Читать книгу Dr Night - Aidan de Brune - Страница 11

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FOR a few minutes the two men enjoyed the joke. Then the Inspector went over the night's happenings, step by step, not trying to cover his confusion when he found that Hardy had succeeded in giving him the slip. At the end of the story the two men looked at each other and again laughed heartily.

"I hope that nothing will happen to the boy," said Thomas at length. "He is a smart lad, and a bloodhound on the trail of a story, but he is inclined to take too many risks."

"I'm not going to say that I'm not worrying about him, Mr. Thomas," said the detective candidly. "I am. But if he can get me in such an easy fashion, I'll back him to got out of any difficulty he wanders into with a whole skin, too."

The telephone bell rang. Thomas picked up the receiver and listened for a minute, a broad grin spreading over his face. Then he passed the instrument over to the Inspector.

"Hardy wants you, Frost."

"Is that Inspector Frost, of the New South Wales Detective Department?" came over the wire, faintly, in a well-known voice.

"It is," replied the detective grimly. "May I ask what your highness has been doing since I set my watch by your very inaccurate timepiece?"

"I've been for a joyride with a lady friend." The voice on the wire held a hint of laughter. "At the moment I am at home, going to bed, as a pattern for all good detectives."

"I suppose the lady's name commences with a capital D?" suggested the Inspector, grinning in spite of himself.

"It does." Then came a low laugh. "Say, Frost, she's some peach!"

Hardy laughed silently as he heard the rapid footsteps of Inspector Frost running up towards Darlinghurst Road. He was crouching under the low wooden fence, hardly daring to breathe. Immediately the steps of the detective died away in the distance, he stood up and stepped on to the hard gravel path. A few gardening tools were lying about, and picking up a rake the journalist carefully smoothed out the footmarks on the soft bed. Then he strode rapidly down towards the Gardens and vaulted the low wall.

It had been absurdly easy. Frost had been thrown off his guard and had not acted with his usual resource. Hardy had anticipated this. The unpremeditated action of the detective would give the necessary time to meet "D" and get away before the Inspector returned to the steps to make a more systematic search. As Hardy vaulted the fence the church clock chimed the hour. If his unknown correspondent was punctual his plans would have succeeded to a nicety. The journalist stood, counting the strokes on the bell. As the last tone sounded a motor car swung rapidly round the corner and pulled up at the foot of the steps.

"Mr. Hardy! Quick!" It was a girl's voice, low and exceedingly pleasant. Wondering greatly the journalist stepped into the back of the car, tripping over a pile of rugs. Immediately the car moved forward. The rugs gave Hardy a hint. They had yet to pierce the cordon of police Frost had drawn in a wide circle around the stops. It might be possible for him to bluff the car through, but he did not know what instructions the Inspector had given to his men. Sitting down on the floor of the car, the newspaper man covered himself with the rugs, making the heap look as natural as possible. He had hardly concealed himself before the car pulled up abruptly, and he heard a man talking to the girl driver. A few moments and the car moved forward.

Hardy crawled out from under the rugs, and, opening the near door, stepped on to the running board, and slipped into the seat by the driver. The girl had opened out the car, and, dodging through some side streets, crossed in front of the Rushcutter's Bay Stadium, and then, by side streets, into Oxford Street. Turning citywards she swung into Victoria Street and down to Potts Point. Outside the gates of some large gardens, surrounding a fine house, she brought the car to a stop.

"Will you open the gales, please, Mr. Hardy?" she said, quietly. Hardy swung open the gates, and, when the girl had driven through, closed them again and walked up to the car. The girl was standing on the path awaiting him.

"I did not expect the place to be surrounded by police." There was more than a hint of reproach in the clear voice.

"Inspector Frost is particularly thick-headed at times," said the journalist. "Unfortunately, he was in my office when I received your letter. Nothing would satisfy him but that he must also attend the interview you so kindly offered me. I tried hard, but he would not understand that three people always formed a particularly large crowd. Getting rid of him was very arduous work."

The girl laughed, and Hardy decided that she had a particularly pretty laugh. He wished that she would move out of the shadows so that he could judge if her features matched her laughter.

"I suppose I shall have to introduce myself, after this most informal meeting," she observed. "My name is Doris Blayde. This is my father's house."

"You already know my name," replied the journalist. "But to comply with social demands, I should I say that Robert Hardy of the Mirror has the honour to await your commands."

"How did you get rid of your friend Inspector Frost?" inquired the girl.

"I left him on the steps." Hardy laughed slightly at the picture of the bewildered Inspector searching for him. "The last I heard of him was a muttered statement about 'being snatched up into the blooming clouds'."

"I was surprised to find the district being watched by the police. Still, it didn't matter, as you managed to give them the slip," remarked Doris. "I had been visiting in the Gardens and I did tell the constable my right name and address. So it doesn't matter, does it?"

"Not one bit," assured Hardy.

"I suppose you are wondering why I sent that note to you," Doris appeared to be at a loss how to guide the conversation.

"I gathered from your short note that you had some information for me," suggested the newspaper man, "Still, if it was only your intention to take me for a motor ride around the beauties of your neighbourhood, I must offer you my hearty thanks."

"It was more than that, Mr. Hardy." The girl spoke earnestly. "Father and I have been wondering over certain matters that have come to our knowledge, and I suggested that you should be told of them. Father objected, so I took this course of sending for you."

"But if your father objects—" commenced Hardy.

"He won't, now I have caught you," laughed the girl. "I think he is in the library. Will you help me to put this machine away and we will join him."

The garage doors were open and Doris steered the big machine skilfully into its place. Then she led the way through a side door of the house into a corridor.

"Father's in here," she whispered, stopping before a door. "He's not very terrible, even when I do things he says I mustn't."