Читать книгу The Murder Germ - A. O. Pollard - Страница 8

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Tony Grayling paid off his taxi outside the Manners’ house with a pleasurable sense of anticipation. Convinced that Hilary’s invitation indicated that she reciprocated his own feelings, he regarded the evening as a definite step forward in their relationship. Once he was established on visiting terms, they would be able to see each other as frequently as they wished.

Although purely a secondary consideration, he was also anxious to see how Dr. Manners and Erasmus Beney behaved towards each other. Were they outwardly the best of friends, or was a veiled hostility apparent between them? It was no business of his, of course, but he was infernally curious concerning the bond that linked them together.

His ring at the bell was answered by the suave-voiced butler who had been so frequently obliged to inform him that Hilary was away from home. The man recognized him at once, and smiled rather condescendingly, to Tony’s way of thinking.

“Well, Roberts, I’m here again, you see.”

Even the frigidity of a butler’s reception was powerless to chill Tony’s high spirits.

“Yes, sir, very pleased to see you, sir. This way, sir, if you please.”

Soft carpets, warmth, solidity; Tony’s impressions as he followed his dignified guide were definitely favourable. The atmosphere of the house conveyed the impression of a united family in comfortable circumstances.

Roberts threw open the drawing-room door.

“Flight Lieutenant Grayling,” he announced dispassionately.

Tony braced himself for his entry, walked slowly forward, and became aware that the room had only a single occupant.

She was a woman of from thirty-five to forty, he judged. She might have been pretty once, but discontent and thwarted hopes had set their seal on her features so that she appeared hard and unattractive to Tony’s young eyes.

Quite unaware that she made no appeal to him, she smiled engagingly.

“Hilary will be so annoyed that she was not here to greet you,” she declared archly. “She was obliged to rush to the kitchen about something. She’s so terribly capable in domestic matters, don’t you think? Oh, I forgot, this is your first visit, isn’t it? Hilary was telling me about it.”

Tony cleared his throat whilst struggling to think of something to say. But before he could speak she went on again.

“Of course, you don’t know who I am, do you? I quite forgot. I’m Edith Westacott. You’ve met my husband, I know—over that terrible business of that man le Maitre. Wasn’t it awful? It must have been a real nightmare for you; I’m sure it was.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” growled Tony. “It didn’t seem much at the time.”

To his intense relief, Dr. Manners entered the room.

“Ah, Grayling, how are you? Forgive me for not being here when you arrived. You’ve introduced yourselves, I suppose. Have some sherry or a cocktail? Edith, what’s yours?”

Hilary appeared whilst the drinks were being dispensed, followed shortly afterwards by Dr. Westacott and Beney. As he sipped his sherry and joined in the small-talk around him, Tony wondered whether there were to be any more guests. Apparently there was no Mrs. Manners, as he did not hear her mentioned.

His query was answered when they adjourned to the dining-room. The table was set for six, and he found himself on Hilary’s right hand with Dr. Westacott beside him. Mrs. Westacott sat on the right of her host with Beney between her and Hilary.

Conversation was general during the early part of the meal, although it was carried on mostly by Mrs. Westacott and Beney. Dr. Manners interjected a remark or two at intervals, whilst Westacott spoke only when he was directly addressed.

Hilary made a charming hostess, tactfully explaining to Tony any allusions to people or events to which he had not the key. It was part of her plan to be extra nice to him before she engineered that he was monopolized by Beney.

Quietly studying the personalities around him, Tony formed the opinion that Beney was the centre of another drama, besides the secret of his relationship with his partner. Although Edith Westacott was talking generalities, the majority of her remarks were aimed in Beney’s direction, and there was a subtle something in the way she looked at him that revealed a hidden tenderness.

Beney seemed utterly indifferent to her overtures, and although he was perfectly polite, deliberately avoided her efforts to engross his attention.

By the time the fish had given way to the entrée, the clash of interests had segregated the party into groups.

Manners was talking to Westacott about the progress he had made in his researches. His conversation was highly technical and quite unintelligible to the lay mind. The enthusiasm with which he was speaking formed a strong contrast to his earlier manner, and gave Tony the impression that his mind was absorbed with his work to the total exclusion of social interests.

At the other end of the table Hilary had been drawn into the duel between Edith Westacott and Beney. Turning his shoulder to block the unwelcome advances on his left, Beney plunged into a discussion of a play which he and Hilary had both seen. Since they alone could appreciate the finer points, it had the effect of temporarily diverting Mrs. Westacott’s attention to Tony.

“Did you read about that murder that was committed yesterday, Flight Lieutenant Grayling?” she asked brightly. “Wasn’t it too awful? Cutting the man’s tongue out, I mean.”

“It was, indeed,” agreed Tony gravely. “He must certainly have been mad at the time to do a thing like that.”

“But he wasn’t mad—at least, James said he wasn’t. Didn’t you, James?”

“I didn’t express an opinion one way or the other,” denied Westacott deliberately. “You really shouldn’t make these statements, Edith.”

He turned away to renew his conversation with Manners; but his wife was not to be silenced so easily.

“Well, if you didn’t say he wasn’t mad, what did you say? Whether you expressed an opinion or not, you must have one. The man was in your surgery a few hours before it happened.”

Her revelation had an electric effect on the whole room. Beney ceased speaking in the middle of a sentence and swung round towards her. Hilary gave a gasp of surprise. Manners looked annoyed at the interruption to his talk.

Even Roberts was shaken out of his habitual calm. He was in the act of replenishing Westacott’s glass when she spoke, and, in some unaccountable fashion, spilled some wine on the doctor’s hand.

The trivial incident seemed to annoy the doctor intensely.

“Damn you, Roberts!” he cried angrily. “Do be more careful, man!”

He recovered himself immediately, and turned to Hilary with a smile of apology for his outburst.

“I’m afraid my nerves are at sixes and sevens,” he confided. “I’ve been absolutely run off my legs with this diphtheria epidemic. As a matter of fact, I must ask you to excuse me as soon as dinner is finished. I’ve a number of calls that must be made tonight.”

“Of course, Doctor,” said Hilary at once. “We expect that here,” she told Tony. “We’re usually lucky if our guests survive the meal.”

“Is this true what Edith tells us?” asked Beney interestedly. “Was Lane really through your hands on the night of the murder?”

Westacott frowned at his wife with unconcealed annoyance, whilst everyone present waited for his answer.

“He was,” he admitted at last. “Though I must say I prefer not to discuss my professional engagements.”

To Tony’s surprise, Hilary’s father showed marked curiosity in the affair.

“You know perfectly well you can speak quite freely here, Westacott,” he said with some asperity.

Westacott laughed shortly.

“Well, since you all seem so very interested. But I warn you you’ll be disappointed.”

“I shan’t,” interposed Hilary definitely. “Any detail connected with a murder thrills me to the core.”

“All right, then; he came to have an anti-toxin injection.”

Beney chuckled heartily.

“What a come-down! I expected a psychosis at the very least.”

Westacott shrugged his shoulders.

“I warned you,” he reminded them.

“Is that all we’re to hear?” demanded Hilary. “I want to know what he looked like. Was he quite normal?”

“Absolutely. A little funky of the needle perhaps, but he was a poor specimen, anyhow.”

Manners leaned forward earnestly.

“I think we’re entitled to a little more as we’ve got so far,” he supported his daughter. “Was he one of your regular patients?”

“No, I never saw the fellow before. He telephoned during the morning in a great state of excitement, I understand. I was out at the time, and Nurse took the message. It appears that a girl employed in his office didn’t turn up to her job, and when he made inquiries he learned she was down with diphtheria. It frightened him silly, and he at once telephoned me—someone he knew gave him my name—to know what I was prepared to do about it.

“Nurse told him to wait until he got home to see his regular man, but he explained that he had an engagement which would keep him up West until the last train. In the end, to pacify him, she booked him to come to me between six and seven. He duly arrived, I plunged the syringe into his arm, and that’s the end of the matter as far as I’m concerned.”

“Have you told the police all this?” asked Beney.

“I have—pretty much as I’ve told it to you Apparently he has a slight nettle-rash on his arm for which the police surgeon wanted to account.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me all this when I asked you this evening?” demanded his wife irritably. “Since there’s so little in it, it wouldn’t have done any harm. All you would tell me was that the man was no more insane than I am.”

Tony with difficulty repressed a grin. The lady evidently did not appreciate the maliciousness of her husband’s remark.

“My dear Edith, you know quite well that I never discuss my cases with you, so why should I make an exception of this one? I don’t profess to be a psychologist, and I’m not in the least qualified to pass an opinion concerning the state of this man’s mind, which is what you wanted to know.”

From the tone in which he spoke and the facial expression with which Edith Westacott listened, it seemed more than likely that a quarrel was about to break out between husband and wife.

Hilary stepped skilfully into the breach.

“Good heavens, it’s nearly half past nine!” she exclaimed, as though the time was of the smallest consequence. “Come on, Edith, let’s leave them to their port.”

She rose to her feet, and the tension was broken. Tony opened the door and waited whilst the two ladies retired. When he returned to the table Westacott was taking leave of his host.

“I’ll come back if I can, but I won’t promise. You know how it is at these times. So long, Beney.”

He nodded to Tony and hurried from the table. His hand was on the handle when the door opened to admit Roberts. There was a moment’s confusion as the two almost collided, then the butler politely made way.

“Good God, man!” cried Westacott furiously. “You’re as clumsy as an elephant.”

The next moment he was gone.

“Westacott seems extra jumpy tonight,” remarked Beney casually.

Manners filled his glass and passed the decanter to Tony.

“He’s desperately overworked, I gather. These epidemics are the very devil.”

Beney smiled.

“We oughtn’t to grumble, as we supply the anti-toxin.”

“I know; but I would rather spend my time otherwise. Did you get a positive today?”

“No; we shall have to try another medium, I think. Cuthbert’s a wash-out.” He offered Tony his cigarette-case. “Cuthbert’s our tame guinea-pig,” he explained. “We’re trying to give him influenza, and he won’t respond.”

“I don’t blame him,” said Tony dryly.

“I shall try him tomorrow with the stuff from that other test-tube,” declared Manners, with decision. “As you will reach the lab first you might tell Nurse to get everything ready.”

Beney was not sure whether he agreed to the test, and in a moment the two scientists were engaged in a heated argument concerning the proposed experiment.

Watching them without in the least comprehending what they were talking about, Tony could not help thinking of that other argument he had overheard between them. Then he had imagined them the bitterest of enemies, now they appeared to be the closest of friends. Could he have been mistaken in assuming there was a mystery surrounding their partnership?

Nearly half an hour passed, and he was beginning to be bored with his role of spectator when Roberts arrived with a message that coffee was waiting in the drawing-room.

“I was instructed to say,” he added, “that Flight Lieutenant Grayling is to go in at once without waiting for you and Mr. Beney, sir.”

“Very well, Roberts; he’ll come now. You show him the way. I hope you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, Grayling; this is really very important. You’re quite wrong about the temperature, Beney.” He returned forthwith to his discussion. “In my opinion——”

Tony did not wait to hear what the opinion was. Here was his opportunity to escape, and he took it whilst the going was good. Now for a long-awaited talk with Hilary.

But he found with dismay that he had only escaped the Scylla of a medical argument to be wrecked on the Charybdis of Edith Westacott’s curiosity.

Hilary looked up from the piano as he entered the room.

“Mrs. Westacott’s simply dying to hear all about your adventure with le Maitre,” she announced sweetly. “I’ve promised you’ll tell her all about it.”

With Edith Westacott looking expectantly towards him he had no alternative but to comply, and for the next three-quarters of an hour he was involved in question and answer until he wished heartily that he had never set eyes on any member of the Manners family.

At last, in sheer desperation, he rose to his feet.

“I’m afraid I shall have to be going now, Miss Manners. Er—thank you so very much for a most delightful evening.”

Hilary slid off the piano-stool and moved towards him. She could afford to be more lenient now that his punishment was complete. He would be pretty fed up at the moment, of course, but if he really liked her he would certainly try to see her again.

“Must you really?” she asked innocently. “Won’t you wait for Father? It’s too bad of him not to have come in sooner.”

Tony fixed her with his eye.

“I really must,” he said with determination.

In no circumstances would he stay in the house another five minutes if he could help it.

“If you really must, then. But you will have a whisky-and-soda before you go.” She rang the bell. “Roberts ought to have brought it in before this.”

But Roberts made no response to her summons. She rang again; still no response.

“He’s probably gone to sleep; I’ll go and roust him out. I won’t be a minute.”

She tripped lightly from the room, the essence of care-free maidenhood.

Suddenly there was a piercing, fear-haunted scream, paralysing in its intensity.

Before it died away Tony was through the door. He could see Hilary at the end of the passage clinging to the wall for support.

“What is it?” he cried as he raced towards her.

She pointed silently into the butler’s pantry.

Roberts was lying in a huddled heap on the floor. The back of his head had been bashed in with a claw-hammer which lay beside him. Reposing in an empty tumbler was his tongue, cut from his mouth by some sharp instrument.