Читать книгу The Dagger and Cord - Aidan de Brune - Страница 12

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THE cheque forms in the book were mechanically numbered. The butts of the two cheques already used bore the numbers 70071 and 70072. The unused form exposed was numbered 70073, and a quick glance through the remainder of the book showed that no form had been withdrawn elsewhere.

Roy threw his hat back on the peg and telephoned police headquarters, asking that Greyson should come to his office as soon as possible. Then, with the open cheque-book on the desk before him, he sat down and tried to fit this new clue—if clue it was—into the mystery.

A telephone inquiry to his bank would give him the number of the Basil Holt cheque deposited for clearance that day. His hand was on the instrument when he hesitated. Greyson had asked that the cheque be immediately cleared. If he made any inquiry about it he might cause delay.

He was not quite certain what was at the back of the detective's mind when he made the request. A delay might seriously hamper some plan Greyson had formed and was waiting to develop. Some instinct told him that neither of the cheques torn from the butts of the book before him corresponded with the cheque he had found in the dead girl's hand-bag. If that was so, then this new discovery might lead nowhere. The second filled-in butt would correspond to the cheque he had paid into his bank. The '£100' butt might have been used by the man for some purpose other than the Peyton Place house.

Who was Basil Holt, and what were his reasons for wanting the Peyton Place property? He had come to Roy out of the teeming multitude of Sydney city. He had asked that the broker purchase for him a house in a back street. There was little but suspicion to connect him with the dead girl Mansell and he had found in that house. Up to the telephone conversation that day, the man's attitude had been normal. The refusal to go on with the negotiations for the purchase of the house, because of the finding of the dead girl on the premises, had been trivial and illogical. The man's incomprehensible attitude in Roy's offices, when informed that the houses in Peyton Place were to be pulled down, was the first direct clue to anything but a business interest in the place.

Had not Roy become curious regarding the house in Peyton Place—had he not chanced on the "Lonely Lady" advertisements—it was possible 7a Peyton Place might have passed into the possession of Basil Holt. In that case, Holt would have found the body of the girl, some days later, when he went to take possession of his new purchase. What would Holt have done? Would he have sent for the police?

Roy had a strange belief that if Holt had acquired the property in the normal manner the dead girl would never have come to her death in that house—that Holt's keen desire to purchase was to cover some criminal activities, of which the murder was but an incident, unforeseen and embarrassing.

Against that assumption stood Sam Kearney's wavering attitude regarding the property. He had refused to sell the house at the time Basil Holt was willing to purchase it. He had, with no known reason, changed his mind; and almost coincident with Kearney's willingness to sell had come Holt's refusal to go on with the negotiations.

It only remained for Kearney to try to get out of the contract to sell, that he had entered into that morning, to complete the cycle of mystery. From whatever angle Roy looked at the facts, they held a direct relationship to the discovery of the dead girl. Could Kearney have had any knowledge of the girl's dead body in that upper room in Peyton Place? He had refused to sell the property while the corpse lay there, undiscovered. Immediately on the publication of the finding of the body he had been anxious to be rid of the place at any cost. He had sent for Roy and almost forced the purchase of the property on him; and immediately he had effected the sale, gained the greatest publicity for it.

Yet, in some manner, the discovery of the girl's body had forced the hands of both Sam Kearney and Basil Holt. Roy was certain of that. He believed that both men wore interested in concealing the murder and in shielding the murderer, although for different reasons. The one positive fact indicating this was Basil Holt's panic-stricken flight, when faced with the fact that Peyton Place was to be pulled down. At that interview he had clearly indicated that his sole interest lay in 7a. He did not care what happened to the other houses in the row. Roy looked at his watch. It was nearly half-past one. For the moment he debated whether to go to lunch or to wait for the police officer.

Ho decided to remain in his office. Lunch could wait. The suggestion that in some manner Sam Kearney would try and slip out of the verbal agreement to sell Peyton Place persisted in his mind. Roy went to the typewriter in the outer office and slipped a sheet of note-paper in the machine. He would write to Kearney confirming the purchase of the property and insisting that the contract of sale be immediately completed. He would ignore the question of terms of payment and arrange to hand over the balance of the purchase money to the speculator immediately.

The letter completed, he next wrote to the bank. They held certain securities sufficient to cover the balance of the purchase money on Peyton Place. Roy asked that the bank advance the necessary money on these securities, until they could be realised on the market. He was risking much by this action, but he had a belief that, with the Peyton Place houses in his hands, he held the key to the strange mystery in which he had become involved.

As he finished the second letter, Greyson walked into the office. The broker handed the copies of the two letters to him. He read them carefully and nodded his satisfaction. "You're certainly justifying my belief in you, Mr. Onslay," the detective remarked gravely. "But this is going to cost you a pretty penny."

"Ten thousand pounds—nearly all I have in the world. But, if the plans I have formed materialize, I stand to make quite a hundred thousand pounds on the deal."

"A hundred thousand pounds in pulling down a row of dilapidated houses!" Greyson whistled softly. "There seems to be some money in real estate."

"Not in pulling down the houses," corrected the broker, "but in changing one of the eyesores of Sydney into a big, modern hotel with a handsome frontage to Macquarie Place. Wonder some one never thought of it before. With all the overseas shipping crowding Sydney Harbour, the proposition's a gold-mine."

"Not on a fifteen years' lease," the police officer objected. "You told me a while ago that Miss Warbor refused to consider selling the freehold."

"She might consider cancelling these leases and giving me a satisfactory long term lease of the whole place," Roy laughed. "So far, I believe, I have made a very fair bargain. If Miss Warbor falls in with my views, she will find herself in a much more satisfactory position."

"There's a lot in that. Now, what do you want me for?"

Roy led the way into his private room and pointed to the cheque-book that Holt had left on his desk. Without speaking, Greyson examined the book, fingering it as little as possible. He took from his pocket-book the cheque taken from the second envelope, and laid it on the book. The number on it did not correspond to any of those on the forms. They were numbered from 70071 and ended with 70090. The cheque was numbered 70091.

"Probably the first form out of a new book," commented the detective. "Now, Mr. Onslay, give me the description of this Basil Holt again. Don't try to remember what you told me yesterday. Go ahead describing the man as you saw him this morning. Between your two descriptions I may be able to pick out something that will identify him to our fellows."

Roy tried to give a careful word picture of the man, as he had appeared that morning. Greyson listened in silence, making occasional notes in his pocket-book. When the broker ceased speaking he lay back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully.

"Let's get back to the Peyton Place deal," he said abruptly. "You'll remember, I remarked over the phone, that your purchase of Peyton Place would be made to look queer. That's because you're the only person who seems to have set eyes on this Basil Holt. He's not in the directories, nor on the electoral rolls. I can tell you there's quite a hue and cry about the city for that man. Some of the newspaper fellows refuse to believe he exists. They infer you're working some queer point behind this imaginary person."

For half an hour the two men discussed the latest developments of the mystery. Then Greyson placed Basil Holt's cheque book in his pocket, and left for police headquarters. He instructed Roy, if the man returned and demanded his cheque-book, to refer him to headquarters. He was to explain that he had handed the book to the police, because he was not aware of Holt's address. Nothing was to be said of the cheque found on the dead girl. Roy went out for lunch.

On his way down the street he purchased the late editions of the newspapers. The Peyton Place mystery was well displayed. The Moon gave special prominence to Roy's part in the mystery. Boxed in the centre of the story was a paragraph setting out his purchase of the property from Sam Kearney. The inference could not be avoided. In the three columns devoted to the affair his name occurred again and again, always accompanied by suggestions that he had not taken the police—and incidentally the public—into his full confidence. Roy was struck by the remarkable absence of any mention of Mark Mansell's part in the discovery of the dead girl. The newspapers merely recorded that Mansell had been with Roy that night, and had left immediately the body was found, to obtain police assistance. The Estate Agent had, apparently, not been interviewed by the newspaper reporters. If he had, his story of the night's happenings should have materially contradicted the newspaper case against the broker. Roy felt the attack was unjust. He could not but think that some great influence was at work in the newspaper offices to overwhelm and discredit him. He had to couple this veiled attack with the anxiety Kearney had shown to get immediate publicity for his sale and Roy's purchase of Peyton Place.

Leaving his meal half-finished, Roy walked out of the restaurant. He was disinclined to go back to his office. There was little to do there, and possibly Kearney might attempt to seek him out to obtain a revision of the contract of sale. It would be wise to keep out of the way for the time. At half-past four the contract should be ready for his signature. If it did not arrive by five o'clock Kearney would have defaulted, and he would hand him over to his solicitors to deal with. Then the full story of the Peyton Place dealings would come out, and probably Sam Kearney would have many awkward questions to answer.

Roy was determined to go on with his suddenly conceived plans for an hotel on the Peyton Place site. The scheme had been born of a sudden impulse, but the more he considered it the more it appealed to him. If Judith Warbor would grant the new lease, or sell him the freehold, he was certain he could put the deal through. It was a proposition that would appeal to Sir Matthew Hyston, the best-known architect in the city. With his interest engaged, there would be no trouble in obtaining the necessary capital. That secured, Roy's ten thousand pounds speculation would yield a magnificent return.

First, he must obtain the freeholds, or a long lease of the ground, from Miss Judith Warbor. Roy know little of her, although her name was familiar. Her father, Stephen Warbor, had many years before established a chain of newsagencies and libraries throughout the State. He had built up a gigantic business—to die and leave his young daughter a majority of the shares in a company paying heavy dividends.

Still considering the problems surrounding his visionary hotel, Roy wandered down Pitt Street. He came to a halt at the entrance to Peyton Place. It opened on the east side of the street, some two hundred yards from the spot where Pitt Street merged into Circular Quay. At the south corner of the Place stood a branch of Warbor Libraries Ltd. The opposite corner was occupied by a large hairdresser-tobacconist shop. Across the entrance to the Place straddled a queer, stone arch, containing, so far as Roy could see, two rooms, occupied by the Library. The tobacconist's shop did not enter into Roy's scheme for the new hotel. The library stood on the corner of Peyton Place and backed on to the houses. If he could interest Judith Warbor, he might be able to acquire the Library site and include it in his plans. From the bulk of the new building he would be able to make provision for the Library, possibly turning it into a valuable asset to the hotel.

The more he considered the scheme the better Roy liked it. He remembered that for some time the City Council had wished to close the Place. Only the strong influence of the Warbor Estates had kept it open. There would be no difficulty in obtaining the closing of the thoroughfare.

Roy entered the Place and walked down past the row of shops. Numbers 1 and 2 had disappeared—they had probably been pulled down when the Library building was erected. The first existing shop was numbered 3, and the numbers continued to 7a. From 3 to 7 the houses were of one pattern. Number 7a was different. It showed signs that it had been erected at a later date, probably on the gardens of the houses fronting on Macquarie Place.

Number 3 was empty, and a glance through the windows showed that it was being used as a store by the Library. Number 4 was in the occupation of a petty newsagent. Number 5 was kept by a grocer named Green. Number 6 was empty, and 7 was in the occupation of as antique-dealer. Number 7a was vacant. A constable lounged in its doorway.

Roy halted half-way down the Place and looked at his newly-acquired property. Why had Sam Kearney bought these leases? They were right out of his usual line of speculation. The houses were dilapidated and not worth renting unless considerable sums of money were spent on their repair. Kearney had told him that Judith Warbor would not sell the freehold. He had said that he had approached her with an offer; possibly before he purchased the leases. She had refused to sell: then why had he bid for the leases? The man had held the property for quite six months—and had taken no steps to sell it, or to put it in a condition for letting. He had allowed it to lie idle, neglected, and unremunerative, until the dead girl had been found in the upper room of 7a. Then he had hastened to sell—at a price Roy believed to be less than the sum he had paid for the leases!

As Roy turned on his heels, surveying the Place, he noticed a man standing close against the blank wall under the arch. For a fraction of a second their eyes met. Roy started forward. The man turned abruptly and, crossing before the Library, disappeared in the thronged Pitt Street. Roy walked swiftly after him, but he was soon out of sight. The man was Basil Holt! Why had he been standing there, watching him? If Holt had recognised him why had he not come forward to inquire about the cheque-book he had left in Roy's office? He must have known, by this time, of the loss of the book. Yet, immediately Roy turned towards him, he disappeared in the crowded street.

Roy shrugged his shoulders and turned up the Place again. The man was mad. If he came to his offices he would inform him that the police were in possession of his cheque-book, and advise him to apply to them for it. A burly man stepped out of the antique-shop, halting to speak to someone within. Roy hesitated, then turned sharply, towards Pitt Street. Under the arch he loitered, with his back to the Place, until he heard the man's steps close behind him. He turned swiftly, his hand outstretched.

"How are you, Mr. Kearney! Come to have a final look at the property you have so recently disposed of?"