Читать книгу The Dagger and Cord - Aidan de Brune - Страница 5

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THE faint light from the street-light half-way down Peyton Place filtered in through the dirty windows, faintly illuminating the room, but leaving the body of the girl in deep shadow.

Roy stood at the open door, listening intently. Who had rung the bell? Had the foul fiends who had taken the girl's life and brought her to this empty house, returned to complete their work—to add robbery to their list of crimes? He had wondered why the girl bad been left with the valuable jewellery and money. Had he and Mansell, when they entered the house, disturbed the criminals? That could not be, for they had searched the house and found it empty. He was certain he was alone in the place—Yet, someone had rung the bell, as if confident the house contained some inmate who would answer the summons.

Was the murderer of the girl still in the house? If so, where was he hiding? The idea seemed impossible. He was—he must be—alone with the body of the murdered girl.

Roy persuaded himself that a patrolling policeman had rung the bell, and was still waiting on the doorstep for an answer. In that case it was imperative that he should go down to the door. He would have to shout explanations through the glass; that he was locked in the house while Mansell was bringing the police. Would the man believe that? He would have to inform him of the dead girl in the upper room, and the man would force an entrance, possibly through the boarded-up shop window. There would be noise, and a crowd would be attracted.

If he waited, ignoring the ring, the constable might think he had been mistaken in seeing a light in the upper window. He might loiter about for a time; but then Mansell and the police from headquarters would arrive. Further explanations would then be necessary. The man would state that he had rung the bell and had received no answer, Roy would be called upon for explanations—and he had none.

Perhaps if he went to the door he could explain sufficient to induce the man to mount guard outside until Mansell returned with the headquarters police. That seemed the best solution to the difficulty. Roy went to the head of the stairs and peered down towards the shop door. He could only see the lower wooden panels. He crept silently down the stairs until he caught sight of the glass square. There was no one outside the door.

It a police officer had rung the bell it was possible that he had gone to the buildings in the rear in the hope of obtaining entrance to the house from the yard, but it was improbable. The officer would not leave the front of the building unguarded. He would immediately summon assistance.

It might not have been a constable who had rung the bell. Roy had to fall back on his theory that the person who had rung the bell was either the actual murderer, or some confederate who knew there was some one in the house. Yet, there was no one in the house. Roy was positive of that. He and Mansell had searched the place thoroughly before Mansell had left in search of the police. If the man was in the house, where could he be hidden? Roy rapidly reviewed the building. He could not think of a place where a man could hide.

Roy walked down the stairs and stood looking through the shop-door, out onto Peyton Place. There was no one in sight. Whoever had rung the bell had gone away. Would he return?

The ringing or the bell had come as a shock to the broker. He flashed the light of the torch around the shop. Where was the bell? He wanted to go up to the girl and continue the search he had started. But, he could not do that with the bell likely to ring again at any minute. He must find it, and put it out of action. The silence of the house was getting on his nerves. He wanted to shout; he almost prayed for something to break the awful silence—but not the ringing of the bell. He could not stand that.

After a short search be found the bell hanging in the back room, close to the door. It hung high on the wall, and he could not reach the wires. He looked around for something to stand on. He remembered he had seen a packing-case in the shop. He brought it into the back room and found it would allow him to just reach the wires above the bell. As he stepped on to it and reached upwards, the bell sounded again.

The sudden clanging nearly threw him from his frail support to the ground. He snapped off the light of his torch and peered round the edge of the door. From where he stood the stairway cut off all view of the glass panel in the shop-door. He must know who had rung the bell.

Roy stepped through the door into the shop and moved silently forward along the frame-work of the stairway. At length he came in sight of the door. Pressed against the square of glass was the face of a young girl. She was staring intently up the stairs.

For some time Roy stood watching the girl. He could see a fair outline of her head and shoulders, but he could not distinguish her features. They were in deep shadow. She wore a close-fitting hat.

The absence of any wrap around her shoulders gave a clear outline to her form. Roy believed he would recognise her again, if only because of the large quaintly-shaped ear-rings she wore.

At last the girl moved, stepping back into the roadway and looking up at the windows of the room in which the dead girl lay. For a full minute she remained there, then walked swiftly down the street in the direction of Pitt Street.

Who was this girl, and what interest had she in this house of mystery? Roy waited, leaning against the woodwork of the stairway. He half-expected her to return. Her actions had shown that she expected some one to be in the house. Would she leave the neighbourhood without another attempt to get to the person she believed to be in the house?

The minutes passed slowly.

Roy turned his back to the street door and pulled out his watch. By the light of his torch he saw that Mansell had been gone nearly half an hour. At any moment he might return with the police, and Roy's vigil would be ended.

The broker suddenly remembered the hand-bag that he had been searching when the bell rang. Wearily he turned towards the stairs and ascended to the upper floor. He snapped on the light of his torch and went to the front room.

As the light rested on the still form, he started back with a cry of terror. Above the line of dress right in the centre of her breast, had been driven a thin stiletto, about an inch of the blade of which was showing between the guard and the white flesh.

Roy bent over the dead girl. Instinctively his hand went to the hilt of the dagger to withdraw it, but he hesitated. He could not do the girl any good by withdrawing the weapon. If he removed it that might destroy some clue of value to the police. He knelt on the bare boards and focused the light on the stiletto. The blade, as far as he could see it, was very thin and pliant. He judged that it had penetrated four or five inches into the delicate flesh. That would make the whole blade about six inches long.

There was something strange about the weapon. Looking closer, he saw that a piece of good cord had been loosely wound round the hilt. Both ends were loose, and one of them rested on the dead girl's breast Then he saw that the body had been robbed. The pearl collar had been taken from her throat, and the rings from her fingers. The bag he had commenced to search was missing. Nothing remained by which she could be identified.

Who had been in the room? Roy looked around him, seeking some signs of the intruder's presence. He could see none. The girl had been dead for some time. Then, why the necessity for the stiletto in her breast? Where was the man? Had he and Mansell disturbed the murderer in his ghastly work?

It seemed improbable. The scoundrel would not loiter in the vicinity of his crime. Yet he could not doubt that the man was about the house. He could not have obtained entrance after Mansell had left. He must have been hiding in the house when they entered, and have crept up stairs while Roy was in the little room behind the shop. But what was the meaning of the dagger and the robbery of the jewellery? Had the man committed the crime to cover some further motive?

Roy rose to his feet and walked slowly around the room, looking for some clue to another presence in the house. Everywhere the dust lay thick, but the only marks he could identify were those that he and Mansell had made. The room was bare of furniture. A large mantelpiece surrounded the small fireplace. On the shelf of the mantelpiece stood an end of candle, fastened to the woodwork by a splatter of grease. He felt the wick. It was cold and brittle. He threw the light of the torch along the ledge. The dust lay thick and unmarked.

At the door Roy slipped off his shoes and, in his stockinged feet, crept softly to the next room. The door was ajar. He thrust it back and entered. There was no one there. He went to the rear room. That also was vacant. The window was fastened and the dust lay thick and undisturbed over the woodwork.

It seemed impossible that any person could have been in the rooms and not have left signs of his presence. Roy began to have a feeling that he was dealing with something uncanny. He retrieved his shoes and descended the stairs to the shop-door. He seated himself on the bottom stair and pulled on his shoes. He remained seated, awaiting the arrival of Mansell with the police.

In a bare five minutes, that seemed like dragging hours, a small group of figures darkened the glass of the shop door. Roy could hear the murmur of voices as Mansell unlocked the heavy padlock. The man entered, bringing with them the atmosphere of the everyday world.

"Sorry I've been so long, Roy, but—Good God, man, what's the matter?" Mansell started as the light of the police officer's torch lit the pale drawn face of his friend.

"Hush! There's someone in here."

"Some one here? Impossible! Why, I locked the door behind me when I left. You saw me open it just now."

"I don't know how they got in." Roy spoke under great stress. "I do know that the fiends got up to the dead girl while I was down in the shop and robbed and mutilated her poor body."

"Mutilated her?" One of the officers, a tall, burly man, quietly edged Mansell to one side and faced the broker. "What do you mean?"

"I waited for some time upstairs beside the dead girl. Then came a ring at the bell. I came down and there was no one at the door. I went into the rear room, and presently another ring came on the bell. From the shop I saw a young girl standing in the doorway. Mark had locked the door, and so I could not go to her. After a time she went away and I went upstairs. By the light of my torch I saw the dead girl. Someone had been there and had taken her jewellery and hand-bag. They had driven a dagger into her breast. I searched the house, but could find no one, and I could see no sign of any one's having been about the place."

Roy told his tale dully, unconscious of concealing facts. The shock of the past half-hour's watch beside the dead girl, and the mystery surrounding the house, had almost overwhelmed him. The police officer looked at him curiously for a few seconds; then, without a word of comment, pushed up the stairs. At the door of the front room he turned sharply towards the broker.

"Mr. Onslay. You say you saw the dagger in the dead girl's breast by the light of your torch. When did you light the candle?"

"The candle?" Roy stared in amazement past the police officer into the room. "I never lit the candle. I knew there was one on the mantelpiece, for I felt the wick, and it was cold and brittle. But I never lit it."

The officer turned, without comment and led the way into the room. On the mantelpiece the end of candle burned flickeringly in the slight draught of the empty house.