Читать книгу The Dagger and Cord - Aidan de Brune - Страница 11

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"I DON'T quite understand, Mr. Holt!" Roy spoke across his desk, facing his late client. "You say you now want to purchase the remainder of the lease of 7a Peyton Place, at any price?"

"That's so." Basil Holt was seated very upright in his chair, puffing nervously at a cigar. "You told me you had made an offer of £4500 for the property. Have you had any result from it?"

Without answering the question Roy drew the telephone to him and called Mansell & Co. Mark Mansell was in his office and was immediately connected.

"Sam Kearney stated a few minutes ago that the property was sold." answered the estate agent to Roy's inquiry. "Don't know who the purchaser is. Why! Do you want it now?"

"My client is in my office and has renewed his instructions to purchase." Roy spoke impersonally.

"That's funny." There followed a long pause. "I suppose I'd better tell you. Almost immediately you rang me up and cancelled your offer I received an instruction to purchase the property, at any price."

"At any price!"

"Sky the limit. I called Sam Kearney, and made on offer, prepared to go the limit, but was curtly informed I was too late, the property has just been sold. What do you know?"

"Little more than you. Suppose I mustn't ask who your client is!"

"Secrecy clause in the contract. Oh, say, have you seen the noon papers? They're hitting at you."

"So! Where do you come in? Have not forgotten we entered the house together, have you? Why hit at me and let the wealthy head of Mansell and Co. off without even a warning?"

"I wasn't there when—"

"When the cord and dagger appeared. Say, Mr. Mansell, have you forgotten your history so far that you fail to recognise that the cord and dagger once stood for a warning."

Without waiting for a reply Roy rang off and hung up the receiver. He could not have resisted the last thrust at his one-time friend. Mansell had been with him when he discovered the dead girl. The man had full knowledge of Roy's innocence, yet was trying to shift from under the coming storm. Roy could feel only a bitter contempt for him.

"Peyton Place is in the boom, Mr. Holt." Roy turned carelessly to his client. "I can tell you the property was sold just before midday, and shortly after half-past twelve Mansell and Co., received instructions from a client to offer the limit for it."

"Sold? The limit for it?" The man's face paled strangely; the hand holding the cigar shook so that the ash fell on the knees of his trousers.

"Mansell's received instructions to obtain the property at any cost." Roy took a vicious delight in seeing the man squirm. "He had acquired a very solid distaste for Basil Holt.

"Who made the offer?" Holt bent eagerly forward. "Don't you understand, Mr. Onslay. It is imperative that I have the property."

"Dead girl and all?" Roy was speaking recklessly. He had hardly spoken when he started from his chair, amazed at the effect of his words. The man fell forward, as if stricken by a paralytic stroke. For a moment he hung on the corner of the desk, his face white as a sheet his breath coming in long panting efforts. At last he managed to prop himself back in his chair, and sat staring stonily at the broker. Roy went round the desk and fetched a glass of water.

"Sorry, Mr. Holt, to have startled you so." He held the glass against the man's chattering teeth. "Here! Drink this!"

For a few seconds the man gulped greedily at the liquid. He sat upright with an effort, and stared at the broker.

"I want that property," he stuttered.

"It is not for sale."

"I'll give ten thousand pounds for that house." The man was watching Roy with glazed, expressionless eyes.

Ten thousand pounds! The bid left Roy speechless. He had but to speak one word and clear his indebtedness to Sam Kearney. He could part with 7a Peyton Place, but he would have the remaining five house on his hands, free from debt. It was probable he could quickly sell them and come out of the deal many thousands of pounds to the good. It would be, perhaps, the finest day's work he would ever accomplish in his business career.

"Sorry, the property is not for sale." Almost involuntary he spoke the words, keenly watching the man in the chair before him.

"But I must have it. What does the purchaser want? Ten—twenty thousand? Find out, Mr. Onslay. There must be a price. Money doesn't matter."

"Money does not matter to the man who has purchased the property." Roy spoke slowly. "I'm going to tell you the inside story of the deal, Mr. Holt When I received your instructions to cancel your bid for the property, I telephoned Mansell and Co. to that effect. Shortly after, I received a telephone message from Mr. Sam Kearney. He asked me to call on him. I did so, and he asked me if you were prepared to bid for the property. I answered 'No.' He then asked if I would purchase for myself. I considered the proposition and at last agreed. I purchased 7a Peyton Place and the five adjoining houses at noon today."

"Good!" Basil Holt recovered his colour. He drew his chair to the desk, and took his cheque-book from pocket.

"Of course, I understand the instructions to you are cancelled. We can start off afresh on a new deal. Now, what is your price for 7a Peyton Place?"

"I purchased the six houses, Mr. Holt."

"I don't want the six; I only want 7a."

"The houses are not for sale, Mr. Holt."

"Ten thousand pounds for the one house, 7a." Holt's voice became persuasive. "You know, Mr. Onslay, that's big money. I'm guessing you paid less than that for the six. Think! I'm offering you your money back, and you will have the five houses to your profit. Really, a splendid deal!"

"The houses are not for sale," Roy spoke stolidly.

"Nonsense." The man's voice became sharp. "Of course you're holding me up on what I said just now. Well, name your price, Mr. Onslay. I don't care what it is—it's sheer blackmail, anyway. Twenty thousand pounds for the one house!"

"Look here, Mr. Holt. I've given my answer." Roy had risen angrily from his chair and stood towering over his visitor. "I've made my plans regarding the houses. The two house at the corner of Macquarie Place and Peyton Place have been in my hands for sale for some time. I'm buying them. They, with the Peyton Place houses, will form an ideal hotel site."

"Hotel site?"

"Yes. I recognise you gave me the clue to a good deal, and I don't want to be ungenerous. I will sell you a quarter share in the eight houses for five thousand pounds."

For some minutes there was complete silence in the room. Basil Holt had risen from his chair and was leaning heavily against the corner of the desk, his left hand clutching his throat.

"I don't understand," he muttered in a strangled voice. "You refuse my offer of twenty thousand pounds for the one house, and offer me a share in the eight houses for five thousand pounds?"

"The problem's quite simple." Roy laughed slightly. "I'm offering you a quarter share in an hotel site proposition, not in the old houses. They'll be cleared away, and—"

"Are you proposing to pull down 7a Peyton Place?" The man looked absolutely stupefied.

"Just that. All the Peyton Place houses will come down, and also the two houses fronting Macquarie Place. On that site I intend to build a fifteen-storey—"

"Pull down 7a Peyton Place!" Holt looked with wondering eyes at the broker. "Man, you're mad!"

With a despairing gesture Holt turned and almost ran to the door, jerking it open and speeding out into the corridor. Roy stood staring after his late client The man had been an enigma from the first; now he appeared to be a plain lunatic.

Suddenly an idea came to the broker's mind. He turned to his desk and seized the telephone, calling police head-quarters. Hurriedly he asked to be connected with Detective Greyson. A long delay ensued before the cool, quiet voice of the police officer came over the wire.

"What's the hurry. Mr. Onslay. Told you the newspapers would go you some. Do you want me to come round and arrest you straight away?"

"Listen, Greyson." Roy could hardly speak for excitement. "Basil Holt's been here. Offered me any money for the Peyton Place house. I told him it was sold, and he went up to twenty thousand pounds for a last bid. When I told him the six houses were coming down to make way for a modern hotel, he nearly went mad and bolted from the room."

"Yon told him 7a Peyton Place was to come down—to be pulled down?" Greyson spoke with exasperating slowness.

"Yes, 7a and the other houses. To be pulled down, destroyed, obliterated! Don't you understand? Not one brick left on the other—and all that!"

"If you spoke to him as you're speaking now, I quite understand why he bolted from your office. Say, Mr. Onslay, what induced you to purchase that property?"

"Where did you get that from?" Roy asked the question in bewilderment. Little more than an hour had passed since he had made the deal with Sam Kearney.

"It's the talk of the town, young man. The Moon's got a double column on it, and is coupling it with the murder. Seems to suggest the murder was the outcome of the deal, or the deal of the murder. You've opened up things with a vengeance—and what the hell for, I quite fail to understand."

Roy dropped the receiver back on the hook, his bright idea on Holt's visit unstated to the police officer. This news overtopped everything. But a bare hour ago he had sat in Sam Kearney's offices making the deal. The contract of sale was still unsigned, although he had paid over his deposit cheque. Only he and Kearney—and now Holt—knew of the sale of the Peyton Place property to him.

Kearney had been most anxious to sell. He had practically forced the purchase on Roy, and that after refusing a fine profit on the one house the previous day. Was he to believe that Kearney, immediately he had left his office, had rung up the newspapers and given them details of the sale? It could only be so. What phase of the mystery surrounding the house in Peyton Place, and culminating in the death of the unknown girl, had forced the speculator to alter his plans and get rid of the property?

Roy believed that the great publicity given to the finding of the unknown girl's body in the Peyton Place house had been the dominant factor, forcing the speculator to get rid of the property Kearney had been most insistent that Roy should purchase. Immediately the deal was consummated he had conveyed the information to the press.

Was the passing of the Peyton Place property—so promptly conveyed to the press—intended for some particular person's eyes? Roy remembered that the man had started slightly when he informed him that his client had refused to go on with the purchase. Immediately, Kearney had assumed Roy to be the principal, shielding his interest behind talk of a client. Kearney had known that Basil Holt had withdrawn from the deal, and had been annoyed that he had not been able to anticipate the man's withdrawal. But, apart from Holt and Kearney, there appeared to be another party interested in 7a Peyton Place.

Was the person who had panicked the big speculator Mark Mansell's unknown client? Was it for the eyes of this person that Kearney had so widely advertised the purchase of Peyton Place by Roy Onslay? What had Sam Kearney known of the girl who had lain for twenty-four hours dead in that upper room?

More and more Roy's thoughts turned, in accusation, towards the big speculator. Slowly the clues to the mystery surrounding the unknown girl were linking together, and holding in their grip the big man who, for years, had dominated Sydney's property markets. Roy believed that Kearney, with half a dozen words, could put the police on the track of the murderer—but the man dared not speak those words. He was in mortal fear of some one—some one for who's eyes he had broadcasted Roy's purchase of the property.

Roy believed he was on the right track, at last. He picked up his hat and turned to the door to go to lunch. As he passed round his desk he caught sight of the open cheque-book lying before the chair on which Holt had been seated. He bent over it, inquisitively. Two cheque-forms were missing from the thin book. He pushed back the cover so as to reveal the butts. The first butt was blank, except for the amount: £100. The second butt was fully filled in. The cheque had been made payable to 'Roy Onslay,' and was for one thousand pounds.

Yet Roy had seen two cheques for one thousand pounds each, drawn by Basil Holt in favour of himself. One of them had been handed across the desk to him by the drawer. The other had been found on the dead girl in Peyton Place. The man's cheque-book showed only one cheque for one thousand pounds as having been drawn, and a cheque for one hundred pounds, payable to some unknown person. Did that partly filled-in butt represent the cheque Greyson declared he had found in the second envelope? If so, why the wrongly entered amount?