Читать книгу The Carson Loan Mystery - Aidan de Brune - Страница 9

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WHO WAS the man who had telephoned Wilbur Orchard informing him a demand would shortly be made on the Balmain and South Assurance Company for the repayment of the Carson loan? Wilbur Orchard had stated he believed an attempt was to be made to defraud the Company and explained the telephone message as a piece of bravado on the part of one of the gang.

Rugh could not accept this theory. The reference to the heiress of Colin Carson being "on the sandhills at Little Bay" puzzled him. Was it an attempt to induce the belief that the murdered woman was Colin Carson's heiress?

Harry Sutherland's assertion that he would shortly be interested, officially, in the Little Bay Murder appeared to bear out this theory. On the other hand, Rugh could not trace any resemblance between the photographs or the murdered woman and Cohn Carson's daughter, and some general likeness was necessary to support the mysterious telephone message that Colin Carson's heiress would be found "on the sandhills at Little Bay."

Returning to his offices Rugh telephoned the Star offices, to be informed that Harry Sutherland was out at the moment. Leaving a message at the switchboard for the journalist to communicate with him immediately on his return, Rugh closed the door of his private office, and sat down to con over the problem.

Before him were three lines of inquiry. Slender threads but one of them might result in a clue he could follow. There was the man who had telephoned Wilbur Orchard. It was the newest clue, but a very weak one. Probably the call had originated from a public telephone booth. In that case much depended on the situation of the booth. If the man had used a booth at one of the crowded centres of the city he would have disappeared in the crowd immediately he left the instrument.

On the other hand, a man engaged on so delicate a mission might seek a booth in a situation where the chances of being overheard were slight. In that case, there was a possibility of him being remembered by someone in the vicinity. Pulling the telephone towards him, Rugh rang up "Information."

"A telephone call was put through to Mr. Wilbur Orchard of the Balmain and South Assurance Company about ten o'clock this morning," he said, when he obtained connection with the officer in charge. "Will you give me the number and address of the caller?"

"The Balmain and South have a large number of calls every day," objected 'Information.' "It may he impossible to single out the one you want."

"Quite so," Rugh laughed, softly. "Mr. Orchard will he obliged if you will give the messenger he is sending to you a list of the calls made to the Balmain and South between nine and ten-thirty this morning. All right. I will send over at once."

Opening his door, Rugh instructed Teddy Marlow, his clerk, to go to "Information" and ask for the list of calls being prepared for Mr. Orchard, of the Balmain and South Assurance Company.

Leaving his door open, so that he could watch the outer office during the absence of Marlow, Rugh returned to his desk.

The principal problem Wilbur Orchard had set him to solve was the disappearance of Colin Carson. A man of wealth has usually many anchors to civilisation. Colin Carson had been able to lend the Balmain and South a very large sum of money. Rugh had inquired on what bank the cheque had been drawn, and the managing director had stated the money had been handed over in the form of bearer securities. The financier had informed Orchard he had a daughter, a school-girl. Her name should appear in the records of some school, more probably a boarding school. Schoolgirls are prone to make lifelong friendships. Possibly he might chance on some schoolgirl-friend who still maintained a correspondence with Rita Carson.

Finally, there was the building in which Colin Carson had had his offices. "Roxine Chambers, Pitt Street," had been the address on the loan deed. This was a very slender clue. Years before, the detectives employed by the directors of the Assurance Company had no doubt searched the place. Even it they had missed a few points it would be almost impossible to pick them up after so long an interval.

The assurance investigator was roused from the reverie into which he had fallen, by the noisy entrance of the Star man.

"So." Harry Sutherland stood in the doorway, and looked down, quizzically, on his friend. "So, my words have come true. The noble protector of indigent assurance companies is on the track of the Little Bay murderer."

Rugh looked up with a start.

"What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "Look here, Harry, your remarks indicate you know more than you have told me. How do you come to know I am on the murder?"

Harry crossed the room and seated himself on the edge of the desk.

"If you desire, dear comrade, to peer into the depths of a detective's brain, catch him in maiden meditation, and let your fancy free. Seems my shot told. 'Nother thing. The famous Sherlock Holmes sent for his faithful Dr. Watson."

Rugh laughed. There was nothing else to do with Harry.

"All right," he said. "I am on the murder. At least, partially. Listen, and I will tell you how it came about."

Very briefly, Rugh went over the interview with Wilbur Orchard.

"Somewhere the two matters link up," he concluded. "You said I would be officially interested in the murder. I am. Now what reasons had you for that statement?"

"Not one iota of reason. Nothing but the bare fact that our mutual friend, Sam Brene, appears to be interested in the murder also. When that gentleman appears interested I look around with wide open eyes. His particular object in life is money, lots of it and, apparently, the dirtier, the better. Assurance companies have lots of money. Q.E.D."

"A damned long shot." commented Rugh.

"Not at all," returned the journalist, blithely. "Most people are insured, now-a-days. All Sam would consider, if he came across a dead body, would be, how much the dear departed was insured for, and, more particularly, how he could get his talons, not talents, dear comrade—on it."

"Reasonable reasoning for a Star journalist," laughed Rugh. "How's the hunt going?"

"Legions of police; hordes of the public; a few journalists, and many more 'would-be's;' fewer camera-men, and regiments of film-wasters, make Little Bay the latest, newest, and most excitingly popular seaside resort."

"Granted." Thigh leaned back in his chair and looked critically at his friend. "I should have reminded you my inquiry was not due to idle curiosity. What progress have the police made? We will deal with the social side later."

"Progress!" Harry threw up his hands in mock horror. "They've trampled the place flat. First, they drew a cordon of large footed members of the force in a circle of about a hundred yards diameter around the spot marked—'X' in brackets—and then proceeded to systematically demolish everything within that magic circle. Bushes, rushes, trees, all brought to the ground. They even trod down the sand."

"With the result?"

"Nil. Absolutely nil." Harry made an eloquent gesture. "I've had the time of my little life, lying on my little bingie on a sandhill, outside the circle, watching and learning how not to catch a murderer. Borrowed, without explanation or regrets, the sporting man's glasses. He tipped three winners straight off, off, through the shock of losing them."

"That all? I thought you would know the police theory?"

"My boy!" Harry became mock serious. "You asked for facts. I did not know you required them mixed with fiction. I am officially advised the police have found a cast-iron theory."

"Which is?"

"From information received—to wit, a tram conductor, and a few passengers—the police are convinced Ruth Collins left the city on a Little Bay tram about four o'clock on the afternoon preceding the day her body was found. She is said to have been accompanied by a man of seafaring aspect."

"Well. What's wrong with that?" asked Rugh impatiently. "It sounds reasonable."

"Most reasonable." Harry laughed, derisively. "You will deduce from that, the woman never returned to the city."

Rugh sat up quickly, intent on his companion.

"Enough of fooling, Harry. What, exactly, do you know?"

"The woman was murdered in or near the city and her dead body conveyed to Little Bay in a motor car."

"That's serious," exclaimed Rugh. "You must have excellent reasons for that statement."

"Think, man." Harry spoke energetically. "If you'd thought over the facts you would agree with me. Listen. Three indisputable facts make my proof. First, there were no signs of struggles on the spot. The police admit that is correct. Do you think the woman lay down and meekly allowed her assailant to do her to death? Secondly, the clothes were neatly folded and piled on the body. What murderer would go to that trouble, while in the open beside the body of his victim? That alone, is proof the deed was committed in some place, such as a room, where the murderer was reasonably safe for a time. Lastly, the amount of blood around the body was remarkably small. Too small for the hideous wounds she received."

"She was kicked to death," objected Rugh.

"Another police yarn," said Harry, in disgust. "She was murdered with a blunt cutting instrument, and her clothing shows neither cuts nor bloodstains."