Читать книгу The Framing of Inspector Denvers - Aidan de Brune - Страница 6

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"SO it's 'Cain' again?" Sir Edmund Morgan, Commissioner for Police, looked up from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. He had the uncanny ability of making officers interviewing him feel very uncomfortable.

"So Miss Tayne said, sir."

Mark Denvers, detective-inspector, answered with some disquietude. "She said—"

"Who is Miss Tayne?"

"Miss Martha Tayne, personal secretary to Mr Luther Banke, of Luther Banke and Co."

The detective particularised carefully.

"Well? What had she to say?"

"Very little, sir. She didn't want to talk—for some reason."

"Yet she told you that the thief's name was 'Cain?' How did she know that?"

"He told her—when he returned the jewels."

"Cain!" Sir Edmund frowned. "New habit of his, isn't it—to first steal the jewels and then return them?"

"I don't understand it, sir." Denvers' uneasiness was growing. "The Montgomery emeralds are well worth getting away with."

"So has been the other plunder 'Cain' has handled." The commissioner laughed shortly. "Quite too smart for you people eh? Gets into the place as Luther Banke and loots the jewels; goes in again as Detective-Sergeant Davidson—By the way, what happened to him?"

"Miss Tayne called the Criminal Investigation Branch and said that Luther Banke and Co. had been robbed of the Montgomery emeralds. Detective-Sergeant Davidson was detailed for the investigation. As he was leaving the office word came through that 'Cain' had committed the theft and that he was—"

"Who brought in that information?"

"It was supposed to be a telephone message from plain-clothes constable Chevers."

"And—it didn't come from him? Of course not! Well, go on."

"The message gave the information that 'Cain' had a flat at Alford Mansions. Sergeant Davidson went there and-"

"Went out; of course! 'Cain' was there waiting for him." The commissioner laughed harshly. "What on earth are you fellows thinking of?"

"No one would expect—"

"Not with 'Cain'?" Sir Edmund laughed again, sarcastically. "Lord, man! We've had all this before. Have you forgotten the States Bank affair? You were bit there, Denvers. 'Cain' had you on toast. Pulled the wires and you danced to his tune! Then there was the matter of the Town Hall frauds. Forgotten that? And Lady Michaelstein's collarette? One would have thought that 'Cain' had taught you something by this time. But he hasn't! Again the same old tale. Gets you fellows where he wants you and then-"

"I shall be pleased to hand you my resignation, sir." Denvers spoke stiffly.

"I'll talk to you about that—when you have 'Cain' behind bars." The old chief smiled grimly. "And that's not going to be long ahead, let me tell you!"

For some moments the old man sat musing.

Cain!

Somewhere in his brain was almost admiration for the debonair crook. The keen analytical mind behind the keen, grey eyes could fathom and appreciate the marvellous ability for intrigue—for out-guessing his opponents—latent in the master criminal. If only he could slough from his shoulders the accumulated years and take the trail against so worthy an opponent.

The man had defied his department—yet he could not withhold a certain liking, a certain respect. The man had fought cleanly, fairly, treating the battle as if it were a splendid game in which his freedom was the stake—a game played to rules that were not declared—rules superior to the laws he defied and laughed at.

'Cain!' Sir Edmund chuckled under the thick, grey moustache shielding his thin, firm lips. He knew, by memory, the many and varied descriptions of the crook which had been brought to him. Cain! The man of many disguises—the man who could flee down a street before the officers of the law; to turn and walk past them in quite another identity. The man was a genius a man who would have gone far within the legal hedges.

Sir Edmund was certain that not one man under his command had ever come face to face with the real man.

Had this girl—this Martha Tayne—seen the real 'Cain'? Why had the man gone back to the jewellers' offices, after he had the jewels he had risked so much to gain, in his possession? What had taken him there? Why had he abandoned the gems? Why had he placed them on the girl's desk—after spending more than an hour in her office, discussing the theft of the jewels? What did the girl know?

Sir Edmund looked down at the report on the desk before him. It was brief, pointed and coldly correct. What was behind it? What had been left out of that report? The girl—this Martha Tayne—had made a statement. Was it a full statement of all she knew? What had she left out of it?

From the papers the commissioner looked up at the man before him. What was he thinking of? The keen, young-old eyes searched the man's face; striving to read the thoughts behind the inscrutable eyes. He had sent for this man, not to hear his words but to search out the thoughts dominant, or perhaps seething, in his brain.

For Denvers had been the leader of the hunters. He had been the man appointed to bring 'Cain' before the bar of the laws he had offended. And Denvers had failed—not once but time and time again.

Sir Edmund smiled—secretly. He had not blamed the detective for his failures. If the man was worth his salt—and the commissioner had faith in him—he would be blaming himself inordinately.

At the time of Denvers' last failure he had stood between him and the minister's just wrath; between him and the newspapers and public opinion, who were demanding a scapegoat for the department's failure to lay the notorious master-criminal by the heels.

The smile broadened as Sir Edmund thought of a note that lay in his office safe. In that note 'Cain' had expressed his admiration for the abilities of the baffled detective, discounting his failures to capture the writer with the explanation that the detective was too honest for the task—that only a man possessing the 'criminal mind' could ever succeed.

The criminal mind! The commissioner wondered. Had he now, or had he ever, possessed "the criminal mind?"

In his more active days he had written in the book of his life; a long list of successes. Had those successes been due to his possession of a "criminal mind?"

For more than a year 'Cain' had rested from his activities. Not one single robbery or theft could be placed to his account during that period. Now he had re-appeared. Was the city again to writhe under a new wave of criminal activity? Did 'Cain' intend to organise a further series of adventures—thefts that would augment the very large sums he had gained by his former activities?

"Get 'Cain'!"

The cold, steel-grey eyes were again lifted to the detective's face. "Get 'Cain,' Denvers! You've got to get him, and that before he goes too far again."

"I've done my best, sir." The detective shifted uneasily on his chair. There was a queer hesitancy in his tones.

"You've got to get him." Sir Edmund leaned forward, his voice tense. "Do you hear me? You've got to bring in 'Cain,' at all cost." He waited a moment, then continued more quietly.

"You remember twelve months ago? 'Cain' beat you then. The newspapers were laughing, jeering at you—insisting that I stripped the coat from your back—lashed you out of the department—put another man on the crook's trail. Do you know what saved you then?"

The detective shook his head. His cheeks flamed with colour; his throat was too choked with emotion for him to speak.

"'Cain' saved you." The commissioner continued. "'Cain' wrote to me. He claimed you to be a good man; deficient only in one thing—that gift that could successfully trail him to justice. Do you wish to know what that gift is?"

Still the detective held silence.

"He—'Cain'—claimed that you would never place your hand on his shoulder. He wrote that you were a good man—in your line. That in search of the murderer, the average house-breaker, the confidence-man, you were successful; but that matched against wits—the super-intelligence of the master-crook—you must always fail; because you did not possess the criminal mind."

"The criminal mind?"

Denvers looked blankly at his chief.

"The criminal mind."

The sparsely-covered, grey head nodded. "That is what he wrote—and I believe him to be right." Sir Edmund hesitated, then continued: "Superintendent Lorrimer has assigned this case—the hunting down of 'Cain' to Detective-Sergeant Davidson. That is his business. Lorrimer must work in his own way, for the responsibility is his. I don't, as a rule, interfere with my officers, even when I don't agree with their methods and actions. All I want from them are results. But in this matter I have avoided my own rule. I have requisitioned you for special duty. Do you understand what I mean? No? Then listen:—"

For moments there was silence in the big room. The commissioner's eyes were steady on the detective's face, searching every line, every change of expression.

"You and 'Cain' fought a great duel—a three years' duel—to a stalemate—a draw, if you prefer to so name it. The affair cannot be allowed to end there; this department must always win. I thought—I knew—that 'Cain' would one day reappear. He has. Now the duel is to be resumed. The fight is yours, personally. You must take the challenge this crook has offered you. He has named the ground on which the fight is to be resumed—you must take that ground—and win."

"You mean-"

"The ground of the 'criminal mind.' Yes, Denvers, you must acquire the criminal mind, and succeed. And for that purpose you must have against you not only 'Cain,' the master-criminal, but this department!"

"Sir!"

"You must acquire the criminal mind—you must be a criminal. Superintendent Lorrimer has chosen his man. He had told me he does not consider you can succeed against 'Cain.' Thus, he had nominated his champion—Davidson. That is his right; but—"

Suddenly the fire went out of the old man's eyes; his shoulders drooped. He sat back, gripping the arms of his chair, tiredly. "Don't mistake me, Denvers. I am not counselling you to become a crook. I dare not do that. But to succeed, you must wear the cloak of a crook; you must have in this department—the record and reputation of a crook. Gain that, and I swear you will bring in 'Cain'!"

"Good God!" Denvers muttered under his breath. He looked at his chief wonderingly.

Sir Edmund shook his head.

"We've got to go through with this, Denvers. 'Cain' must be stopped—and you must stop him. I—I want to see you in Lorrimer's place when I pass my burdens on to younger shoulders. Yes, yes! Lorrimer will come here—there is no other man in the department ready for the job. You must take his chair—but—but at present this is impossible. With 'Cain's' list of successes against you, I dare not make the recommendation. You must—you shall—succeed—"

"But—sir!" The detective hesitated. "I don't think I understand. Are you instructing me—?"

"I dare not instruct, Denvers."

"Suggesting—that I become a criminal—an associate of criminals?"

"Just that." The old chief nodded. "You must assume the garb—and it must fit as your own skin; yet you must keep a clear conscience. God knows how you can do that—but do it you must!"

Sir Edmund slid forward on his chair, staring up at the detective with penetrating eyes. "To-day—now—you will write your resignation from this department. To-morrow you will leave this building, as an officer of this department; perhaps never to return. That depends on you—and the Good God who rules all things. I shall gazette you—resigned—and shall not give a reason. Do you realise what that means?"

The detective nodded.

"With this hew adventure of 'Cain's,' old matter will be resurrected. Your failures will be remembered against you. I—"

Again Sir Edmund hesitated.

"I shall give no reason for your resignation, but the newspapers will point one out to their public. The official information given out will be that you have resigned and that Davidson has been assigned to tracking down 'Cain.' You know how they will couple that information. Are you prepared for what will follow—or have I to place a reason in the Gazette against your resignation?"

Dumbly, Denvers shook his head. His face had paled to the hue of death; his body shook with the emotion he could not suppress.

"It will be hard, Denvers—cruelly hard; but the department comes first. You know that! Detective-Inspector Mark Denvers will resign—and disappear. In his stead, on the roll of the earth's inhabitants will appear the name of James Frost, a crook, a criminal, a denizen of this city's underworld—a man with a long record of crime.

"Remember, Mark Denvers, James Frost has lived. I have his record here—and it is not a nice one."

The old man placed his hand on a file of papers.

"That will be your record—until 'Cain' rests securely behind iron bars. Listen:

"James Frost died in Sing Sing prison three days ago. I received a cable to that effect from the U.S. authorities this morning. Immediately, I cabled back asking that the news be not given to the press. It will not. I shall suppress all news of his death. The world will be told that James Frost escaped from Sing Sing."

Again the commissioner paused, watching the police officer with keen searching eyes.

"You will be James Frost, Mark Denvers. You will be the crook who escaped from Sing Sing. You came to Sydney, to escape from the U.S. police. You came to the Australian underworld—and there sought confederacy with 'Cain.' Mark Denvers resigned from the department—disgraced."

For minutes there was silence in the long room on the first floor of Police Headquarters. In a dim corner the tall grandfather's clock slowly marked the seconds passing into eternity. Suddenly Denvers raised his head, a look of resolution in his eyes.

"Mr Commissioner-"

The shrill ring of the telephone bell broke on the police-officer's words. Without speaking, Sir Edmund shifted round on his seat and raised the receiver to his ear.

"Yes?"

"Is that Sir Edmund Morgan speaking?"

"It is. Who is there?"

"Cain." The voice was soft and deferential. "May I convey my respectful regard to yourself—and Mister Denvers?"