Читать книгу Whispering Death - Aidan de Brune - Страница 5

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ROBERT HARDY opened the door of the managing editor's office, in the Mirror building and glanced round the reporters' room. He caught Roy's eyes and beckoned; then returned into the room, leaving the door ajar. Roy shuffled his papers together and sauntered across the room. He tapped on the glass of the managing editor's door and immediately entered. Bob Hardy was standing beside Alphonse Thomas. Both men nodded shortly to the young man.

"Heard anything more of last night's affair?" Thomas questioned, after a pause.

"No, sir."

"Like to?"

"It was certainly intriguing." Roy smiled tightly, and continued. "I may say that was the first time I've caught my chief sub. asleep."

"I've asked Mr. Hardy if he would take the assignment." The managing editor spoke testily. "Unfortunately, he cannot. He's recommended you. Take it?"

"To discover who played the trick on the Mirror?" Roy spoke eagerly. "Why, sir—"

"We know who played the trick," Hardy interrupted. "The gentleman was good enough to leave his card last night. Found it in my pocket, this morning."

"That's why I wanted Mr. Hardy to follow this up." Thomas spoke impatiently. "He came across this scoundrel, once before, and—'

"You mean Dr. Night?" Roy knew the story of the battle of wits between the mysterious Asian, Dr. Night and Robert Hardy in the days when the latter had been a reporter on the Mirror's staff—a story that contained the love romance of Hardy and his wife.

"Jove, Mr. Thomas, if you trust me—"

"We trust you, Roy." Hardy spoke gravely. "We are in doubt, however, whether we should allow you to run this risk. Dr. Night is a killer; one of the greatest—perhaps the greatest—criminals in the world. You stake your life?"

"Yet you escaped?"

"I was lucky." Hardy drew a card from his pocket and passed it to Roy. The journalist examined it, curiously. It bore only the words "I have returned—Dr. Night."

"For what purpose?" Roy asked the question, wonderingly.

"That we can only guess at." Hardy motioned the journalist to a chair. "Dr. Night, years ago, told me that he was at war with the white races. I believe—I have reason to believe that he is the last survivor of some royal race who held empire in the heart of Asia. That is surmise only. We know so little of him."

"There was the pursuit of the Green Pearl," reminded Thomas.

"Yes." Hardy passed his hands over his eyes, wearily. Then he spoke suddenly 'God! I'd give ten years of my life to go after that scoundrel, again!'

"But, why—"

"He's a married man, youngster." Thomas spoke ironically. "Can't say I blame Mrs. Hardy. She had a bitter experience of this Dr. Night. Anyhow, she's put her foot down. Hardy has to remain in the safety zone. You take his place. Willing?"

"And eager sir." Roy spoke impulsively.

"Then listen." Thomas paused a moment. "You came up here last night and found us all asleep. We took some waking, I believe. Now, here's the story: About half-past ten last night, Mr. Seeman, of the South Head lighthouse, telephoned Hardy about a mystery 'plane he had seen coming over the heads; from the sea. Hardy was taking the message when he chanced to look up and fancied he saw—"

"I saw him," the chief sub. interrupted, emphatically.

"Well—looked up and saw Dr. Night standing in the doorway. The Asian was smiling mockingly. He lifted his hand and disappeared. Hardy found that the atmosphere had become thick; he could hardly breath. He fought for consciousness and—and watched his comrades, one after the other, come under the influence of the gas—"

"Gas?" queried Roy, curiously. "I did not smell anything when I came into the room."

"Not likely to," Thomas laughed. "Dr. Night—"

"The man's a devil!" exclaimed Hardy.

"Then Roy's got to prove himself a devil-tamer. Like the job, youngster?"

"Nothing better!" the journalist chuckled. "When do I start, sir?"

"Here and now." Thomas nodded, appreciatively. "You've got the tale, so far as we can tell you. Hardy will put you wise to anything you want to know regarding Dr. Night's previous visitations. You can work, so far as the police will allow, with Inspector Frost—"

"Jim Frost on this?" Roy's face showed his pleasure. "That's good."

"I've had a word with the Commissioner," Thomas nodded. "Frost knows Dr. Night and his methods. Perhaps he'll be able to keep you out of mischief."

"Am I to take orders from the police?" Roy showed disappointment.

"If you do you'll wear the sack," thundered the managing editor, grimly. "No, Hardy spun along ahead of the police when he went after Dr. Night. We expect you to do the same. Still, boy, don't neglect Frost. He's a clever, keen man, and he knows what he's up against—and you don't."

"Act as you deem wise, Roy." Hardy spoke kindly—"You've got more than I had, when I took up Dr. Night's trail, years ago. We know the man and his methods, and with Inspector's Frost help can guard against this uncanny powers. I know how far he will go before he acknowledges himself beaten."

"Do you connect this mystery 'plane with Dr. Night?" asked the journalist.

"No!" exclaimed Thomas.

"Yes." Hardy spoke quickly. Roy looked from one man to the other, in perplexity, then laughed. A moment, and the three of them were laughing, together.

"We shan't get far with divided opinions," said Hardy doubtfully.

"What do you think, youngster?" asked the managing editor.

"For the time being I'm going to link up everything I can with the mystery." Roy spoke after consideration. "There's the 'plane, the gassing and this card. That's all." He hesitated. "Unless you can supply the remainder of the missing report."

"You mean?'

"The papers on Mr. Hardy's desk concluded with a 'late' message he was taking over the 'phone." The journalist addressed himself to his managing editor. "The words were-" He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and read:

"The mystery 'plane hovered over Sydney for some ten minutes, plainly visible to many observers. It then headed seawards, travelling at a-" Roy paused and looked expectantly at the chief sub.

"'Terrific speed' appears to be indicated," suggested Thomas.

Hardy nodded.

"That all?" Roy showed his disappointment. "Nothing about where the plane was going to. Not a word to indicate-"

"I can't remember." Hardy showed perplexity. "When I re-read that message last night I could not even remember taking it over the 'phone. Yet, it is in my handwriting. No, I can't imagine what the missing words may be."

"Have you asked Mr. Seeman?" queried the journalist.

"He says he never telephoned me one word."

"What?' Roy sprang from his chair, amazed.

"He informed me he never gave a report to the Mirror yesterday."

"Of all—" Roy stuttered. "Well, I'm—" He broke off, unable to find words.

"Strange, isn't it." Thomas nodded, vaguely. "A mystery 'plane hovered over Sydney—or is said to have done so. Someone telephones Hardy a story about it in Seeman's name. At the same moment, Dr. Night calls on Hardy and leaves his card—and the lot of 'em asleep."

"I believe the 'phone story," said Roy, stoutly.

"You do?" Thomas looked keenly as the journalist. "Well—so do I."

"Where did it come from? Where did it go?" asked Hardy.

"It came from the sea; it returned to the sea," said the managing editor, serenely.

"And, Dr. Night?" queried Hardy.

"Came in the 'plane," suggested Roy. "Where has he been all these years?"

"In Asia," Hardy guessed.

"Guessing is unprofitable." Thomas warned. "Now, Roy, get busy. You report only to Mr. Hardy or me. Understand? I want Dr. Night. Frost swears to plant him behind prison bars. You've got to race him to Dr. Night and get his story, first. Now Hardy-" He turned from the journalist. "There's that matter of staff-grading? Oh, damn that 'phone!"

The shrill tring of the bell had cut in on the managing editor's words. He lifted the receiver and as he listened wonder grew on his face. For a moment he sat, motionless, then signed for Roy to take the instrument.

"—and I trust Mr. Hardy took no effects from his little adventure last night." A cold, rather monotonous voice spoke over the wire. "I regret he did not publish the message I gave him over the telephone."

"The message regarding the mystery 'plane?" asked Roy, imitating Thomas's voice.

"Yes." The level tones continued. "I intended that message to prepare the good business men of Sydney—to prepare them for my demands."

"Say, who are you?" Roy exclaimed, dropping all pretence.

"I shall ask my business friends of Sydney to contribute to a fund I am initiating—a fund that I shall use to forward the one purpose of my life." The suave voice continued. "I require half-a-million pounds from them. No, I shall not be unreasonable. The poor man shall have nothing to fear from me. I speak only to the rich. In a few days I shall send you a list of the men I expect to contribute to my fund. I trust I they will be reasonable. If not—"

"What?"

"Uncomfortable things may happen to them. At present, I do not wish to discuss the matter further. You will await my instructions."

"You haven't given a name," reminded Roy, impatiently.

"Name?" The cold voice held a trace of amusement. "Ask Alphonse Thomas or Robert Hardy. They will tell you all you require to know regarding Dr. Night."