Читать книгу The Grays Manor Mystery - Aidan de Brune - Страница 6

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FOR a few seconds the two young men stared at Mick in astonishment, then dashed to the door, stumbling down the stairs in their haste. At the house-door Dening, who was in the lead, hesitated, peering out on the faintly lit court.

Fern Court is not wide—a little over sixty feet between the two lines of houses; yet more than a hundred and fifty feet in length. On the west side of the court are two narrow houses, bordering the narrow, six-feet-wide entrance from Temple Lane. At the east end, the court opens on to a wide walk-way, leading up to Fleet Street.

Like many of the Temple Courts, Fern Lane is very badly lit by two inferior-powered standard lamps, placed far on either side of the erection of tubbed plants that decorate the centre of the court. Over the doorways of the houses are old-fashioned, square glass cages, that held oil lamps in the days when they were the only public illumination. Now they were never used.

Under the light-standard at the east end of the court a solitary figure was standing. As Dening appeared on the doorstep the man raised his arm in signal. Before they reached where Chief Inspector Lorrimer was standing the two men saw that at his feet rested what they took to he a bundle of loose clothing. Dening peered down and with a shock recognised that the bundle was a recumbent man.

"Glad you were in, Mr. Dening." The police officer, a short, dark, clean-shaven man with bright black eyes, spoke imperatively. "I knew you wouldn't mind me disturbing you, for that."

He nodded at the man at his feet. Passing the Chief Inspector, Dening bent over the man. He was lying face downwards, one of his arms bent strangely under him. With dawning horror the barrister recognised that from under the body welled out a dark stream of blood. He looked up quickly at Lorrimer. "Murdered?"

"Can't be anything else." The police officer nodded. "I haven't disturbed him yet. By the bye, Mr. Dening, when I asked; your man to get you down to me, I also asked him to ring up the Yard. Hope you don't mind. I've been here all of ten minutes and Mick is the first person I've seen until you appeared."

"Mick?" Dening looked round quickly. "What was Mick doing down here?"

"Said he was going up to Fleet Street to get some tobacco. He came into the Court after I found him." The detective nodded at the corpse. "One night as well be on a lonely country road as in the Temple as this hour of the night."

"It is quiet here." The barrister nodded understandingly. He looked down at the body. "How was he killed? Shot?"

Lorrimer shook his head.

"If you care to kneel down and squint under his chest you'll see the haft of a knife. Stabbed in the chest, so far as I can see at the moment. Awful lights they have here. Can't see a thing."

"There's a powerful torch in my desk." Dening straightened abruptly. "I'll fetch it." He turned towards his house. "If you don't mind, Mr. Dening, perhaps this gentleman can get it; he's with you, isn't he? Perhaps Mick can find it for him."

"Of course," Gray answered quickly. "I'll get it in a jiffy, Dening."

"Mr. Gray—Reuben Gray." The barrister answered the unspoken question in the detective's glance. "He was in my chambers when I got your message. Came down here with me."

"Been in your chambers long, sir?"

"Half an hour or more. Why, Lorrimer?"

"This didn't happen so long ago." The Chief Inspector turned to face the corpse. "I wasn't quite correct when I said that I hadn't touched him. Fact, I did. Thought he was in a fit or faint, and went to roll him over and found—that." He pointed to the blood. "I'm guessing that it happened about half an hour, or a little longer, ago."

"Half an hour?" The barrister looked puzzled. "I came into the court not much over half an hour back. He wasn't there then."

Lorrimer looked inquisitive.

"From the west entrance." Dening laughed lightly and pointed towards the opposite end of the court. "It was dark, even then, but of course this place is always gloomy. I don't think I would have missed him, though, if he had been here then."

"And Mr. Gray came up after you, sir?"

"No, he was at my chambers when I arrived. Mick had shown him into the study. Now you've got Mr. Gray and myself right, what about yourself?"

The detective grinned, clasping his hands before him suggestively.

"I don't think that even you can pin that on me, sir. I came here about ten minutes ago, on my way to your chambers. Saw something lying under this standard and went to it. Made a bit of an examination and then looked round for someone to get a message on the telephone for me. Waited for what seemed like hours and then Mick Rogan came down into the court. I sent him up to you."

"You were coming to my chambers?"

"Well, sir. You've been good enough to talk over a few matters, at times, with me." The police officer grinned. "I'll say that more than once you've given me a new angle on a case—"

"Then you were bringing me one problem to-night, and found another awaiting you?"

"Looks like it." Lorrimer scratched his head. "And I think it's a real problem. It's not often a detective gets on the scene so early. Many a time I've grumbled because I've thought important clues were lost or trampled out because the police have arrived late. This time I'm on the scene within a few minutes of the murder; the first one to discover the corpse and—and the devil of a clue can I see about."

"Perhaps you'll have better luck when we get the light. Ah, here comes Gray."

The powerful light of the electric torch revealed little at the first glance. The man was well-dressed, in a dark blue sac suit. His boots were rather heavy and broad toed. A bowler hat lay a couple of yards away, where it had apparently rolled when the man had fallen.

Lorrimer took the torch, motioning to his companions to stand well back. Directing the powerful light on the body, he scrutinised it carefully, then stepped back some paces, sweeping the light over the flagstones in the immediate vicinity of the body, while slowly circling it and the light standard. He came to a halt before the two men watching him and turned the light suddenly on them.

"Not a sign of a clue about. There's dust on the flagstones, plenty of it, but not a footprint showing. I'll guess he came to the court alone, then someone accosted him. They stood talking for a time, some distance apart, then the other man stabbed him and bolted. But how did he get within stabbing distance without leaving a footprint? Now, what has our friend here to tell us?"

He stooped and rolled the corpse on its back, directing the light on to it. A sharp exclamation from both men behind him, made him look up sharply.

"Know him, sir?" Lorrimer addressed his question more particularly to Dening, yet his keen bright eyes scanned Gray's face searchingly.

"That's Edward Symonds, the private inquiry agent." The barrister spoke positively.

"So you know him," the detective nodded. "And you, sir?"

"Symonds undertook an inquiry for me some few weeks ago." The young man spoke frankly. "I went with him on the inquiry; took him out into the country in my car. Yes, I recognise him. He's Edward Symonds."

"And stabbed through the heart." The detective turned again to the corpse. For a moment his hand hovered over the knife haft. "No, I'd better leave that for the police surgeon. There may be fingerprints, but I doubt it. Even amateur criminals know enough nowadays to wear gloves."

"What was Symonds doing here at this time of night?" Dening spoke almost under his breath.

"Ever come to see you, sir?" The detective looked up inquiringly.

"Sometimes. Symonds was one of the cleverest men in his line."

"Thought so," Lorrimer smiled.

"Thought what?" Gray asked suspiciously.

"Symonds was a bit more than an acquaintance with me," the Chief Inspector spoke musingly. "More than once he mentioned Mr. Dening; had a great opinion of his abilities. Said he'd talked over several of his cases with him. He was down at the Yard yesterday after information. Seemed to be casting about for a spot from which to start an inquiry. I suggested that a talk with Mr. Dening might help. He said that he had to gather a few more facts and then he'd probably follow my advice."

"What was he working on?" Dening asked curiously.

Lorrimer did not reply. He was searching the dead man's clothing placing the articles he took from the pockets, onto his handkerchief, spread on the flagstones.

"Wonder if he was on the same line as myself." The detective mused halt aloud. "Looks very much like—"

"When you have done mumbling to yourself, Lorrimer, perhaps you'll part with a little information. What was Symonds after that you're interested in?"

"Just a guess." The chief inspector looked up with a broad grin. "I came this evening to have a pow-wow with you. I'm guessing that Symonds had the same intention. If this hadn't happened and I'd come to your chambers I'd have found him there."

For some seconds there was silence while the detective completed his task. As he straightened, rolling up the contents of Symonds' pockets in the handkerchief, Dening spoke again.

"You say that you think he's been dead a little more than half an hour. I came home about that time back! Are you suggesting that he followed me down the Strand?"

"Is that the way you came home, sir?" the detective nodded. "That would fit. Symonds' offices are just off the Strand, in Kingsway. Perhaps he was coming down from there to you. More than probable, when he caught sight of you, he was too far behind to catch you before you turned in at this court."

The barrister did not reply. Lorrimer had formed a plausible theory, but it contained a weak spot. The detective did not know of the shot that had been fired in Temple Lane. If Symonds had heard the shot, or seen him fall, he would have run down to him.

If Symonds had been following him. Taking the torch from the chief inspector, Dening bent to examine the body. The man who he believed to have fired the shot, the man who had run down from the gardens towards the embankment, had worn a blue suit. For all he could tell, in the dusk, the man might have worn a blue suit; certainly he wore a bowler hat. He was of about the same build and height as Edward Symonds.

He laughed quietly. Why should Edward Symonds wish to shoot him? The idea was absurd. They had always been on friendly terms. Symonds had assisted him in many inquiries; he had always been willing to listen to the man's problems and help elucidate them. Even while he had been walking home that night he had planned to see the private inquiry agent the next day and secure his services on the quest he had undertaken, the uncovering of the man behind the name Matthew Ashcombe.

A sudden exclamation from Reuben Gray brought him from his reverie. Lorrimer turned sharply.

"Look at that knife, Dening." The young man spoke in little more than a whisper. "I've seen one like it before. I'll swear to that. It's of foreign make, but—"

Again the barrister pressed the button of the torch, directing the light on the dead man's chest. A moment and he shut off the light and turned to the detective.

"For a guess, Lorrimer, I'd look for a Southern Frenchman, or a Spaniard. That knife's not peculiar, except in England. Two years ago, I saw quite a lot of them, while I was on holidays on the French-Spanish frontier. They're favourite tools—and weapons—with the smugglers who infest the Pyrenees."