Читать книгу Daughter of Fu Manchu - Arthur Henry Ward - Страница 10

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“Do you know, Greville,” said Forester. “I never liked this job. Lafleur’s Tomb has a bad name.”

We were walking back to the hut.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know as much as I do. Nobody has tackled it since Lafleur’s time. But old Zeitland was planning to come out.”

“He died recently in London.”

“I know! And what about the Frenchman——”

“Do you mean Lafleur?”

“Yes, somewhere in 1908—or 1909, wasn’t it? Well, I may be wrong”—Forester halted just as we reached the hut—“but didn’t Lafleur disappear?”

I racked my memory for some moments. Lafleur was before my time and the facts were hazy. But at last:

“Yes,” I replied slowly. “I believe there was some mystery, Forester. Though oddly enough it had never occurred to me before.”

“It never occurred to me until we made that astounding discovery to-night. Why should it? But in view of what’s happened, it’s more than odd, don’t you think?”

“We must tell Weymouth.”

We went into the hut. Weymouth was sitting where I had left him, his brows still wrinkled in thought.... Dr. Petrie was pacing slowly up and down. As we entered, Weymouth raised his kindly blue eyes to Forester, and:

“Did you catch that dog?” he asked.

“No,” said Forester, staring hard. “Did it sound like a dog to you?”

“It wasn’t a dog,” Weymouth replied simply. “This camp is being watched! Has anything occurred which might account for this signalling?”

“Yes,” I broke in. “Ali Mahmoud has returned—and Rima Barton is with him.”

“Ah!” Weymouth murmured. “I am glad to hear it....”

“Greville and I have been thinking——” Forester began, when:

“One moment!” Weymouth raised his hand. “We shall get muddled. You can help me most, Forester, by letting me plod through the inquiry in my own way. I have the facts up to the time Mr. Greville left last night; now I want to know what happened afterwards.”

“It’s painfully simple,” Forester replied. “Everything we might be likely to want was moved from here, naturally; so there was no occasion for anyone to enter the place. But deaths, of course, in the climate up here ought to be notified and dealt with promptly.”

Weymouth nodded.

“Greville got me to agree to be quiet for the present, and nobody else knew, except Ali.”

“You’re sure nobody else knew? What about the men?”

“They live in Kûrna. None were in camp. We removed the chief in the darkness—didn’t we, Greville?—and next morning I gave out that he had gone across to Luxor with Greville, here, and was proceeding down to Cairo. I stopped all work, of course.”

“Yes, I see.”

“At about dusk to-night—I should say last night—I thought it advisable to—er—inspect the body.”

“Quite!”

“I opened the door, looked in, and ... the hut was as you see it now.”

“What about the blanket?”

“The blanket had disappeared, as well as the body.”

“You’re sure the door was locked?”

“Perfectly sure. I unlocked it.”

“The window?”

“Fastened on the inside as you found it.”

“Thank you,” said Weymouth quietly.

He stared across at Dr. Petrie and there was a silence of some seconds’ duration; a very odd silence, in which I sensed a mental communion going on between these two men, based upon some common knowledge which Forester and I didn’t share. But at last it was broken by Dr. Petrie.

“Strangely like his handiwork!”

I began to be a bit ruffled. I thought the time had come for pooling the known facts. Indeed I was about to say so, when Weymouth spoke again.

“Was there anyone in the habit of visiting this camp?”

“No,” said Forester. “The chief wouldn’t allow a soul past the barriers.” He stared across at me. “I except Madame Ingomar,” he added. “But Greville can tell you more about the lady than I can.”

“Why do you say that?” I cried angrily.

“Evidently because he thinks so,” said Weymouth in a stern voice. “This is no time, gentlemen, for personal matters. You are assisting at an official inquiry.”

“I am sorry,” Forester replied. “My remark was quite out of place. The truth is, Superintendent, that neither Greville nor I know very much about Madame Ingomar. But she seemed to favour Greville’s society, and we used to pull his leg about it....”

My thoughts began to stray again. Had I been blind? And where I had been blind, had Rima seen?

“Who is this woman?”

Weymouth’s tense query brought me back to the job in hand.

Forester laughed dryly, and:

“A question I have often put to Greville,” he replied, “but which I know he was no more able to answer than anyone else, except the chief.”

“Oh, I see. A friend of Sir Lionel’s?”

I nodded. Weymouth was staring in my direction.

“What nationality?”

I shook my head blankly.

“I always said Hungarian,” Forester declared. “Simply because of her name. Greville thought she was Japanese.”

“Japanese!” Dr. Petrie rapped the word out with startling suddenness. “Why Japanese?”

“Well,” said Forester, “it wasn’t an unreasonable guess, because her eyes did slant slightly.”

Weymouth exchanged a rapid glance with Dr. Petrie and stood up.

“An attractive woman—young?” he challenged—for the words were spoken almost like a challenge.

“Undoubtedly,” I replied. “Smart, cultured, and evidently well-to-do.”

“Dark?”

“Very.”

“What coloured eyes?”

“Jade-green,” said Forester.

Again I detected a rapid exchange of glances between Petrie and Weymouth.

“Tall?” asked the former.

“Yes, unusually tall.”

“An old friend of Sir Lionel’s?”

“We were given to understand,” said Forester, “that she was the widow of a certain Dr. Ingomar whom the chief knew well at one time.”

“Was she staying at one of the Luxor hotels?” Weymouth asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” I replied. “She wasn’t staying at the Winter Palace.”

“You mean neither of you know. Does Miss Barton know?”

“I have never asked her.”

“When was she last here?”

“On Monday,” Forester answered promptly—“the day the chief switched the quarters around and put up barricades.”

“But did Sir Lionel never speak of her?” asked Dr. Petrie.

“No,” I said. “He was a man who gave few confidences, as you are aware.”

“Was there any suggestion of intimacy between them?” Weymouth was the speaker. “Did Sir Lionel show any jealousy, for instance?”

“Not that I ever noticed,” Forester replied. “He treated her as he treated everybody—with good-humoured tolerance! After all, the chief must have said good-bye to sixty, Weymouth!”

“Stranger things have happened,” Petrie commented dryly. “I think, Weymouth, our next step is to establish the identity of this Madame Ingomar. Do you agree with me?”

“I do,” said Weymouth, “absolutely”—and his expression had grown very grim.

He stared from me to Forester, and:

“You’re both getting annoyed,” he said. “I can see it. You know that the doctor here and I have a theory which we haven’t shared with you. Very well, you shall know the facts. Ask Miss Rima Barton to join us, and arm Ali Mahmoud. Tell him to mount guard and shoot anything he sees moving!”

“What on earth does this mean?” Forester demanded.

“It means,” said Petrie, “that we are dealing with agents of Dr. Fu Manchu....”