Читать книгу Whispering Death - Aidan de Brune - Страница 7

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WHEN Roy Iston left the managing director's office Alphonse Thomas did not resume work. He sat back in his chair and waited for Robert Hardy to return to the room.

"Well?" Thomas spoke quickly.

"The telephone message came from a public call-box at the William Street Post Office." Hardy spoke shortly. "Where's Roy Iston?"

"Gone to interview Inspector Frost." A slight smile parted Thomas's lips. "What will Frost tell him?"

"Nothing." Hardy paused. "Nothing more than he has told us this morning—that the Department cannot move on the story as it stands now."

"Do you think he will suspect anything?" continued the managing editor.

"That would be unlike Frost," Hardy smiled. "Before Roy has spoken half a dozen sentences Frost will guess the game we are up to. Frost won't willingly believe that I would relinquish any chance to get even with Dr. Night."

Thomas nodded. "Think we're dealing fairly with that young man?" he asked shortly.

"Roy?" Hardy frowned. "I don't like it one bit, Mr. Thomas, but what else can we do? Dr. Night must not suspect I am moving against him. It will be impossible to make him believe that the Mirror will not accept his direct challenge—for that is what his actions last night amount to. He will believe that you will give me the assignment to hunt him down, and he will be on his guard. He will have me watched. If I am to do any good I must have freedom of action. Someone from the Mirror has to go after him. With your consent I chose Roy Iston."

"And if Roy gets on the Asian's tail?"

Hardy smiled. "Good luck to him. He can't do any harm—and he will deflect suspicion from me. If he beats me to the story you know I'll be the first to congratulate him."

Thomas nodded. For some minutes he sat meditating. "What do you intend to do, Hardy?" he asked at length.

"Wait." The sub-editor made a gesture of impatience. "There is not a single clue for us to work on at present. Yet Dr. Night has shown that he fears us. His gassing of the office last night shows that In a day or so he will move again. Perhaps then he will make some mistake that will give us a starting point.",

Alphonse Thomas slid back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully.

"What is his object, Hardy?"

"You mean?"

"That Asian doesn't act without some definite end in view."

The managing editor spoke slowly. "Our first bout with him occurred when he was engaged gathering a war-chest by means of the drug traffic. Then came the incident of the Green Pearl. I understood that he claimed that jewel as belonging to his ancestors What is he after now?"

"I don't know." Hardy spoke perplexedly. "But I do know that this time we are after him, and, by little apples, we'll get him."

With that the journalist rose abruptly from his chair and left the room. He had barely seated himself at his desk before the telephone bell rang.

"Mirror speaking." He spoke mechanically.

"Lady to see you. Mr Hardy." The inquiry clerk spoke.

"Business?"

"Private. Mr. Hardy. At least, if it is business she will not tell me."

"All right. Send her in." Hardy sat back in his chair and watched the door. In a few seconds a young, fair-haired girl entered, following a copy-boy, and looking around her inquiringly The boy led to the chief sub's desk.

"Mr Hardy?"

When Bob nodded she continued. "I am Ruth Halliday. My father asked me to call and give you this." She held out a letter as she spoke.

Hardy tore off the envelope and drew out a single sheet of paper There were only a couple of lines of writing, and he read them at a glance. He turned to the girl.

"You know the contents of this letter Miss Halliday?"' he questioned.

"Yes." The girl hesitated. "It is a request from my father for you to call on him." She paused, then turned to fully face the journalist. "Mr. Hardy, will you do as my father asks? He is a cripple—crippled in the war, but he is really clever. He has something—something he wants to talk to you about—something to show you."

"Do you know what it is?" asked Hardy

"No." The girl's face lost its animation. "He will not tell us—mother and me. All he will say is that he has chanced on a great secret and that there is danger attached to it."

"Danger?"

"Our house has been burgled twice during the past three months."

"That is all you know?" At the girl's nod of assent, Hardy continued: "Do you know why your father wants me to call on him? So far as I know, we have never met."

"Father told me that if you asked that question I was to reply that you had knowledge of a certain Chinaman."

Hardy started. "A Chinaman!" he exclaimed. "Do you know his name?"

"No. I only know that through that Chinaman you and your wife nearly lost your lives." The girl answered simply.

"What is your father?" queried the journalist, abruptly.

"We have enough to live upon." Ruth Halliday spoke after a slight pause. "Father has a workshop and tries to invent things."

"Has he invented anything?" Immediately Hardy changed the question. "Do you know the name of the Chinaman you mentioned?"

"Not his Chinese name." The girl smiled. "He has an English name but I have forgotten it. I saw him once, when he called on father. He is a slight, grey man; dresses in grey and speaks in a slow, very polite voice, with just a suspicion of a foreign accent."

For a moment Hardy hesitated, then reached for his hat. The girl rose from her chair with a little smile of thanks and led from the room. In the street she pointed to a small, dark-blue sports car.

"I thought you would come, so I brought my car for you. It will be quicker and nicer than going out to Vaucluse on the trams."

During the drive Hardy watched the girl closely. From the moment he recognised Dr. Night standing at the door of the reporters' room the previous evening he had been keenly on guard. He guessed that he was in danger and that only the most constant watchfulness would serve.

He knew that Dr. Night feared him—feared the luck that had brought him successfully through the battle of wits he had fought with the Asian. In those days, half-a-dozen years before, Dr. Night had treated him with contemptuous tolerance. He had watched and waited, content to abide his time. In the end he had smashed up the huge drug ring the Asian had created and had forced the master-criminal to flight.

He wondered if this girl was an agent of the Asian. If she was not then here again was the long arm of coincidence, for if she was acting in good faith then her visit to the Mirror followed very closely on Dr. Night's challenge.

Hardy did not fear for himself. He had faith that he could get out of any predicament he happened into. But he was determined he would not be caught off his guard if he could possibly prevent it.

The girl drove the little car out to the suburbs at a smart pace. A few hundred yards from the town of Vaucluse she turned from the main road, towards the harbour. At the foot of a steep hill she drew the car to a stop before a comfortable-looking house.

"Father is down at the shed," she said. Then, noticing Hardy's questioning glance, she smiled. "He is always on the front veranda or at the shed." she explained. "You see, he is not on the veranda, so—"

She led down a path beside the house to a fair-sized garden at the rear. Hardy looked about him, curiously. They were walking towards a rather large brick shed. As they drew near, he noticed, that the place was strongly built and furnished with a heavy iron door.

"Where did the burglaries take place, Miss Halliday?" he asked.

"Both of them at the shed." The girl pointed before her.

"The burglars did not succeed in forcing that door?" Hardy smiled.

"No." Suddenly, she became grave. "But the second burglar got in. I think he managed to tamper with the lock. The alarm sounded and father fired a shotgun at the door. There were specks of blood on the lintels the next morning." She broke off, suddenly. "Father!"

The door swung open and a man propelled a small, wheeled-chair, in which he was seated, into the garden.

"Father, this is Mr. Hardy. He was so good as to leave his work and come with me at once."

Hardy looked at the man before him, curiously. He had a keen, thin, clever face, surmounted by snow-white hair. The journalist noted that both Halliday's legs had been amputated below the knees.

"Good of you to come so quickly, Mr. Hardy." The man's voice was strong, yet pleasant. "I am sorry to say I have had a severe loss."

"But—" Hardy hesitated. "Should you not have sent for the police?"

"The police cannot help me." A twinge of pain crossed Halliday's expressive features. "But I believe you can."

"Why?" The journalist questioned, curiously.

"Because you know the man who robbed me—Dr. Night."