Читать книгу Whispering Death - Aidan de Brune - Страница 10

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HARDY waited until the doctor had left his patient, then seated himself by Roy's bedside.

"What happened, old man?" he asked quietly.

"Dr. Night threw me from the tramcar." Roy spoke from amid a wealth of bandages.

"Sure?"

"I'll swear he was the man. Besides there was no one else I can think of who would do it."

"Where had you been?"

"Out to South Head, to see Seeman. He told me he did not telephone the paragraph about the mystery 'plane, because he could not raise anyone at the Mirror.

"And then?"

"Had a wander round and a cup of tea—wondering what my next step should be. I caught the tramcar at the terminus and at Vaucluse a man mounted beside me. We were the only two in the compartment. There was a woman further down towards the rear, but she had her back to us."

"Did he—the man—speak?"

"Not a word. I almost forgot he was there until going down the hill to Rose Bay. Then he suddenly jerked me to my feet and flung me out."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely."

"Notice the man?"

"Not particularly, except that he appeared all grey—you know what I mean. Grey hair, grey clothes, had that queer greyness of skin that characterises some men. Just what you described in Dr. Night. Oh, it was he, all right."

"And he mounted the tram at Vaucluse?" Hardy pondered. Had Dr. Night spied on him, penetrating the bluff he had put up of hiding behind Roy? That was possible. Or, he might have been watching the Hallidays. In the latter case, had he seen him at their home? If the Asian had, then he would have to abandon all pretence and come out openly on his trail.

"What are you going to do?" Roy asked after a lengthy pause.

"Go out after Dr. Night." The journalist spoke promptly.

"Then it's me for the social activities again," Roy sighed. "Asking budding millionaires how they made their first ten-pound note. Kidding Mrs. Blank that she's the big noise of the new political party."

"Not unless you want to." Hardy laughed "Look here, young fellow. Dr. Night's big enough to keep both you and I on our toes. You've had a slice of luck, though you don't know it."

"Being pitched off the tram? Thanks!"

"Getting into this house as a guest, which I believe will prove the storm centre of the problem." Hardy spoke quickly.

"What do you mean?" Roy attempted to raise himself and fell back with a low cry of pain.

"Keep still, you young fool!" The elder man's voice was kind. "How do you expect to take a hand in the game when you won't give your broken bones a chance to knit? Now, listen."

For a quarter of an hour he spoke quickly, yet emphatically; recounting the story from the moment someone telephoned him the news of the strange 'plane.

"That couldn't have been Dr. Night," expostulated Roy. "You saw him at the door a few seconds' after."

"You forget the switch-girl. You found her at her post, fast asleep."

"Well?"

"Couldn't Dr. Night have mesmerised her, got her to call me; then telephone the paragraph from her switch, walk up the passage, and gas the lot of us?"

"He might." Roy paused. "Yes, I believe you're right. He could do that, and more. Now, what can I to do? It'll be rotten lying here, unable to move."

"You've got a pretty nurse. What more does a fellow want?"

"She's a peach, right enough."

"Then here's your orders. Get well as quickly as possible—and to do that you must stop worrying. Get in the good graces of the Hallidays, especially the old man. He wants cheering up. Keep them from thinking about Dr. Night—and watch."

"What for?"

"Anything that may happen." Hardy laughed. "Oh, something will, sure enough. Dr. Night's got Halliday's 'plane, complete. But he can't duplicate it, for the inventor hasn't passed over the secret of the gravity box that drives the machine. I'm guessing that Dr. Night wants that badly. He'll be after that—and you are here."

"With a busted shoulder, arm, and ribs! Thanks!"

"Lacking muscles, use your brain-box. A couple of days and you'll be an interesting invalid. In an emergency you'd be able to move about. Inspector Frost will look to the exterior of the house and the neighbourhood. You're in the centre of the web. When I come up again I'll wise you how you can get in touch with his men, if necessary. Other matters I'll attend to and keep you advised."

"Then we're working together? You're not hiding behind me any longer?"

"So you found that out?" Hardy laughed. "You're not so dumb, then. No, if Dr. Night was on the tram and threw you out, then he chased after me out here. That stops pretence. S'long, young fellow. Get well and amuse your nurse. She's worth studying."

From Vaucluse Hardy, went to the Mirror offices and, after a short interview with his managing editor, crossed the road to Police Headquarters.

Inspector Frost listened to his account of the day's happenings in silence, at times nodding understandingly. He agreed that the inventor's loss was a starting point in the investigation, and undertook that the house should be watched night and day. It was certain that Dr. Night would make an effort to gain knowledge of the gravity box. Although he had obtained possession of the Whispering Death he must have a complete set of plans if he wished to duplicate it.

"What does he want the 'plane for?" asked Frost.

"Why not ask why he informed the Mirror that he intended to hold up certain business men for half-a-million," retorted Hardy.

"That's easy." The Inspector laughed. "You say he promised Halliday half-a million for his 'plane. That's what he wants the money for. Dr. Night's queer. He'll steal, but he pays trust with trust. Halliday trusted him with his plans. Dr. Night will wring that half-million from Sydney's business men for Halliday—perhaps a bit more to repay himself for his trouble. Then—"

"Then—"

"I don't know."

For a time the two men were silent. At length, Hardy jumped to his feet, in some excitement.

"Remember when I went after him before?" Frost answered with a. nod. "Remember my strange dream, after the explosion under the rocks at Pott's Point? I dreamed that I saw Dr. Night seated on a throne in the centre of some deserted city in Central Asia? That's what he's after and that's what he wants the 'plane for. He's going to conquer the kingdom of his ancestors!"

"With one 'plane?"

"No, with a fleet of them."

"And no base to operate from?"

"Remember what Halliday told me about his 'plane? It doesn't want fuel; it can remain in the air indefinitely. It can travel at what we would call, at present, impossible speed."

"And, where is this kingdom?" queried Frost, with an incredulous smile.

Hardy did not answer for some minutes. He leaned back in his chair, a dreamy look in his cool, clear eyes.

"While I was recovering from my previous experience with Dr. Night, in hospital, he said, at length, 'Professor Evans, the Orientalist, came to see me He was curious at what had been published regarding Dr. Night. I told him of my dream—if it was a dream—and he questioned me closely. Finally, he decided that if I had not dreamed the whole thing I had been the recipient of some form of thought-transference from Dr. Night. He made a lot of explanations I couldn't follow and finally decided that the city of desolation I had seen was the capital of Dr. Night's forefathers; that it was situated somewhere near Semarechensk—or, in plain English, The Land of the Seven Rivers.'"

"Which, being interpreted—?" queried Frost. "Has a Russian sound to me."

"A successful guess." Hardy laughed. "I looked up the place on a map one day. It is in Russian Turkestan, just outside the borders of the Chinese Empire and not far from the point where China, India, Afghanistan, and Russia meet."

"Don't know the place," the Inspector ejaculated.

"Opportunities for travel in that direction may be provided for you, later." Hardy spoke significantly. "From all accounts, it is a sweet corner of the world. By the way, Frost, someone libelled that you'd taken up miniature golf."

"I've played a game or two," Frost, spoke modestly.

"You'll have to change your game it you go to Semarechensk, y'know. I understand the people of the Seven Rivers indulge in early rising. The principle amusement is, I believe, going out and cutting a few throats before breakfast."

"You think I'm going there?" The detective gazed inquiringly at his companion.

"I'm certain of it." Hardy was emphatic. "Look here, Frost. Dr. Night has the experimental 'plane, but it's of little use to him if he's going to tackle the Russian and Chinese Empires—and they'll both object to him setting up a turbulent little kingdom on the borders of their territory. Dr. Night doesn't take objections to his plans kindly."

"Well?"

"He'll want bigger, heavier and faster planes of the gravity type. To get them he must gain Halliday's secret formula. He'll do that."

"Unless we prevent him." Frost was emphatic.

"He'll get it, never fear." Hardy nodded. "I've put in a word to make precautions. Saw Alphonse Thomas before I came here. Fired him up on the mystery 'plane and its possibilities, and he's gone, hotfooted, after Sir Max Vandelere."

"Well?"

"Sir Max is the big noise at the Mirror. He was Minister for Aviation in the last Federal Ministry. He's a bug for aeroplanes—and A. Thomas can handle him. I expect before evening to hear from Sir Max."

"To what effect?"

"That everyone on the staff of the Mirror is a fool—and that I am the greatest of all. That Halliday is a rogue or the greatest genius the world has ever produced. I shall be called to produce him, pronto. I shall be expected to listen for hours to very technical talk on aviation, between two enthusiasts."

"To what end?"

"To keep dud police inspectors in cushy jobs." Hardy spoke dispassionately. "In minor matters, I shall be taken from my work and instructed to supervise the construction of an airliner or two of vast proportions, built to Halliday's specifications, and for which Sir Max will provide the funds. Later, perhaps, I may take flight through China in it, accompanied by Sir Max, other gentlemen, and a famous detective inspector of police—"

"I'm damned if you will!" Frost exploded. "Say, Hardy, where does Halliday keep his secret formula?"

"In his head."

"Does Dr. Night know that?"

"I believe so."

"The damned fool!" Frost rose from his chair and paced the floor. "Don't you realise, man, that if it was a written formula, Dr. Night might steal it, and welcome. Now he'll steal Adam Halliday—and—God help the lot of us!"