Читать книгу The Dagger and Cord - Aidan de Brune - Страница 9

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ROY'S hand went involuntarily to his breast-pocket. He was staring at the cheque on the table in blank amazement. Basil Holt's cheque, in the envelope he had taken from the hand-bag of the dead girl! It was unbelievable.

"Quite a mystery, isn't it, Mr. Onslay?" Greyson's voice seemed to come from far off. "First envelope produced a cutting from a newspaper published some twelve hours, or more, after the girl died—according to Dr. Henshaw. The second envelope contained a cheque that was given you—By the way, Mr. Onslay, when was that cheque given to you?"

"A little after noon yesterday." Roy spoke in expressionless tones. He was dazed at the shock.

"Hm. Then the girl had been dead not less than eighteen hours when the cheque came into your possession. Quite an interesting series of events, Mr. Onslay."

"What do you mean? Do you infer that I—?"

"Put them in the dead girl's hand-bag before extracting them?" Greyson laughed slightly. "You forget. Officially, I have no evidence that the dead girl possessed a hand-bag. There wasn't one about her when I arrived in the room."

"Nor jewels!" Roy's face was set in hopeless despair.

"Nor jewels!" Greyson echoed the broker's words. "I have only your word for the jewels and the handbag."

"Mark Mansell saw them."

"So he did." The detective took his cigar from between his teeth and surveyed it critically. "Now that's strange. I saw Mr. Mansell this morning, and he mentioned the jewels and the hand-bag. He also mentioned the cord and the dagger. By the way, Mr. Onslay, can you explain the cord and the dagger?"

"Isn't it usual to warn suspects that their words may be used against them?" Roy raised his head with a jerk and looked straight into the detective's eyes.

"Suspects?" Greyson raised his bushy eyebrows. "I have not arrested you, Mr. Onslay."

"You're going to." Roy fought back desperately. "There's no use beating about the bush. When you came in this morning, I was counting up the odds for and against my innocence. They showed a big debit against me. I came to the conclusion that the deciding factor would be the contents of the second envelope that, I handed you last night, that contains Basil Holt's cheque. Surely—"

"Interesting!" The detective reached across the desk and picked up the scribbling-pad. He read the lines with quiet smile around his somewhat thick lips. "For an amateur you've set out the case very well, but you've forgotten one thing."

"And that?"

"In our work we are just as suspicious of a hard and fast case for conviction, ready to our hand, as we are of a Simon Pure alibi. In this case you're either bluffing on the Police Department, with one chance in a thousand of bringing it off, or—"

"Or?" Roy echoed the word as the detective came to a significant pause.

"Or you're the biggest damned fool in Australia. You've got it straight there. Take your choice."

"You mean?"

"I mean that, on half the evidence, I would have you behind the bars inside half an hour. With all the evidence, I'm looking for the joker in the pack. Frankly, Mr. Onslay, the case against you is too good. If you laid out the ground you're a genius and deserve to get away with it. If some one prepared the case against you, they've stacked the cards badly. Why, they're not only showing five kings in their hand, but a pair of jokers as well."

"But—who would want to convict me of the murder?" Roy asked the question, bewildered.

"That's what I've got to discover, and when I can answer that, I shan't be far from the real murderer. Now look here, Mr. Onslay, you've got to allow yourself to rest under suspicion for a time. I'm going to let the press have all the facts. That will mean you will read a lot about yourself—and most of it tosh. You'll be condemned for a murderer, without trial, and without being called upon for a defence, by the newspapers. I shall come in for a lot of criticism. The yellow press will yell its life out at the thought of you walking about free. There'll be a lot of talk about 'influence' and 'pull.' Half your acquaintances will cut you; the other half will be so darned affectionate that you'll begin to believe they've got a few nice jobs of throat-cutting and the like for you to undertake for them. There'll be a hell of a broil, and at the end some silly sentimentalist will demand my head on a charger for neglecting to arrest and hang you at once."

"I don't see why you don't." Roy spoke miserably. "That cheque?"

"Is Just the last straw that turned my thoughts in your favour." For the first time Greyson relaxed in his manner. "It's too raw. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to continue that involuntary action you commenced some ten minutes ago, and withdraw your pocket-book—and hand me Basil Holt's cheque."

"What do you mean?"

"Just this. I'm not such a fool as to come to you without first verifying my facts. My first call this morning was on Mr. Mansell. Among other things, I asked if he had any letters from you, signed by you personally. He had, and he was good enough to let me take quite a few to headquarters. Five minutes after I had spoken to our expert, he informed me that you had not endorsed that cheque, although it was a darned good imitation of your writing."

Roy was fumbling with his pocketbook. In a moment he produced the cheque given him on the previous day by Basil Holt, as deposit on the Peyton Place house. Carelessly he turned it over, to stare at it in surprise. Without speaking he passed the slip of paper across to the detective.

"I'd have sworn I endorsed it yesterday before leaving this office. Even now—"

"Well, you didn't, and that's good enough for me. Now, we've got to explain why that chap, who put the cheque in the dead girl's hand-bag, thought you had endorsed the cheque."

"I quite intended to. In fact, I cannot understand why I did not. My intention was to go to Sam Kearney, purchase the property, and hand him my cheque for deposit. Then to go to my bank and deposit Basil Holt's cheque."

"Did you tell anyone you'd endorsed the cheque?"

Roy thought a few moments. Then he shook his head.

"Is that Basil Holt's signature?"

Greyson pointed to the cheque found in the second envelope. "The signatures look alike. I should say yes."

"I've got to test that answer. If correct I shall have quite a number of questions to ask Mr. Basil Holt with regard to his partiality for signing cheques for even thousands. I don't know—"

The shrill clamour of the telephone bell broke on the detective's speech. Roy reached to the bracket for the instrument, but Greyson stopped him.

"Go in your outer office and speak from there," he ordered quickly. "I'm listening in. If it's business, all right. If private, I'll cut out at once. Leave the door open."

The broker hesitated a moment, and left the room, leaving the communicating door wide-open. Before lifting the receiver on his clerk's desk he moved the instrument to a position from where he could plainly see the detective.

"Mr. Onslay?" The question was asked in a voice vaguely familiar.

"Yes. Who's speaking?"

"Basil Holt. I rang up to know if you'd been successful in obtaining an option on the Peyton Place property?"

"Sorry. The owner is disinclined to sell. His agent has asked for an offer, and I have made one of four thousand five hundred pounds. Is that agreeable to you?"

There followed a long pause; so long that Roy thought the line had been disconnected. His hand went on the switch when the man spoke again.

"What's this story of a dead girl being found in the place?"

"What?" Roy simulated surprise to gain time for the detective to instruct him. A quick nod showed the broker he was on the right track.

"A dead girl. Didn't you see the newspapers this morning?"

"Only just glanced at the headings. What's the story?"

"A dead girl was found in No 7a Peyton Place, late last night. That's all, except that after such a thing—"

"Possibly some poor creature of the streets, starved and ill, crawled in there to die. Still, I can't fancy the place after that. Do not go further with the matter, Mr. Onslay, please."

"I am to write to the owner's agent and withdraw my offer?"

"If you please. Of course, you understand that, in the circumstances, I am entitled to—"

"Of course! Certainly! If you will let me have a note of my indebtedness to you, I will have a cheque drawn immediately."

"And the cheque for deposit you gave me yesterday?"

"Please return it to me."

"It will be simpler for me to deduct my charges and send you my cheque for the difference."

"No." There was a note of irritability in Holt's voice. "I don't like that sort of cross-accounts. Telephone me your charges and I will send a clerk with a cheque to cover, and to bring back the cheque for deposit I gave you yesterday. By the way, I understand from the manner in which you speak that you did not pay it into your account. Did you endorse it?"

"Yes. Sorry, but I was certain—"

"Oh. It doesn't matter. Good-bye."

The sharp click of the receiver showed that Basil Holt had disconnected. Roy hung up and went back to his private room. Greyson was standing by the desk a wry smile on his lips.

"What did you make of it?" asked Roy, in a low tone.

"Just that the gentleman was most anxious to know if you had paid the cheque into your account; and also as to whether you had endorsed it, or not. He seemed very relieved and satisfied when he rang off."

"I lied because—"

"Because you've got no time for rogues and murderers!" The detective held out his hand. "I'm glad I called in on you this morning, Mr. Onslay. Sorry I've got to leave you under a cloud for a time, but believe me, you're doing the State a service by putting up with a little temporary inconvenience."

At the door between Roy's room and the outer office the detective halted and turned abruptly towards the broker.

"By the way What is Basil Holt's address?"

"I don't know." For the first time, Roy understood how effectively his late client had been using him for some indefinite purpose.

"Nor his telephone number?"

"No. When he first came to me he gave me his card. I placed it on my desk. When I came to look for it this morning I could not find it. I thought it had slipped to the ground and had been gathered up by the caretaker."

"More than probable Holt retrieved it before he left your office. He seems to know his way about, but he makes mistakes." For a few seconds the detective stood in deep thought. "Yes, he makes mistakes. Look here, Mr. Onslay. Endorse that cheque and pay it into your account at once. Don't waste a moment. Get it in, and pay any special fee to have it cleared at once. I'll stand behind you if there's trouble. See?"