Читать книгу Seven Sins - Arthur Henry Ward - Страница 12
ОглавлениеThe Limping Man
In the office of the Assistant Commissioner, Chief Detective Inspector Firth was making a report. The office of Colonel O'Halloran was a comfortably furnished apartment, offering a marked contrast to that of the Chief Inspector. It was more than half a library, having a thick carpet and rugs on the floor, and pictures (chiefly of horses) on the walls; a bright room on this sunny morning, its bay window commanding an extensive view of the Thames.
Colonel O'Halloran, a small, slightly built man, wiry and brown faced, thinning hair crowning a high forehead, wore an unmistakably horsey suit. He had also those rather large, square hands which look as though they were accustomed to managing horses, and he stood beside a slightly untidy desk, tapping his fingers on the top, and shooting little interrogatory glances from deep-set gray eyes at the Chief Inspector. His nervous movements were interminable; for when he was not tapping his prominent teeth he was tapping the desk, or filling a pipe, or rolling a cigarette (he made his own) or toying with papers, or staring out of the window.
"Cause of Sir Giles's death fully established; been confirmed by specialists." The Assistant Commissioner spoke rapidly, in a high, staccato, abbreviated manner. "Personal possessions appear to be intact. Since they include wrist-watch, nearly twenty pounds ready money, may dismiss robbery as motive."
Now, Firth was prepared to stand by his superior officer to the last trench and the last shot; but he was not prepared always to agree with him or even to pretend to do so. "In spite of which, sir," he said, "I hold to the theory, wi' respect, that robbery was the motive."
"Oh," said the colonel, blinking rapidly, "do you? Well—we shall see. No discernible fingerprints on bell-push of Lord Marcus' house, or elsewhere. Inquiries to confirm stories of Miss Fay Perigal and James Wake, butler, already afoot. Regarding Lord Marcus, must confess my mind divided."
"So is mine, sir," said Firth.
"Formerly in same regiment in Egypt. We were both with Allenby. Up to time that he left the Army, knew Amberdale well. Always eccentric. Too much money for a young man, as he was then. First-rate horseman, better than myself, and I was pretty hot. Won classic events on his own mounts. Then, suddenly, gave it all up—same time he gave up the Army."
"If I don't interrupt you, sir, am I right in supposing that he was also a good boxer?"
"All-round athlete, Firth. All-round man. Oh! I see what you're driving at. Stupid of me. Thinking of the bruise, described by Fawcett as 'bluish contusion' which he found above Sir Giles's heart? Result of a powerful blow, he suggests. Don't believe Amberdale would deny it, if he'd done it. However—where was I? Oh, yes, Amberdale. Well, something overtook him. Went in for queer studies. Disappeared for years. Told he was living in solitude, somewhere up Nile Valley. Apart from social occasions, here and there, seen practically nothing of him since those days. Of one thing am sure: Amberdale is no liar—but he may be mad."
"That is what I was thinking, sir."
"Keep his address out of it if you can. Tell 'em the body was taken to house in West End and dumped there."
Firth frowned. "I'll do my best, sir. But you know what Fleet Street is like! Then there is this Mrs. Vane."
"Whatever his interest in Mrs. Vane, Firth, doubt if of amorous nature. Never was a skirt hunter, never. Women used to chase him. Astonishingly handsome man in young days. Not so bad now, I believe. But Mrs. Vane, well—"
"Sergeant Bluett has her record, sir," said Firth dourly.
"Yes, he would have. One doesn't want to be rude, but we are dealing with a murder charge, and—er—she is very little better than society courtesan, you know. Mixed up with all sorts of men, as well as poor Charlie Vane. Mug to marry her. You tell me her evidence was unsatisfactory?"
"Well, sir—" Firth leaned forward in his chair, resting long, sensitive hands upon bony knees—"strictly speaking, it wasn'a evidence at a'. She had joined Lord Marcus that night for the purpose of whatever mumbo-jumbo they had in hand, and they had dined together ... When I say 'dined,' according to the lady's statement, confirmed by Wake, the repast consisted of some kind o' specially baked wheaten bread—"
"Dealings with black market," smiled the Assistant Commissioner. "Where the devil does Amberdale get wheat?"
"Aye, it's a fact, sir. But such was their dinner, wi' fresh fruit and cold water. Wake left them, and according to Mrs. Vane's account, she then 'devoted herself to the Rites.' That's what she told me. They both talk verra freely about the Rites, whatever the Rites may be. She claims to remember nothing fro' the time these Rites began until she was awakened by Lord Marcus—that is, more than an hour after the crime was discovered."
The Assistant Commissioner crossed and stared out of the window, apparently fascinated by the spectacle of a stream of barges laden with cement being towed down the river. When he spoke, he spoke over his shoulder:
"Dr. Fawcett is quite satisfied this state of hypnosis or trance, or whatever it is, was authentic?"
"Quite so, sir. As far as that goes, speaking unprofessionally, Mrs. Vane was certainly in a verra queer state."
"Yes, yes. Just run through that part of your report again, Firth. Seem to recall something—"
The Chief Inspector opened a notebook, glancing across at the check back of the speaker. "You mean, Mrs. Vane's reference to a limping man?"
"That's it." Colonel O'Halloran turned, and producing from one pocket a quantity of tobacco which presumably he kept there loose, and from another a packet of cigarette papers, he began with great skill to manufacture a cigarette. "Limping man: that's what stuck in my mind."
"Aye, it was certainly queer," Firth admitted, studying his notes. "Weel, Mrs. Vane was presently produced by Lord Marcus, as I told ye. She came out wrapped in a fur coat of a verra costly character. Sergeant Bluett tells me it is chinchilla—"
"Poor old Amberdale," murmured the colonel, biting ragged ends from his cigarette and snapping a lighter into action.
"Dr. Fawcett made her over, and assured me that she had been under the influence of drugs—"
"What drugs?"
"On that point he remained uncertain, sir. I questioned her closely, but her manner was vague to the point o' imbecility. She was like a body talking in her sleep. Lord Marcus insisted that she must not be asked to see the dead man, and as Dr. Fawcett supported him, I had the body removed before she came in. She admitted, however, wi'out any pressure on my part, that she had known Sir Giles weel at one time. She stated that she had not seen him for six months or more. Then came her words to which you refer, sir. She seemed to come over whimsy—kind o' fey; and she exclaimed:
"'He was there while I was in the shrine! He kept coming between me and the path. I see him now—there, outside the door!'" Firth was reading from notes. "'The limping man, wi' blood on his hands ...'"
"H'm," muttered Colonel O'Halloran; "and you say that Amberdale tried to gather exact details?"
"He did, sir. But Mrs. Vane assured him that she could not see, or could not remember any more."
"Very odd. One wonders if there's anything in it." The colonel sat down, but immediately stood up again. "Sir Giles occupied small service flat, not far away. You tell me the people there have no idea when he set out. No evidence to show, either, where he was coming from at time he met his death. Usual calls sent around taxi depôts, I take it?"
"Yes, sir; I am awaiting results. I am also checking up on James Wake, of course. I examined the door of the house, the steps, and immediate approaches. But it had rained during the night, and quite briefly, I found nothing. The remarkable custom of Lord Marcus—I mean leaving his key outside—complicates the matter to no sma' degree."
"Lord Marcus has done almost everything in his life to complicate matters, Inspector." The colonel turned and stared at Firth, his eyes bright, restless and continually blinking. "Don't think you need bother much about Miss Perigal. She will be his second cousin: his first cousin Geraldine married Commander Stephen Perigal. This girl will be their daughter. Should be a fine type, but never met her."
"I should say, sir, that as they come nowadays, she is a verra nice girl."
The Assistant Commissioner nodded. "Well, case in your hands, Firth, and I wish you luck of it. Most mysterious. May be superstitious: Irish heritage; but can't help thinking about one thing."
"That being, sir?"
"Limping man, with blood on his hands ... look out for the fellow, Firth—look out for him."
