Part 7 (1/2)

Denton looked grim. 'The first paragraph is a word-for-word theft from the first paragraph of one of my books. Partway through, his scribbles start to use the outline for the book I'm working on. That outline was in my desk when I left London!'

'He's been in your house? What else is missing?'

'Nothing that I know of. But - G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Munro, he's been in in here. He's sat in my chair, he's lain down on my bed, I'll bet anything he took a c.r.a.p in my WC because he couldn't control himself!' here. He's sat in my chair, he's lain down on my bed, I'll bet anything he took a c.r.a.p in my WC because he couldn't control himself!'

'Burglars do that, it's true - often in the middle of the carpet.'

'Munro, I thought this was some harmless b.o.o.by. Now I think otherwise. It's - it's ”creepy”!' A British reviewer had called Denton's second book 'an American fantasy of the creepy variety'. Now the word had come home to roost.

Munro's stolid face seemed to become wooden. He stared at Denton. 'I don't see what it's about.'

Denton got up and took a few steps down the room, then back. 'I think it's about imitation.'

'You lost me.'

'”Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” Would-be writers imitate writers who've made it - ”playing the sedulous ape”, Stevenson called it. I think ”Albert Cosgrove” may have gone a few miles beyond that.'

'So you make him out a loony.'

'I don't know. But it's creepy, finding something of my own that somebody else has taken over lock, stock and barrel. He may even believe he made it up himself.'

'You mean, if he knows it's yours, he's an honest thief; if he thinks it's his own, he's mad - that it?' Munro tapped the crease in his soft hat lightly with the side of a hand. 'He dangerous, you think?'

'How would I know?'

'Well, he hit you with a poker. I think we'd best put some minders on you - see if he's following you about.'

Denton didn't like the idea of minders. 'He may just be some kid who's wild to be somebody.'

'The somebody is you?'

'I certainly hope not.' Denton was no enthusiast of the new pseudo-science of psychology, but he'd read enough - Krafft-Ebing, James - to know that there was a form of fantasy that merged into obsession. He sometimes wrote about it, in fact, although differently, expressing it as a ghost or a demon instead of an aspect of personality. He wondered now if Albert Cosgrove had used 'demon' in his t.i.tle as a deliberate imitation. Or was it identification? 'Maybe he wants to hide in somebody else.'

'From what? You're off in fairy-land, Denton.' Munro got up. He jiggled his hat on a finger inserted into the crown. 'Sending you love notes, sort of, was he?'

'You make it sound female - like a schoolgirl's crush. Atkins said something like that.'

'Well?'

'Yes, it could be like that.'

'You have any of his letters?'

'Burned them the night I got home. No, maybe I have the one that came yesterday-' He knelt by the grate, saw only ash and dying coals. 'I'll look for it. Maybe it's in the waste bin.'

'And you've forgotten the address.'

'I'm not even sure there was one.' He jammed his hands into his pockets. 'I get letters like that, maybe not as excitable, all the time. It comes with the profession.'

'The trials of the famous. You ever answer them?'

Denton huffed. 'These had been here for a while. Of course I didn't answer them. My G.o.d, in one he wanted a copy of each of my books, signed, with a personal inscription!'

'But there wasn't an address?'

'I don't think so. He isn't rational.'

'Mmp.' Munro b.u.t.toned his overcoat. 'Anyway, you're to be a good citizen and take yourself down to New Scotland Yard before six tonight. And we'll put somebody to trail you. And you're going to let us know anything else that happens. Aren't you.' It wasn't a question.

'Anything related.'

Munro gestured with the hat, holding it so its brim was vertical and waving it up and down. 'And you're not to go off on this by yourself! I don't care if you were once upon a time the Lord High Sheriff of America, we're we're the police authority here.' the police authority here.'

'My main concern is to finish my book.'

'Good. Keep that in your head and we'll be all right.' He put his hat on. 'You ever report that girl as a missing person?'

'I never established that she was missing.'

'Albert Cosgrove is police business enough for you for this year, anyway.' He stood, bear-like, by the door, turned abruptly. 'Dammit, I know it isn't your fault, Denton, but you're a bleeding magnet for loonies and misfits! I'll see myself out.'

And he did. Denton heard the rumble of Atkins's voice mingle with the sound of the front door's opening.

When Atkins came up, Denton was back in his chair. 'You heard?' he said.

'Couldn't help myself. Dumb waiter left open through oversight. '

'The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was in here. He took my outline. G.o.d knows what else he did.'

'Kind of makes you want to give everything a wash, don't it.'

'What d'you think?'

'I think you've put your foot in a bow-wow's mess. Best take a few weeks in Italy.'

'We just got home.'

'Awfully nice, Italy.' Atkins pursed his lips. 'I think I'll hang on to the derringer for a bit. You really think this Cosgrove is mental?'

'I don't know. I don't need these distractions just now!' don't know. I don't need these distractions just now!'

'Say it louder, General. Maybe they'll go away.'

Dr Bernat came in towards noon and looked at his arm and his head and told him he was a very hard nut. When he was done with the back of Denton's head, Bernat came around to the front, stepped closer, lifted his spectacles to look at Denton's eyes. He had to stand on tiptoe to do so, a short man with a beard, stocky, rather handsome. 'Your eyes are not happy, Mr Denton.'

'I've been working.'