'Is that wise, Theo?' Mrs. Pascoe said. 'You know how good your mother is with Pamela.'
Leaning on the edge of the open window, speaking quietly to the Pascoes, he said, 'Look, there's just been another murder of a young woman. Fred hasn't said anything, but he's sick with worry over his wife and little girl because of . . . something that we just saw, that Pamela may have been a witness to as it occurred. Your nephew and his wife and child will be staying with us until this matter is resolved, for reasons I won't go into right now. As for Mrs. Dewhurst, I don't want her so much as hearing about what happened here. It's bad enough that Pamela saw what she did, but- let's face facts, my mother isn't a young woman, and what happened here is the sort of thing that even strong men have trouble dealing with. So, please, do as I ask, and I'll look after Pamela as best I can.'
Pamela felt that she was caught in a netherworld between that of waking dreams and the murky depths of a subconscious that she was aware of, like an unwilling spectator, but which was not entirely her own. Albert had risen up out of the moor like a demon apparition with something in his arms, something that she couldn't quite make out. It had a pale oval face, wide, white staring eyes and dark hair, she knew that much, and its supplicating look was one of pure abject terror. Then, it had fallen like a puppet with its strings cut. All the while, Albert had fixed her with his gaze, with eyes that nailed her to his will, a will that took away her voice, her volition, her sense of herself. When she began calling out for help, it seemed as though it were someone else who began screaming, that she still stood rooted to that spot, mesmerized, waiting for Albert to come for her . . .
'That's enough, gentlemen.' Theo's voice was at once hard and uncompromising. 'I'll be taking Pamela home now.'
'We're not done yet,' the inspector from CID said impatiently.
'That's where you're wrong,' Theo told him. 'She's in shock. She needs to be away from here. You're not blind; you can see what this is doing to her.'
The inspector sighed, pushed his glasses up on his forehead and massaged his tired eyes a moment. 'We've been after Mr. Askrigg for six years now. Six. The man is like a ghost or a demon, manifesting itself long enough to do something horrific and then it's gone again. But he's never gone this far. Now, he's taunting us- or rather, he's taunting Miss Dee, here, supposedly because she's the only one of his victims who has escaped from him with her life.' Changing the subject, he said, 'So, tell me, Mr. Dewhurst, how did Albert Askrigg happen to know where you were going and when?'