Читать книгу The Murders at Madlands - Aidan de Brune - Страница 4

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FOR a long minute there was silence in the room. Bobby hooked a chair towards him and pushed it into the corner. He placed the girl in the chair and turned again to face the men around the table.

Mark Parsons was on his feet, bending over Sir Rupert's motionless body. The journalist watched him sombrely. As the lawyer straightened himself the automatic swung to cover him.

"Sir Rupert—" Mark Parsons hesitated.

"Yes." Bobby paused, then continued quickly. "Only wounded! Good! Gerald, telephone for the doctor! At the same time you might ring up the police. No, not Bondi. Get on to Headquarters and ask for Inspector Williams. I know he's there this morn—Where are you going?"

"To the telephone," the secretary answered, sullenly. "There is not one in this room."

"Then I'm afraid I cannot use your services."

For the moment Bobby was puzzled. He glanced towards the solicitor who still remained on his feet.

"May I trouble you to touch the bell, Mr. Parsons. A servant can do all I require."

"What do you mean?"

Mark Parsons turned irritatedly on the journalist.

"Sir Rupert is—"

"Only wounded—I believe a slight wound." The newspaperman interrupted quickly. His voice dropped and became pregnant with meaning. "Nothing can be done—immediately—for him."

"Nothing." Mr. Parsons spoke after a long pause. "But—"

"Mr. Preston will help you move Sir Rupert to the couch."

Again Bobby interrupted the lawyer. "Then he will return to the seat he occupied when he entertained me. You, gentlemen—"

"What's the meaning of this?" Adam Ibbotson sprang to his feet, his ruddy face blazing with passion. "Who the hell are you and what are you giving orders for. If anything's happened to Sir Rupert then Mr. Parsons, as his solicitor—"

"Mr. Parsons abdicates in my favour." A slight grin broke the stern lines of the newspaper's man's mouth. "For the time I am in control. If you question my authority ask this." The automatic swung in an arc to cover the financier.

Ibbotson made as if to speak, then slumped angrily into his chair.

"What do you intend to do?" Godfrey Mackenzie turned a thin, ascetic face towards the corner where the journalist stood before the girl. "You say Sir Rupert is only wounded—and you are the only armed man in the room."

"So far as we know at present," Bobby nodded.

"I suggest that Miss Haffervale be allowed to go to her room," Lord Carriday interposed.

"Sorry to negative that!" The journalist spoke quickly. "Sir Rupert, for a reason of his own, brought me here this morning—a kind of super-policeman, so far as I gather. I propose to remain the policeman until the official men arrive. Ah!"

A slight, discreet knock at the door and a servant entered. He started back with low cry at the sight of Sir Rupert stretched on the couch, the solicitor and secretary bending over him.

"Thomas, Charles—whatever your name is," Bobby spoke imperatively. "Listen to me. Go to the telephone and ring up the nearest doctor. Ask him to come here with all speed; then get on to Police Headquarters, Phillip Street, City, and ask for Inspector Williams. Tell him I—Bobby Trayne—want him at Madlands, as quickly as possible. Understand? He's to put the Blue Bird at her top and get here. Now, get to it!"

"The local police station should be informed." The solicitor spoke over his shoulder.

"Inspector Williams can do that."

"Then you propose we should remain here until a policeman comes out from the city," Lord Carriday drawled, ironically.

"Just that!" There was a tang of decision in the newspaperman's voice. The Englishman, with his drawling speech irritated him greatly. "And Sir Rupert is to be unattended until the Inspector arrives."

"You're taking a lot on yourself, young man." Adam Ibbotson sneered. "I'll have a word to say to your employers."

"A doctor will be here within a few minutes."

Without releasing his grasp on his gun Bobby pulled a case from his pocket and took out a cigarette. Using only one hand he struck a match and drew the smoke into his lungs with very apparent satisfaction.

"And I suppose the doctor will not be allowed to leave the room once he enters," Ibbotson spoke with heavy sarcasm.

"Correct."

"That's the sack for one cocky youngster." The financier slumped into his chair. "What the devil Haffervale—"

"I'll tell you." Bobby hesitated and glanced back at the girl, "Sorry to keep you there, Miss Haffervale, but its a case of necessity. In that corner you're safe. Out in the room—"

"Safe? With an armed maniac standing before her." The Englishman sprang to his feet and turned to the other men around the table. "Are five strong men to be intimidated by—by—"

"They're intimidated by this." The gun lined straight against the peer. "Adam Ibbotson may talk but he knows me, Carriday. And I may not be the only man armed in this room."

"What do you mean?"

"Sir Rupert was shot. The gun that fired the bullet was covered with a silencer." Bobby spoke slowly. "And—the doors were shut and the windows closed and barred."

"You seem to know all about it." The Englishman turned from his chair and strode across the room. "Shoot if you dare. I don't intend to be held up by any servant."

"I shall shoot—and shoot to disable—if you approach this corner of the room or go near doors or windows." Bobby spoke earnestly. "You say I seem to know all about it. Perhaps I know more than when I entered this room, half an hour ago."

"You're insinuating?"

"Nothing." A light flashed in the newspaper-man's eyes. "For the time I'm guessing—on the principle of putting two and two together and—"

"Making five of it." Carriday turned angrily. "It anything has happened to Sir Rupert, Mr. Parsons is the logical—"

"Yet Sir Rupert sent for me." Again Bobby's infectious grin showed. "Why did he do that? I wonder—but I don't know. Sir Rupert expected something to happen. I didn't. I couldn't see how anything criminal could happen with eight reputable people in a closed room. Yet it has. If anything serious has happened to Sir Rupert—"

"Mr. Trayne, is Sir Rupert seriously injured?" The girl spoke from behind him; her tones anxious. "Will you not allow me to go to him?"

"Sorry, Miss Haffervale." Bobby thought a moment, then glanced at his watch. "If Lord Carriday will resume his seat at the table and the other gentleman give me their word not to move until Inspector Williams arrives, you may go to Sir Rupert. Yes? That doesn't apply to you Mr. Parsons. You and Miss Haffervale can do all that's necessary at the moment, for Sir Rupert."

He stepped before the windows, until he came to the wall immediately behind Sir Rupert's chair, at the head of the table. The girl crossed quickly to the couch and whispered to the solicitor. At his reply she dropped to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

Bobby lowered his pistol hand. For some seconds his eyes wandered from face to face of the sullen-looking men gathered round the table. Presently he stepped forward and glanced down at the polished table-top immediately before where Sir Rupert had been seated.

A gold hunter-cased watch lay on the table—the cover open. With a pencil Bobby carefully lowered the cover. On the outer face was engraved Sir Rupert's monogram. The newspaperman frowned, thoughtfully. Why had the wounded man had his opened watch on the table? He let the cover fly open again. Immediately he saw the hands he glanced down at his own watch. Sir Rupert's watch was four minutes slow.

Sir Rupert had been interested in watching the time while he sat at the table. Yet his watch was four minutes slow. Why?

Bobby half-stretched his hand out towards, the watch—then drew it back. He must not touch anything! He must preserve everything as it was at the moment the shot was fired, until the arrival of the police.

A knock came at the door and Gerald Preston started to his feet, to resume his seat at a slight motion from, the newspaperman. Bobby gave the permission to enter and the servant who had gone to the telephone opened the door.

"I have telephoned the doctor, sir," the man reported. "He says he will be here in five minutes. I also telephoned the police."

"Headquarters, as I Instructed?" Bobby spoke sharply.

"Yes, sir."

"Inspector Williams answer?"

"Yes, sir. He says he will be with you as quickly as possible."

"Good. You can go. Close the door after you."

"This is insufferable." Lord Carriday was again on his feet.

"Sit down!"

"Held up by a young maniac armed with a gun," Ibbotson laughed angrily. "But I'll see he gets his!"

Bobby, did not answer. His eyes were flashing from face to face around the long table; his mind was conning over a problem. Sir Rupert had his watch open on the desk—and that watch was four minutes slow. Why? If only he could get an answer to that question.

He turned to see the solicitor lifting Myrtle to her feet.

"Sir Rupert—?" Bobby spoke questioningly to the solicitor.

"Is dead." Parsons bowed his head. "I believe he died instantaneously."

"I thought so." Bobby murmured. He raised his voice slightly.

"Mr. Parsons, will you please place a chair for Miss Haffervale behind your chair at the table."

"Miss Haffervale should—" The lawyer hesitated.

"Oh, no. Not that!" The girl spoke quickly.

"The chair is the safest place." The newspaperman insisted.

"Safest place, rot!" Ibbotson spoke. "Do you expect someone to murder her."

"Yes."

"Tell me who killed Sir Rupert."

Bobby's blue eyes flashed to the speaker.

"You suggest one of us murdered Sir Rupert," Carriday laughed, sarcastically.

"I do."

"Then why don't you arrest him?"

"I'm arresting the lot of you—until the police come. Then I shall do my best to help them to sort the murderer out."

"Unmitigated rot!" Mackenzie swung his chair from the table, leaning back, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his fingertips meeting. "You dare to say that one of us murdered our host."

"The doors were closed—no one opened them, I'll swear to that. No one could get into the room from the terrace for the windows were closed and locked. You can see the glass is unbroken. How then could the shot come from without the room—or how could any one enter the room to fire at Sir Rupert? The only possible solution is that the shot was fired by someone within the room. I am the only one who has shown a weapon, yet. The police will decide if anyone else carries a gun."

A knock sounded at the door. At the newspaperman's answer the door opened and a short black-bearded man strode into the room.

"Dr. Martingale, sir," the servant announced.

"All right. Mr. Parsons, will you attend Mr. Martingale?"

Bobby turned again to the servant who still stood in the doorway.

"Well, what is it?"

"There is a policeman at the door, sir."

"A policeman? Inspector Williams?"

"No Sir. A constable from the local station."

"Show him in." Lord Carriday spoke impatiently. "Thank goodness there's someone with authority come. Now we'll get rid of this bumptious newspaperman."

"Hold on there." Bobby spoke quickly as the servant turned to leave the room. "What's he want?"

"He says Sir Rupert rang up the local station early this morning and asked that a constable should be sent here at noon exactly. He says he is sorry he's a few minutes late. Shall I show him in, sir?"