el of alcohol in his blood was way above the legal limit。 Usually he rationed himself to a couple of whiskies and then drove back to Chasetown。 It was a nightly ritual that took him away from his nagging wife for an hour or two。
Herbie was in his mid…fifties。 He was grossly overweight； and this fact； plus the unsightly goitre which he had developed in recent years； had bined to prevent him from finding himself another woman。 So he had sought solace in drink。
By the time he reached the island at Heath Hayes his earlier caution had evaporated in a cloud of alcohol fumes。 His foot pressed down harder on the accelerator pedal and the speedometer needle rose rapidly； to fifty 。 。 。 sixty 。 。 。 sixty…five 。 。 。 The hump in the road opposite the Wooden Stables almost caused him to bang his head on the roof of the 1100。 But it did not dampen the sudden exuberance which was building up inside him。 He wondered just how fast this car would go。 He had never really tested it to its limit。
The needle was hovering on seventy when he caught sight of the two horses in the road ahead of him。 A piebald and a black。 They weren't just cantering。 They were galloping towards him； wildly； panic…stricken tails streaming behind them。
The shock sobered him somewhat； but it was too late。 A screeching of tortured rubber； filled his ears as he slammed on the brakes； and a terrified neighing。
Herbie hit the piebald head…on。 The animal sprawled across the bonnet； forelegs splayed； screaming its agony as it was pushed along； both back legs breaking under the impact。
Only the crushing weight of the injured animal prevented the car from overturning。 Broken glass from headlights and windscreen trailed in the wake of the slewing 1100。 Then the ripped and jagged fender tore into the flanks of the stallion。 Vehicle and horses spun crazily。 The driver's door flew open； and Herbie Whitbe was hurled out into the road。 He lay there for a second； winded。 The horses were neighing frenziedly as they attempted to free themselves； tearing their flesh as they did so。 Herbie tried to struggle upright。 As far as he could ascertain he was unhurt except for a few bruises and a cut on his hand。 He knew he had to be away from this place before the police came with their breathalysers。
He staggered to his feet； clutching at the open door for support。 The stallion reared up； eyes rolling； pawing the air in its agony。 It straightened； tottered； and then fell forward； both front hooves smashing down with devastating force on the skull of Herbie Whitbe。
It was ten minutes before the police reached the accident。 They waited impatiently； watching the suffering of the horses until the vet whom they had summoned arrived on the scene and humanely destroyed both Penny and Stango。
Chapter Four
Doctor Jenkinson always slept downstairs on the divan during his spasmodic weeks of night…duty。 Lately he had been leaving the emergency duties to his younger； partners； but； nevertheless； there were still times when he had to take his turn。 And by going upstairs to bed he invariably disturbed his wife on those occasions when it was necessary for him to turn out。
The telephone rang shortly after 3 a。m。 and without even switching on the light he reached out and lifted the receiver from its cradle。
'Emergency doctor speaking。'
'Doctor；' it was a woman's voice； breathless； a note of panic。 'It's me daughter。 She's dying。'
'Just let me have your name and address； and explain the symptoms； please。' He always tried to appear calm； especially at night。 Illnesses were magnified totally out of proportion by the average person after dark。 Often the patient could be helped by a little mon…sense advice； followed by a call the following morning。
Gladys Williams blurted out her name and address。 'Me 'usband's with 'er now；' she gulped。 'Terrible pain 'er's in。 Frothin' at the mouth and。。。 and sorta；。。 paralysed？'
'Keep her warm；' Patrick Jenkinson instructed； suddenly alert as he switched on the light with his free hand； and groped for his tie。 I'll be with you in a few minutes。'
Less than ten minutes later； bag in hand； the tall doctor with grey hair stood by Shirley's bedside。 There was a puzzled expression on his face； and he winced at the sight of the child。 He spoke to her； but she did not appear to hear him。 'Her normally pretty face was a mask of pain； her eyes rolling； spittle frothing on her lips； and as he felt her damp forehead her teeth gnashed together。 Her posture was unnatural； almost as though she was attempting to stretch every muscle in her body yet was unable to move any of them。
Jenkinson took a thermometer from his breast…pocket； shook it； and placed it under the child's armpit beneath her sweat…soaked nightdress。
'What is it； doctor？' Walter Williams spoke gruffly； anxiously。
'It could be any one of a number of things；' the doctor replied； not meeting the other's gaze。 'How long has she been like this？1
'Er wasn't too good yesterday；' Gladys Williams answered him。 'But that was only to be expected。
'Why？'
'Er 'orses were killed。 Both of 'em。 A car ran into 'em night before last on the Cannock Road。 Upset 'er some…thin' awful。'
'Oh； yes；' Doctor Jenkinson stiffened。 'I remember the incident。' He did not add that he had been called to the scene of the accident to pronounce Herbie Whitbe dead。 This was no time to discuss such matters in detail。
'Er was just feelin' off…colour to start with。 plained of an 'eadache and was sick a couple o' times。 Didn't want to eat。 Then 'er plained 'er couldn't see properly。 'Ad trouble 'earin'； too。 We got 'er to bed； and then 'er started 'avin' these fits； goin' all stiff； shoutin' out。。。 and when Walter 'ere tried to fort 'er； 'er bit is 'and！'
'I see。' Jenkinson removed the thermometer from beneath Shirley's arm； and stepped nearer to the light to read it。 Somehow he managed to keep his expression impassive； yet his hand shook visibly as he returned the instrument to its case。
'I'm going to call an ambulance；' he said as calmly as possible； moving towards the door and the telephone in the hall。
'It。。。 it；' Walter Williams stammered white…faced and shaking； 'it ain't。。。 rabies； is it？'
'No。' Patrick Jenkinson forced a smile and shook his head。 'I can assure you it's not rabies。' Though what the hell it is； he mused as he dialled； God only knows。 The initial symptoms are akin to those found in meningitis。。。 but this paralysis had him beaten。
Jenkinson travelled in the ambulance with Mr and Mrs Williams。 Shirley lay still and stiff； eyes closed； and periodically the doctor checked her breathing。 The faint movement of her chest was the only sign that she was alive。 Within twenty minutes she was hi the intensive care unit of Walsall General Hospital。 Her parents remained anxiously in the waiting…room； and it seemed an eternity before they saw Dr Jenkinson ing down the long room towards them。 The doctor's expression was grim and sorrowful； and the flame of hope which had remained alive in their hearts flickered and died。 Some terrible； inexplicable illness had snatched their beloved daughter from their lives with the unexpectedness of a bolt of lightning。
It was exactly a week after the funeral that Walter Williams began to feel unwell。 For a time he told nobody； assuming that it was just tiredness caused by a bination of grief and sleepless nights。 Life had to go on although the summons he had received from the police for allowing the horses to wander on to the road did not make him feel any better。
'What's up？' Gladys regarded him through red…rimmed eyes。 'What yer 'oldin' yer 'ead for； Walter？'
'I think I'm going to be sick。' Walter replied； and only just made it to the bathroom in time。 It was the thought of the autopsy； the dissecting and stitching of a pretty； innocent little girl。 The final analysis； the moment of truth。
Walter was still heaving when he came back into the room。 He was sweating； too； and shivering at the same time…The light seemed to have dimmed。 Gladys was in shadow and he could not discern her features。 'You ought to go to bed；' she said。 He looked at her； knew that she was speaking to him'； but he could not hear her words。
'Yer what？' he forced the words out； but whether there was any sound he did not know。 'Walter？ You're ill！'
His prehension faded。 He sensed himself at a disadvantage。 His back and neck muscles were agony。 This woman…he didn't know who she was…was advancing on him； hands outstretched。 She was an enemy。 He had to defend himself； and the best way to do that was to attack。 He stumbled towards her； using every ounce of physical and mental effort to force his limbs to respond。 Gladys Williams was heavily built； but for her size she was surprisingly weak。 He lurched against her； and she fell back against the table。 His stiffening fingers found her flabby neck and closed around it； locking in a paralytic vice as they did so。
Her mouth was