Читать книгу The League of Five - Aidan de Brune - Страница 3

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"GAME and rubber." Frank Carslake, a tall, dark, well-built man, carrying the winds of open spaces on his face pushed back his chair and strolled to the window. "Jove, it's hot in here!"

"Should be, when Andrew Roche is playing bridge." Slender and fair-haired, with boyish, clean-shaven features. Maurice Ottly swung round from the player-piano to face the group around the green-table. "What few cheques I get in the future I shall give to my bankers. To hazard them at the green cloth where our friend reigns supreme is—no, it isn't hazard—it's a certainty."

"Contributions thankfully received!" The stout, dark youth at the table swept the cards together and shuffled them. "Now I know where to come when I'm down and out. Say, Lynnex, quite a nice little place you have here. First time I've dared to enter the portals of Tower Square. Just the place for a rising young man about town."

"Queer show." Carslake turned at the window. "Built round a square court, like four houses joined round the village duck-pond! Still, it looks comfortable. Best place I've come across for the man who has to live in the heart of Sydney—and can afford it."

"Quiet enough." Roche left the table and joined Carslake at the window. "Say, Lynnex, who lives over there?"

"Where?" Murray Lynnex, the owner of the chambers, strolled to where Roche and Carslake stood. "Behind those lit windows? Oh, they're Anton Sinclair's rooms."

"Anton Sinclair!" Carslake glanced furtively at his companions. "Whew! That's broke it! Don't think I could be comfortable so close to that brute."

"The damned cur!" Godfrey Stephen, the fifth member of the party, went to the sideboard and poured himself a stiff drink. "Why—?"

A silence fell on the five men. Carslake left the window and threw himself in a chair. Lynnex remained at the window, furtively scanning his companions, a slight, smile curving his lips.

"I may have a reason for living here," he said, after a considerable pause.

"A reason for living near Anton Sinclair?" Roche turned suddenly.

"Queer sort of taste! Faugh! It make me sick to even see the place where the scoundrel lives."

"I'm not one of you." The big man in the chair spoke abruptly. "Say Lynnex, why did you invite me here tonight? When I came I thought it was for a mild gamble—but we haven't gambled. We've played some sort of bridge, carelessly. I'm out half a note. I don't thing one of us is in or out more. What's your game? Did you invite us here to have a look at that brute's—"

"There was a girl, Carslake." Lynnex spoke quietly, his keen grey eyes fixed on the other's face. "There was a girl who—"

"Damn you! Hold your tongue!"

"Sit around the table." Lynnex strode to his seat, his voice tense. "Carslake's quite correct. I didn't invite you here for a gamble, There's a tale I have to tell. First, I must ask your pardon for a small deception." He turned to Godfrey Stephen. "Gentlemen, may I make you known to Mr. Godfrey Stephen Parsons. I think you have all heard of him."

"Godfrey Parsons!" Ottly sprang from his seat, "God, I—"

"Godfrey Parsons." Lynnex interrupted. "Three years ago Godfrey Parsons was warned off all racecourses in Australia for practices he denied, but could not refute. Have you thought to connect Godfrey Parsons with the—the man behind the lights in the window across the square?"

"You mean Anton Sinclair?" Carslake learned forward, his eyes searching his host's face.

"I mean Anton Sinclair." Lynnex's voice was even. "Mr. Parsons will pardon me and understand, when I tell you that three days ago he was in Pitt-street, begging a few coins for a meal. He spoke to me. I recognised him and brought him here. He told me his story and I believed him. He is here, my guest. I have asked you to meet him. No, not to listen to his account of how Anton Sinclair schemed to use and betray him. You can guess that. Carslake, I spoke of a girl. Is it necessary for me to tell the story to convince you?"

A silence came over the men. Murray Lynnex glanced round. He read the tenseness of overdrawn nerves; the flicking hope of some intangible good coming out of this probing of the past—and smiled.

"Maurice Ottly." His voice came, as a whisper; yet clearly audible to every man in the room. "Once you were the son of a rich man. Stephen Ottly was known and respected in the business world of Australia. He was a stock and share broker; keen, ambitious and successful. He had a friend he trusted, one Anton Sinclair. How and in what manner Sinclair persuaded your father to undertake a gigantic gamble with him without the usual security against personal loss will perhaps never be known. Possibly one might guess. Your father trusted Sinclair. The speculation failed. Sinclair disclaimed all knowledge of it and your father had not a line of writing to show that he was only an agent. He was declared bankrupt. A charge of fraud was spoken of—and he took the only one way open to him."

"Lynnex! How did you know this?"

"Albert Roche." Murray ignored Ottly's exclamation. "Two years ago you were high in the service of the Commonwealth of Australia. New cruisers were being designed for the Australian navy. The plans were in your charge and contained some, very important and unusual inventions. The authorities found that a naval power had copies of those plans. You acknowledged that it was impossible for anyone to gain access to them. You were allowed to resign from the Government and for months walked the streets of Melbourne, starving—fearing every day to hear that you had been proclaimed a traitor to your country and race."

"God. You know that?"

"Lynnex!" Carslake was on his feet, his eyes growing angrily. "Why lave you brought us here? Why have you laid bare the secrets we thought were hidden in the past? You are not a blackmailer; a scoundrel like the man whose light shines in at your window. What is your object? Where do we come in on this?"

"What has Anton Sinclair done to you, Murray Lynnex?" The dark, secretive face of Albert Roche peered across the table at his host.

"What has Anton Sinclair done to me?" A look of watchful defiance came over the keen, clever face of the young man. "For the moment, nothing. A month ago he wrote to me, a strange, insidious letter. I became suspicious and sought out his history. I came on your stories. I believed I was fated to join my ruined life with yours, to bolster up the inordinate greed of this man. I determined to fight back. Throughout Australia I found agents. Day by day, as the tale amounted against this blackmailer, I recognised that I must surrender to his demands, or fight, successfully. I—"

He rose abruptly and went to the window. For moments he stood, staring out, his eyes straining to the lights high up on the opposite building. At length he turned and walked back to the table.

"From the day I received that letter I have strived to piece together the history of Anton Sinclair—and his victims. In my desk is a book recording the histories of more than a score of men and women Anton Sinclair, in his lust for money, has driven to despair and death. From those injured persons I have sought out you—men, young and vilely injured. Tonight I have invited you here. Why?" He bent forward searching the faces upturned to his. "Why? Because I believed I could read behind the masks you wore—the thoughts that clamoured night and day in my brain."

"You mean—murder?" Ottly spoke the last word in a whisper.

"I mean—justice." Lynnex swung savagely on the man. "Is it murder to shoot down a mad dog biting and poisoning all who chance in his way? Is it murder to kill a snake, lurking on the path with bared, poison fangs? Is it murder, to hang the taker of life? That man has taken more than life from hundreds!"

"By God, I'm with you!" Carslake sprang to his feet, his fist crashing on the table. "But, how? I'm game, but I don't fancy the rope for scrunching that skunk."

"Perhaps there will not be a rope—I think not." A light shone in Murray's, eyes. "I believe I have a plan that means safety for the one chosen as—executor. It has meant money Thank heaven, I have that." He strode to the desk and took from a drawer five pocket-books, placing them on the table. "There is money. A thousand pounds in each book. In the drawer in the hall-stand there is another book. That book contains the necessary directions and instructions for gaining entrance to Anton Sinclair's rooms, for opening the safes where he keeps the information on which he battens. The scheme is complete; it only needs the hand. One thing remains—to shelter the man who strikes. I believe I have safeguarded him. I will act, if you—"

"One moment, Lynnex." Roche spoke carelessly. "I am not going to disagree with what you said. I'm with you, all through. You've hinted that your scheme is a one-man job. You infer that you would like to elect yourself, but my claim is, I believe, paramount."

"We must all have a hand in it." Carslake spoke abruptly. "I—"

"May I take it that we are agreed on the basic fact," Lynnex interrupted. "That there is a mad dog to be exterminated. If I am correct then I ask you to allow me to finish by proposal."

"A protection that involves all of us." Ottly spoke quietly. "If not, my claim—"

"Will you listen to me, one moment." Lynnex took from the desk a pack of cards. "I believe I have anticipated your objections. If you will examine these cards you will notice that while the backs are printed similar to playing-cards, the fronts lack the distinguishing pips."

He threw the cards on the table, face upwards. Roche leaned forward, spreading them out. A moment, and each man's eyes turned again to Murray.

"You will notice that five cards are needed to make a complete pack." Lynnex spoke unemotionally. "These five cards I have here. Four of them bear instructions relating to four different journeys the drawers will take—immediately. I am going to ask you not to examine these cards—to take my word that they are what I state. I assure you that I have no knowledge of what is written on them. They have been prepared for me by four persons who have no knowledge of my plans, yet know Australia well enough to indicate four routes so complex that it would be difficult to trace the travellers obeying these orders."

He looked around the table. No man dissented and he continued.

"The fifth card bears the words 'Anton Sinclair.' You will appreciate the significance of that name. Whoever draws that card will take from the hall-stand the pocket book I spoke of some while ago. I ask you when you leave this room to do so singly at such intervals that will give the man who draws the lot the opportunity to obtain it, unobserved."

Again he paused; no one spoke. He shuffled the five cards into the pack. Placing the deck before Roche, he continued:

"The drawers of the four cards will start their journeys at midday tomorrow. Until they learn that 'Anton Sinclair' is—is not likely to disturb us again—they will follow the instructions on their cards. The object sought is, from this moment until sometime after Sinclair's sometime after Sinclair's death there shall be four men who will not be able to provide an alibi. Mr. Roche will you please shuffle those cards and pass them on. It is necessary that each of us shall he satisfied that the cards are properly mixed."

He turned from the table while Roche picked up the cards, sliding them rapidly through his fingers. From the desk he brought a new unbroken pack. Waiting until the blank cards came to him again, he placed them in the centre of the table.

"The rules of the game are, I believe, understood." Murray spoke quietly. "One man will receive a certain card from that pack. He will find the way made smooth for him. To protect him and share in his dangers, the remaining players will assume the position of suspects. Immediately each of the four men have memorised the instructions on the cards they draw, the cards are to be destroyed."

He paused. His eyes sought each man in turn, receiving a nod of assent. He shuffled the new pack of cards and placed them before Roche.

"Mr. Roche is shuffling a new pack of cards. Will you each shuffle in turn. When they come round to me I will deal them. To whom falls the ace of spades belongs the honour of dealing—the other pack."

The cards fell, face upwards, on the green cloth. Three times Murray dealt the circle. The first of the fourth round showed the ace of spades before Albert Roche. With a jerky laugh the young man reached for the deck of blanks.

"Wait!" Carslake rose to his feet. He crossed to the window and stared out on the silent court. Instinctively, his eyes raised to the windows of the room occupied by the man whose death they were planning.

"What's that?" His voice broke the growing tension. His companions crowded to the window, following the line of his pointing finger.

Framed in the window of Anton Sinclair's room was the form of a young girl. With an exclamation of anger, mingled with surprise, Lynnex sprang to his desk and caught up a pair of field-glasses. He took one look at the girl then passed the glasses from hand to hand. Carslake was the last man to hold them. At sight of the girl he threw them down with a cry of rage.

"God! That she should be there!" He turned and strode to the table. "Come on, you fellows! It's getting late!"

Again at the table, Roche picked up the blanks and looked around the watchful circle. As he slid forward the top card, Lynnex spoke again.

"One moment, there is a matter I have forgotten. We have yet to protect the drawer of the card."

"Do you infer that one of us is likely to turn traitor?" Ottly spoke icily.

"No." Murray's voice was cold. "We have agreed that the task belongs to one man; that the other four shall be in positions where equal suspicions shall fall on them. We have yet to pledge that the drawer of each card shall, in no circumstances, reveal what is written on the card he draws. Further, as each man draws a written card he shall place it in his pocket, unread, withdrawing from all further participation in the deal. Is that satisfactory?"

"Why not?" Carslake spoke, recklessly. "Get oh with the deal, Roche, damn you!"

Again Roche rose from his scat, leaning against the table. He dealt the cards slowly, face down. At the completion of the first round he waited while each man examined the card before him. No one moved. Again he dealt, and waited. This time Parsons placed a card in his pocket, stepping back from the table.

"One!" Carslake's staccato laugh thrilled the group. Again the cards fell with a slight slither. Again and again Roche dealt until only a few cards remained in his hand. Then Ottly moved away and Roche handed the remaining cards to Carslake, resuming his seat with a little, careless laugh.

"You and I, Lynnex." The big man almost flung the cards on the table. "We'll soon come to the end of this."

Six cards fell and Lynnex raised his hand. Carslake turned the remaining cards face upwards and sought one, placing it in his pocket. Sweeping the cards into a heap, he brought decanters and glasses to the table. When each man was served he raised his glass.

"Gentlemen! A toast! To the success of the holder of the 'Anton Sinclair' card!" Draining his glass he turned and threw it out of the window. "Good-night, boys! Goodnight, Lynnex! To our next meeting! Remember, two minutes between each man leaving this room!".