Читать книгу Dr Night - Aidan de Brune - Страница 7

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"NOTHING to do here," grumbled Frost, after he had sharply questioned one or two of the loungers about the Post Office corner. "We'll get up to the station and see if they have anything new on the two affairs to report."

At the Police Station the Sergeant in charge could tell them nothing new on the matters of Mrs. Matthews and the mystery man of Darlinghurst Road. They stood talking to him for some time.

Just as they were about to leave, the constable who had been relieved from duty in Oxford St. walked in.

"Seen a man, this evening in Oxford Street between seven o'clock and a quarter to eight, near the Post Office?" asked Frost, with a wink at the man at the desk. "Middle height, very grey, thin features, greyish skin, looked like a doctor or a university professor. Wore a dark overcoat and a dark hat, constable?"

"Yes, sir," replied the man, promptly. "Soon after seven o'clock a man answering to that description crossed Oxford Street at the Crown Street intersection. Appeared somewhat absent-minded. Nearly run over by one of them buses."

"What?" shouted the Inspector, staring at the man in amazement, with a puzzled glance at the Sergeant.

"Come from up near the old gaol. Saw him under a light standard. Heavy, grey eyebrows and sort of peculiar eyes. Seemed to look through you, he did. Is he wanted, sir?"

Frost hung on to the desk, a bewildered look in his eyes. The sergeant was looking at the constable as if he had never seen him before. Hardy felt a glow of satisfaction at the useful work his 'hunch' had put in, but was very puzzled at the outcome.

"You've broke it this time, man," gasped Frost at length. "Want him? I'd have given a year's seniority to have been alongside you. That was Dr. Night."

"Dr. who, sir," asked the bewildered constable. "There's nothing on the book about him, sir."

"There will be to-morrow, constable," answered Frost grimly. "I want a talk with that bird and I want it badly. You're the only one of us who has seen him. If you can pick him up it'll be as good as a stripe to you."

For a full half-hour Frost questioned the constable and Hardy as to the personality of the man seen in Oxford Street, and the voice on the telephone. At the end of the time he had a fairly accurate description of the person supposed to be Dr. Night. This was immediately placed on the book and telephoned to all the police stations around Sydney. The person described was to be detained until Frost had had an opportunity of questioning him.

"Suppose I am going a bit far," commented the Inspector, as he and the journalist left the police station. "But you've given me a jolt this evening, Bob. Lord, you're lost in a newspaper office if you can't see a man at the other end of a telephone line."

"It may not be Dr. Night," said Hardy thoughtfully.

"It may not, and it may be," retorted Frost. "I'm not taking chances. I want a word with that bird—and I want it bad."

For some minutes Frost strode down Oxford Street, in silence. At the junction with Liverpool Street he halted.

"There's nothing more we can do to-night," he said slowly. "I'm getting home, Bob. Suppose you'll do the same. You've done a good day's work, my boy, and you've given at least one member of the New South Wales police department a bigger jolt than half-a-dozen questions in Parliament could have done."

Hardy had stepped off the pavement to board a Circular Quay tram when the detective called him back.

"By the way, Bob. You're sitting on the inside of this game. Mind your steps in that paper of yours. I know you like sensation and the way things are moving it looks as if you'll get plenty. Don't spoil things by too much talk at the moment. There's a right time to open out, you know."

Nodding assent, Hardy swung on to the tram and went down to the Mirror Office to report. There he found that orders had been left on the board for him to report direct to the editor.

Thomas looked up expectantly as Hardy entered his room. In a few words the journalist reviewed the night's happenings, and finished with Frost's warning against premature publication of the story. Thomas frowned at the warning and sat for some moments tugging at his moustache.

"Suppose we'll have to let the gist of the story pass to-night." he said, at length. "I don't want to get upsides with the police at present. It's a good story, Hardy, and you appear to be on the inside running. Yes, it'll keep. You'd better sign off now. You're on this story until I call you off."

The managing editor turned to his work. Hardy sat quiet. In a minute Thomas looked up, inquiringly.

"Until the story is cleared up?" asked Hardy stolidly.

"Of course!" Thomas spoke impatiently. "I'm not likely to take you off anything as good as this looks. Good night, lad."