... but who are you? What is your name? Where do you live? I said, where do you live!' It was then that Commissaire Charas took the phone. He at least seemed to understand what I said, and told me he would pick me up and take me to my brother's house. I had just managed to pull on trousers and a shirt and grab a hat and coat, when a black Citroen stopped outside the door. 'I assume you have a night watchman at your factory, Monsieur Delambre. Has he called you?' asked Commissaire Charas, as I got into the car. 'No, he hasn't,' I said. 'Though of course my brother could have entered the factory through the laboratory. He often works there late at night... all night, sometimes.' 'Your brother is a professor, yes? Is his work connected with your business?' 'No, my brother is, or was, doing research work for the Air Ministry. He wanted to be away from Paris but near skilled workmen who could build things for his experimental so I offered him one of the old workshops of the factory. He lives in our grandfather's old house on the hill behind the factory.' 'What sort of research work?' 'He rarely talked about it. I suppose the Air Ministry could tell you. I only know that he was about to start experiments he had been preparing for some months. Something to do with the disintegration of solid objects, he told me.' The commissaire drove through the open factory gate, stopped by the main entrance, and we got out of the car. A policeman stepped out of the doorway and led us to one of the workshops where all the lights were on. More policemen were standing by the steam hammer, watching two men with a camera. The camera was pointing downwards, and I made an effort to look. My brother lay flat on his stomach across the conveyor line which carried the white-hot pieces of metal up to the hammer. The hammer was in its fully lowered position, and I saw that Andre's head and arm could only be a flattened mess. The commissaire turned to me. 'How can we raise the hammer, Monsieur Delambre?' 'I'll raise it for you.' 'Would you like us to get one of your men to do it?' 'No, I'll be all right. The controls are just here. It was originally a steam hammer, but everything is worked electrically now. Look, the hammer is set at 50 tons, and the drop at zero. One thing I am sure of: my brother's wife certainly did not know how to set and operate this hammer.' 'Perhaps it was set that way last night when work stopped.' No,' I said. 'The drop is never set at zero.' 'I see. May I do it? It won't be very nice to watch, you know.' 'No, I'll be all right.' Watching my brother's back, I pushed the switch and the steel hammer shook slightly, then rose quickly. As Andre's body was released, the trapped blood poured all over the horrible mess revealed under the hammer. I turned and was violently sick in front of a young policeman, whose face was as green as mine must have been. *** For weeks afterwards, Commissaire Charas investigated my brother's death. Later, we became quite friendly and he admitted that, for a long time, he had suspected me of killing Andre. But he could find no evidence and no motive. Helene was so calm during the investigation that the doctors finally decided she was mad (something I had for a long time thought the only possible solution), so there was no trial. She never tried to defend herself and even got quite annoyed when she realized people thought she was mad. This of course was considered proof that she was mad. She confessed to the murder of her husband and proved easily that she knew how to work the steam hammer. But she would never say why or under what circumstances she had killed Andre. The great mystery was why my brother had so helpfully put his head under the hammer - the only possible explanation for his part in that night's events. The night watchman had heard the hammer twice. This was very strange because Helene insisted that she had only used it once. But this seemed to be just another proof of her madness. Commissaire Charas at first wondered if the victim really was my brother. But there was no possible doubt because the fingerprints of his left hand were the same as those found all over his laboratory and up at the house. Six people from the Air Ministry came to the laboratory and went through all his papers. They took away some of his instruments, but told the commissaire that the most interesting documents and instruments had been destroyed. The police laboratory at Lyons reported that Andre's head had been wrapped in a piece of velvet when it was smashed by the hammer. It was the brown velvet cloth I had seen on a table in my brother's laboratory. After a few days in prison, Helene had been moved to a nearby asylum for the criminally insane. Henri, Helene and Andre's son, came to live with me. He was six years old. Helene was allowed visitors at the asylum, and I went to see her on Sundays. Once or twice the commissaire accompanied me and later I learned that he had also visited Helene alone. But we were never able to obtain any information from my sister-in-law. She rarely answered questions and spent a lot of her time sewing, hut her favourite activity seemed to be catching flies, which she always released unharmed after examining them carefully. Only once was Helene's behaviour so wild and uncontrollable that the doctor had to give her a powerful drug to calm her down. It was the day she saw a nurse killing flies. The day after this, Commissaire Charas came to see me. 'I have a strange feeling that this business with the flies holds the answer to the whole mystery, Monsieur Delambre,' he said. 'But why?' I said. 'Isn't my poor sister-in-law's extreme interest in flies just one sign of her madness?' 'Do you believe she is really mad?' 'My dear Commissaire, how can there be any doubt?' 'I believe Madame Delambre has a very clear brain... even when catching flies.' 'But how do you explain her attitude towards her little boy?' I asked. 'She never seems to consider him as her own child.' 'I have thought about that, Monsieur Delambre. She may be trying to protect him. Perhaps she fears the boy, or even hates him. We don't know.' 'I'm afraid I don't understand, Commissaire.' 'Have you noticed that she never catches flies when the boy is there?' he said. "No. But now I think about it, you're quite right. Yes, that is strange... But I still don't understand.' 'Nor do I, Monsieur Delambre. And I'm very much afraid we shall never understand, unless perhaps your sisterin-law should... get better.' 'The doctors seem to think there is no hope of that,' I said. Do you know if your brother ever did any experiments with flies?' 'I really don't know, but 1 shouldn't think so. Have you asked the Air Ministry people? They knew all about the work.' 'Yes, and they laughed at me.' 'I can understand that,' I said. 'You are very fortunate to understand anything, Monsieur Delambre,' he said. 'I do not... but I hope to some day.' *** 'Tell me, Uncle, do flies live a long time?' We were just finishing our lunch and I was pouring some wine into Henri's glass for him to dip a biscuit in. It was lucky that he was staring at the wine glass and not at me, or something in my expression might have frightened him. This was the first time he had ever mentioned flies, and I was relieved that Commissaire Charas was not present. I could imagine how eagerly he would question the boy. 'I don't know, Henri. Why do you ask?' I said cautiously. 'Because I have again seen the fly that Mama was looking for.' 'I didn't know your mother was looking for a fly,' I said. 'Yes, she was. It has grown quite a lot, but I recognized it all right.' 'Where did you see this fly, Henri, and... how did you recognize it?' 'This morning, on your desk, Uncle Francois. Its head is white instead of black, and it has a strange sort of leg.' Feeling more and more like Commissaire Charas, but trying to look unconcerned, I went on: 'And when did you see this fly for the first time?' 'The day that Papa went away. I had caught it, but Mama made me let it go. Afterwards, she changed her mind and wanted me to find it again.' 'I think that fly must have died long ago, Henri,' I said, getting up and walking to the door. But as soon as I was out of the room, I ran up the stairs to my study. There was no fly to be seen anywhere. I was worried. Henri had just proved that Charas seemed to be getting close to some kind of clue in this business with the flies. Did Charas know more than he was saying? I wondered. And for the first time, I also wondered about Helene. Was she really insane? I had a strange, horrible feeling that somehow Charas was right - Helene was getting away with it! What could be the reason for such a terrible crime? What had led up to it? Just exactly what had happened? I thought of all the hundreds of questions that Charas had asked Helene. She had answered very few, always in a calm quiet voice. She had seemed perfectly sane then. Charas was more than just an intelligent and educated police officer. He had an amazing ability to detect a lie even before it was spoken. I knew that he had believed the answers Helene had given him. But then there were all the questions she had never answered: the most important ones. She had been very willing to speak about her life with my brother - which seemed a happy and ordinary one up to the time he died. About his death, however, she would say nothing more than that she had killed him with the steam hammer. She refused to say why, or how she had got my brother to put his head under it. 'I cannot answer that question,' was all she would reply. Helene, as I have said, had shown the commissaire that she knew how to operate the steam hammer. But she would not explain why it had been used twice. Finally, she had admitted: 'All right, I lied to you. I did use the hammer twice. But don't ask me why, because I cannot tell you.' And is that your only lie, Madame Delambre?' asked the commissaire. 'It is... and you know it,' was her reply. I had thought about going to see the commissaire, but knowing that he would then start questioning Henri made me hesitate. I was also afraid that he would look for and find the fly Henri had talked of. And that annoyed me, because I could find no satisfactory explanation for that particular fear. Andre had not been the absent-minded sort of professor. He enjoyed life, had a good sense of humour, loved children and animals, and could not bear to see anyone suffer. What, then, could have made him put his head under that hammer? There were only two possible explanations. Either he had gone mad, or else he had a reason for letting his wife kill him in such a strange and terrible way. I decided I would try to question Helene myself. When I arrived at the asylum that afternoon, Helene took me outside. 'Let me show you my garden,' she said. She was allowed to go into the garden during certain hours of the day, and had been given a little square where she could grow flowers. I had sent her seeds and some rose bushes out of my garden. She took me to a seat near her little square of ground. 'Francois, I want to ask you something,' she said. 'Do flies live a long time?' Staring at her, I was about to say that her boy had asked the very same question a few hours earlier. Instead, I decided to try a sudden attack. 'I don't really know, Helene; but the fly you were looking for was in my study this morning.' She turned her head round with such force that I heard the bones crack in her neck. She opened her mouth, but said nothing; only her eyes seemed to be screaming with fear. I had broken through her defences... but to what? The commissaire would have known what to do with such an advantage; I did not. All I could do was hope that those defences would continue to break down. She put both her hands over her open mouth. 'Francois... did you kill it?' she whispered, her eyes searching my face. 'No.' 'You have it then... you have it with you! Give it to me!' she almost shouted, seizing my arm with both her hands. 'No, Helene, I haven't got it.' 'But you know now... you've guessed, haven't you?' 'No, Helene. I only know one thing, and that is that you are not insane. But I intend to know everything, Helene, and either you tell me and I'll see what is to be done, or...' 'Or what? Say it!' 'Or your friend the commissaire will have that fly first thing tomorrow morning.' She remained quite still, looking down at her hands. 'If I tell you... will you promise to destroy that fly before doing anything else?' No, Helene. I can make no promises until I know everything.' 'But Francois, you must understand. I promised Andre that fly would be destroyed, and I can say nothing until it is.' 'Helene, as soon as the police examine that fly they will know that you are not insane, and then...' 'Francois, no! For Henri's sake! Don't you see? I was expecting that fly. I was hoping it would find me, but it couldn't know that I was here. What else could it do but go to others it loves, to Henri, to you - you who might know and understand what needed to be done!' Was she really mad, or was she pretending again? 'Tell me everything, Helene,' I said. 'Then I can protect your boy.' 'Protect my boy from what? Don't you understand? I'm here so that Henri won't be the son of a woman who went to the guillotine for having murdered his father! Don't you understand that I would much prefer the guillotine to the living death of this asylum?' 'I understand, Helene, and I'll do my best for Henri whether you tell me or not. But if you don't, there'll be nothing more I can do, because Commissaire Charas will have the fly.' 'But why must you know?' she asked, almost angrily. 'Because I must and will know how and why my brother died,' I said. 'All right, take me back to the house,' she said. 'I'll give you what your commissaire would call my "confession".' I took her back and waited while she went up to her room. She came back some minutes later with a large brown envelope. 'All I ask is that you read this alone,' she said. 'After that, you may do as you wish.' 'I'll read it tonight,' I said, taking the precious envelope. 'I'll come and see you again tomorrow.' 'Just as you like,' said my sister-in-law. She went back upstairs without saying goodbye. *** When I was at home, I read the words on the envelope: TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN (probably Commissaire Charas) I told the servants that I would have only a light supper and that I was not to be disturbed afterwards. I ran upstairs, threw Helene's envelope onto my desk and made another careful search of the room. There was no fly. When the servant brought my supper, I poured myself a glass of wine, and locked the door after her. I then disconnected the telephone - I always did this now at night - and turned out all the lights except the lamp on my desk. I opened Helene's envelope and took out several closely written pages. The first page contained these words: This is not a confession because, although I killed my husband, I am not a murderer. I simply and faithfully carried out his last wish by smashing his head and right arm under the steam hammer of his brother's factory. I turned the page and began to read. *** For a year before his death, my husband had told me about some of his experiments. He knew that the Air Ministry would have forbidden some of them as too dangerous, but he wanted to be certain about the results before reporting his discovery. Andre claimed to have discovered a way of transmitting solid objects through space. Any solid object placed in his 'transmitter' was instantly disintegrated - and then reintegrated in a special receiving machine. Andre believed that his transmitter was the most important discovery since the invention of the wheel. He believed it would change life as we know it. It would mean the end of all ways of moving things from one place to another - not only things but also people. He could see a time when there would be no aeroplanes, ships, trains or cars and, therefore, no roads or railway lines, ports, airports or stations. They would be replaced all over the world by stations for transmitting and receiving objects. A traveller would be placed in a cabin at the station, the machine would be turned on, and the traveller would disappear and reappear almost immediately at the chosen receiving station. Andre's receiving machine was only a few feet away from his transmitter, in the next room of his laboratory. His first successful experiment was with an ashtray. It was the first time he told me about his experiments and he came running into the house and threw the ashtray into my hands. 'Helene, look!' he cried. 'For one ten-millionth of a second, that ashtray has been completely disintegrated. For one little moment it did not exist! It was only atoms travelling through space at the speed of light! A moment later, the atoms were once more gathered together in the shape of an ashtray!' 'Andre, please! What on earth are you talking about?' He laughed. 'Do you remember I once told you about some mysterious flying stones in India? They come flying into houses as it thrown from outside, even though the doors and windows are closed.' 'Yes,' I said. 'And I remember your friend, Professor Augier, saying that the only possible explanation was that the stones had been disintegrated outside the house, had then come through the walls, and been reintegrated before hitting the floor or opposite walls. But I still don't understand how it is possible.' 'It's possible because the atoms that make up objects are not close together like the bricks of a wall. They are separated by the hugeness of space.' 'Are you saying that you have disintegrated that ashtray, then put it together again after pushing it through something?' I said. 'Yes, Helene! I sent it through the wall that separates my transmitter from my receiving machine. Isn't it wonderful?' 'Yes, Andre. But don't ever transmit me. I'd be afraid of coming out at the other end like your ashtray.' 'What do you mean?' he asked. 'Do you remember what was written under that ashtray?' 'Yes, of course. "Made in Japan".' 'The words are still there, Andre, but... look!' He took the ashtray out of my hands and looked at it. His face went quite pale. The three words were still there, but reversed: napaJ ni edaM Without a word, Andre rushed off to his laboratory. I only saw him the next morning, tired after a whole night's work. A few days later, Andre had a new problem which made him fussy and bad-tempered for several weeks. One evening he apologized. 'I'm sorry, my dear,' he said. 'I've been working my way through many problems, and I haven't been very pleasant to live with. You see, my first experiment with a live animal was a complete disaster.' 'Andre! You tried that experiment with Dandelo, didn't you?' Yes,' he said, unhappily. 'He disintegrated perfectly, but he never reappeared in the receiving machine. There is no more Dandelo, only the atoms of a cat wandering somewhere in space.' Dandelo was a small white cat who had come into our garden one day and remained with us. I had wondered where it had gone lately. I was quite angry, but my husband was so miserable that I said nothing. I saw little of him during the next few weeks. He had most of his meals in the laboratory. Then one evening he came home smiling, and I knew that his troubles were over. I've got everything perfect at last!' he said. 'And I want you to be the first to see it happen.' 'Wonderful, Andre!' I said. 'I'll be delighted.' We had a special dinner to celebrate and at the end of the meal, when the servant brought in the bottle of champagne, Andre took it from her. 'We'll celebrate with reintegrated champagne!' he said, landing the way down to the laboratory. I held the champagne and glasses while he unlocked the door and switched on the lights. He then opened the door of a telephone booth he had bought, and which he had made into his transmitter. He put a chair inside the booth, then said: 'Put the bottle down on that.' Having carefully closed the door, he took me to the other end of the room and gave me a pair of very dark sun glasses. He put on another pair and walked back to the booth. 'Don't take your glasses off until I tell you,' he said. Then he pushed a switch and the whole room was brightly lit by an orange flash of light. I saw a ball of fire inside the transmitter and felt its heat on my face and hands. The whole thing lasted less than a second. 'Now you can take off your glasses, Helene,' Andre said. He opened the door of the booth - and I was amazed to see that the bottle of champagne and the chair were not there. Andre then took me into the next room. There was a second telephone booth in the corner. Opening the door, he lifted the bottle of champagne off the chair. 'Are you sure it's not dangerous to drink?' I asked, as he opened the bottle. 'Absolutely sure, Helene,' he said, giving me a glass. 'Drink this and I'll show you something much more amazing.' We went back into the other room. 'Oh, Andre!' I said. 'Remember poor Dandelo!' 'This is only a guinea pig, Helene. But I'm certain it will go through all right.' He put the little animal on the floor of the booth and quickly closed the door. I put on my dark glasses again and saw and felt the ball of fire. Without waiting for Andre, I rushed into the next room and looked into the receiving booth. 'Oh, Andre, he's there!' I shouted. 'You've succeeded!' 'I hope so,' he said. 'If this little animal is still alive and well in a month, we can then consider the experiment a success.' That month of waiting seemed like a year. And then one day Andre put Miquette, our dog, into his 'transmitter'. He did not tell me first, knowing very well that I would never have agreed to such an experiment with our dog. When he did tell me, Miquette had been successfully transmitted five or six times. 'She seemed to enjoy the experience,' Andre said. I now expected that my husband would invite the Air Ministry people to come down, but he went on working. 'There are some parts I do not yet fully understand myself,' he said. 'I must be able to explain how and why it works.' Of course I never thought that he would try an experiment with a human being, not then anyway. It was only after the accident that I discovered he had put a second set of the control switches inside the disintegration booth, so that he could use himself as the object of the experiment. The morning Andre tried this terrible experiment, he did not come home for lunch. I sent the servant down with some food, but she brought it back with a note she had found outside the laboratory door: DO NOT DISTURB ME, I AM WORKING. It was just a little later when Henri came running into the room to say that he had caught a funny fly. Refusing even to look at his closed hand, I ordered him to release it immediately. 'But it has such a funny white head!' he said. I took him to the open window and ordered him to release the fly. I knew that Henri had caught the fly because it looked different from other flies, but I also knew that his father hated cruelty to animals and that there would be a fuss if he discovered our son had put a fly in a box or bottle. At dinner time that evening I had still not seen Andre, so I ran down to the laboratory and knocked at the door. He did not answer, but I heard him moving around. A moment later he pushed a note under the door. It was typewritten: Helene, I am having trouble. Put the boy to bed and come back in an hour's time. I went back to the house and put Henri to bed, then I returned to the laboratory where I found another note pushed under the door. My hand shook as I picked it up because I knew by then that something must be terribly wrong. I read: Helene, first of all I rely on you to be brave, because you alone can help me. I have had a serious accident. It is useless talking to me, because I cannot answer, I cannot speak. Please do exactly what I ask. Knock three times on the door to show that you understand and then fetch me a bowl of milk with some brandy in it. Shaking with fear, I did as he asked, and in less than five minutes I was back. There was another note under the door. Helene, when you knock, I'll open the door. Walk over to my desk and put down the bowl of milk Then go into the other room where the receiving booth is. Look carefully and try to find a fly which ought to be there, but which I am unable to find. Unfortunately I cannot see small things very easily. Promise not to look at me or talk to me. I cannot answer you. Knock again three times and I will know I have your promise. My life depends on the help you give me. I had to calm myself before I knocked slowly three times. I heard Andre moving behind the door, then it opened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he was standing behind the door. Without looking round, I carried the bowl of milk to his desk. 'My dear, you can rely on me,' I said gently. I put the bowl on his desk, then walked into the next room where all the lights were on. There were papers everywhere, chairs lay on their sides, and one of the window curtains was half-torn and hanging down. And in the fireplace there was a heap of burned documents. I knew I would not find the fly Andre wanted me to look for. Women know things that can't be explained by reason; this kind of knowledge is rarely understood by men. I already knew that the fly Andre wanted was the one which Henri had caught and which I made him release. I heard Andre moving in the next room, and then a strange sucking noise, as though he had trouble drinking his milk. 'Andre, there is no fly here,' I said, trying to speak calmly. 'Can you help me? Knock once for yes, twice for no.' He knocked twice for 'no'. 'May I come to you?' I said. 'I don't know what has happened, my love, but I promise to be brave.' Alter a moment of hesitation, he knocked once on his desk. I stopped at the door, horrified. Andre had his head and shoulders covered by the brown velvet cloth from the table. 'Andre, we'll make a thorough search tomorrow,' I said. 'Why don't you go to bed? I'll take you to the guest room. I won't let anybody see you.' His left hand knocked the desk twice. 'Do you need a doctor, Andre?' I asked. 'No,' he knocked, quickly. I did not know what to do or say. And then I said, 'Henri caught a fly this morning, but I made him release it. He said its head was white. Could it be the one you're looking for?' Andre let out a strange sigh and let his right arm drop. Instead of his hand, a grey stick like the branch of a tree hung out of his sleeve, almost down to his knee. I had to bite my fingers to stop myself screaming. 'Andre, my love, tell me what happened. Andre... Oh, it's terrible!' He knocked once for yes, then pointed to the door. I went out and sank down to the floor crying as he locked the door behind me. He started typing again and I waited. At last he came to the door and pushed a note under it. Helene, come back in the morning. I must think and by then I will have typed out an explanation for you. Take one of my sleeping pills and go to bed. I need you fresh and strong tomorrow, my poor love. *** Because of the sleeping pill I slept heavily, without dreaming. I woke suddenly at 7 a.m., ran down to the kitchen, and prepared coffee, bread and butter. Andre opened the laboratory door as soon as I knocked and I took in the food. His head was still covered, and on his desk lay a typewritten sheet of paper, which I picked up. Andre pointed to the other door, and I walked into the next room. He shut the door after me, and I heard him pouring out coffee as I read: You remember the ashtray experiment? I have had a similar accident. I 'transmitted' myself successfully the night before last. During a second experiment yesterday, a fly must have got into the disintegrator'. My only hope is to find that fly and take it through with me again. Please search for it carefully. If it is not found, I shall have to find a way to put an end to all this. I cried softly, imagining some horrible re-arrangement of Andre's face - perhaps his eyes where his ears should be, or his mouth at the back of his neck. Or worse... Andre must be saved! The fly must be found! 'Andre, may I come in?' I said. He opened the door. 'Andre, don't despair. I'm going to find that fly. It can't be far away. But there must be no talk of "putting an end to all this". If you don't wish to be seen, I'll make you a mask until you get well again. If you cannot work, I'll call Professor Augier, and he and all your other friends will save you. Now, can't you let me see your face, Andre? I won't be afraid.' But he knocked a 'no' on his desk and pointed to the door. I will never forget that day-long hunt for a fly. I made all the servants join in the search. I told them a fly had escaped from the Professor's laboratory and that it must be caught alive. It was clear they thought I was crazy. They said so to the police later, and that hunt for a fly probably saved me from the guillotine. I questioned Henri and frightened the poor boy by my wild, fierce manner. But then I kissed him and made him understand what I wanted. Yes, he remembered, he had found the fly by the kitchen window but had released it immediately as ordered. I examined all the many flies we caught that day, but none had anything like a white head. That night, as I began to take Andre's dinner down to him, I stopped by the telephone. I had no doubt that Andre would kill himself unless I could make him change his mind. He would never forgive me for breaking a promise, but I phoned Professor Augier. 'The professor is away until the end of the week,' a polite voice at the other end informed me. So I would have to fight alone. But I would save Andre. I took the food down to the laboratory and, after he let me in, put it on his desk. Then I went into the next room. 'I want to know exactly what happened,' I said as he closed the door after me. 'Please tell me, Andre.' He typed an answer and pushed it under the door. Helene, I do not want to tell you. Since I must leave you, I would rather you remembered me as I was before. I must destroy myself in such a way that nobody can possibly know what has happened to me. I have thought of a way which is neither simple nor easy, but you can and will help me. 'But why don't you tell the other professors about your discovery?' I said. 'They will help you and save you, Andrei' Several furious knocks shook the door, and I knew then that he would never accept this solution. I talked to him for hours about me, about our boy, about his family, but he did not reply. At last I cried, 'Andre, do you hear me?' 'Yes' he knocked very gently. 'Listen. I have another idea. You remember the ashtray? Perhaps if you had put it through again, it might have come out with the letters turned back the right way.' He was typing before I finished speaking. I have already thought of that. It is why I wanted the fly. It must go through with me. There is no hope otherwise. 'Please try, Andrei' I said. I have tried seven times already, but to please you I will try again. If you cannot find the dark glasses, turn away from the machine and put your hands over your eyes. 'I'm ready, Andre!' I shouted, turning and covering my eyes. After what seemed a very long wait, but was probably only a minute or two, I saw a bright light through my fingers. I turned round as the booth door opened. His head and shoulders still covered with the velvet cloth, Andre stepped carefully out of the booth. 'Do you feel any different?' I asked, touching his arm. He moved away quickly and fell over one of the chairs. As he fell, the velvet cloth slowly dropped off his head and shoulders. The horror was too much for me. I screamed again and again but could not stop looking at him. And yet I knew that if I looked at the horror for much longer, I would go on screaming for the rest of my life. Slowly, the monster, the thing that had been my husband, covered its head, got up and found its way into the other room. I hope there is no life after death because, if there is, I shall never forget the horror! Day and night, awake or asleep, I see it, and I know that I will see it forever. Nothing can ever make me forget that dreadful white hairy head with its two pointed ears. Pink and wet, the nose was also that of a cat, a huge cat. But the eyes! Where the eyes should have been, there were two brown shapes the size of saucers. Instead of a mouth there was a long hairy vertical cut. From this hung something long and black and wet at the end. I must have fainted because I found myself on the floor of the laboratory, staring at the closed door. Behind it I could hear the noise of Andre's typewriter. Then the noise stopped and a sheet of paper came under the door. Trembling with fear and disgust, I crawled over to where I could read it without touching it. Now you understand. The last experiment was a new disaster, my poor Helene. I suppose you recognized part of Dandelo's head. When I went into the disintegrator, my head was only that of a fly. Now, only the eyes and mouth remain. The rest is part of a cat's head. You can see that there is only one solution. I must disappear. Knock on the door when you are ready and I will explain what you have to do. Getting up, I went to the door and tried to speak. No sound came out of my throat, so I knocked once. You can, of course, guess the rest. He explained his plan in short, typewritten notes, and I agreed to everything. I followed him into the silent factory. In my hand was a page of explanations: what I had to know about the steam hammer. He pointed to the control switch as he went past, and I watched him stop in front of that terrible instrument. I watched him kneel down, wrap a cloth round his head, and lie down flat on the floor. It was not difficult. I was not killing my husband. Andre, poor Andre, had gone long ago, it seemed. Without hesitating, I pushed the switch. The great metal hammer seemed to drop slowly. My husband... the thing's body shook for a second and then lay still. It was then I noticed that he had forgotten to put his right arm, his fly leg - under the hammer. The police would never understand but the professors would, and they must not! That had been Andre's last wish. I had to do it quickly. The night watchman must have heard the hammer and would be round at any moment. I pushed the other switch and the hammer slowly lifted. Seeing, but trying not to look, I ran forward and put the right arm under the hammer. Then I came back and pushed the first switch. The hammer came down a second time. Then I ran all the way home. You know the rest and can now do whatever you think right. So ended Helen's 'confession'. *** The next day I telephoned Commissaire Charas to invite him to dinner. He arrived at eight o'clock that evening. 'You heard about my poor sister-in-law?' I said. 'Yes, soon after you telephoned me this morning,' he said. 'I am sorry, but perhaps it was for the best.' 'I suppose she killed herself.' 'Without a doubt,' he said. 'We found more of the fatal drug sewn into her dress.' 'I would like to show you a very strange document after dinner, Charas,' I said. 'Ah, yes I heard that Madame Delambre had been writing a lot, but we could find nothing but the short note informing us that she was taking her own life.' During our dinner, we talked about politics, books, films, and the local football club. After dinner I took him up to my study where was a warm fire to sit by. 'I would like you to read this, Charas,' I said. 'First because it was partly intended for you, and secondly because it will interest you. I would like to burn it afterwards.' Without a word, he took the sheets of paper Helene had given me and started to read. Twenty minutes later he carefully folded them and put them into the brown envelope. Then he put the envelope into the fire. When it was burning, he said, 'I think it proves beyond all doubt that Madame Delambre was quite insane.' For a long time we watched the fire eating up Helene's 'confession'. 'A strange thing happened to me this morning, Charas. I went the cemetery where my brother's body is buried. It was quite empty and I was alone.' 'Not quite, Monsieur Delambre,' he said. 'I was there, but I didn't want to disturb you.' 'Then you saw me...' 'Yes, I saw you bury a small box.' 'Do you know what was in it?' 'A fly, I suppose,' he said. 'Yes. I had found it early this morning, caught in a spider's web in the garden.' 'Was it dead?' he asked. 'No, not quite. I... killed it... between two stones. Its head was... white... all white.' - THE END - Hope you have enjoyed the reading! Come back to http://english-e-reader.net/ to find more fascinating and exciting stories!