Читать книгу Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 104

The Professor roused himself from what had apparently been a very gloomy reverie.

“Well,” he announced, “I must go home. It has been very kind of you, Mr. Quest, to keep me here for so long.”

Quest glanced at the clock.

“Don’t hurry, Mr. Ashleigh,” he said. “We may get some news at any moment. French has a dozen men out on the search and he has promised to ring me up immediately he hears anything.”

The Professor sighed.

“A man,” he declared, “who for twenty years can deceive his master as utterly and completely as Craig has done me, who is capable of such diabolical outrages, and who, when capture stares him in the face, is capable of an escape such as he made to-day, is outside the laws of probability. Personally, I do not believe that I shall ever again see the face of my servant, any more than that you, Quest, will entirely solve the mystery of these murders and the theft of the Rheinholdt jewels.”

Lenora, who, with her hat on, was packing a small bag at the other end of the room, glanced up for a moment.

QUEST IS MYSTIFIED AT FINDING THE JEWELS IN THE BLACK BOX, WHICH WAS ON THE FLOOR.

“SURE AN’ ME NAME’S NOT CRAIG—IT’S MARTY O’TOOLE, SIR.” THEY HAD FOOLED THE CRIMINOLOGIST.

“The man is a demon!” she exclaimed. “He would have sacrificed us all, if he could. When I think of poor Laura lying there in the hospital, crushed almost to death, so that he could save his miserable carcass, and realise that he is free, I feel—”

She stopped short. Quest looked at her and nodded.

“Don’t mind hurting our feelings, Lenora,” he said. “French and I are up against it all right. We’re second best, at the present moment—I’ll admit that—but the end hasn’t come yet.”

“I am sorry,” she murmured. “I was led away for a moment. But, Mr. Quest,” she went on piteously, “can’t we do something? Laura’s so brave. She tried to laugh when I left her, an hour ago, but I could see all the time that she was suffering agony. Fancy a man doing that to a woman! It makes me feel that I can’t rest or sleep. I think that when I have left the hospital I shall just walk up and down the streets and watch and search.”

Quest shook his head.

“That sort of thing won’t do any good,” he declared. “It isn’t any use, Lenora, working without a plan. That’s why I’m here now, waiting. I want to formulate a plan first.”

“Who are we,” the Professor asked drearily, “to make plans against a fiend like that? What can we do against men who have revolving staircases and trolley-loads of river pirates waiting for them? You may be a scientific criminologist, Quest, but that fellow Craig is a scientific criminal, if ever there was one.”

Quest crossed the room towards his cigar cabinet, and opened it. His little start was apparent to both of them. Lenora laid down the bag which she had just lifted up. The Professor leaned forward in his chair.

“What is it, Quest?” he demanded.

Quest stretched out his hand and picked up from the top of the cigars a small black box! He laid it on the table.

“Unless I am very much mistaken,” he said, “it is another communication from our mysterious friend.”

“Impossible!” the Professor exclaimed hoarsely.

“How can he have been here?” Lenora cried.

Quest removed the lid from the box and drew out a circular card. Around the outside edge was a very clever pen and ink sketch of a lifebuoy, and inside the margin were several sentences of clear handwriting. In the middle was the signature—the clenched hands! Quest read the message aloud—

“In the great scheme of things, the Supreme Ruler of the Universe divided an inheritance amongst His children. To one He gave power, to another strength, to another beauty, but to His favourites He gave cunning.”

They all looked at one another.

“What does it mean?” Lenora gasped.

“A lifebuoy!” the Professor murmured.

They both stared at Quest, who remained silent, chewing hard at the end of his cigar.

“Every message,” he said, speaking half to himself, “has had some significance. What does this mean—a lifebuoy?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he turned suddenly to the Professor.

“What did you call those men in the motor-truck, Professor—river pirates? And a lifebuoy! Wait.”

He crossed the room towards his desk and returned with a list in his hand. He ran his finger down it, stopped and glanced at the date.

“The Durham,” he muttered, “cargo cotton, destination Southampton, sails at high tide on the 16th. Lenora, is that calendar right?”

“It’s the 16th, Mr. Quest,” she answered.

Quest crossed the room to the telephone.

“I want Number One Central, Exchange,” he said. “Thank you! Put me through to Mr. French’s office…. Hullo, French! I’ve got an idea. Can you come round here at once and bring an automobile? I want to get down to the docks—not where the passenger steamers start from—lower down…. Good! We’ll wait.”

Quest hung up the receiver.

“See here, Professor,” he continued, “that fellow wouldn’t dare to send this message if he wasn’t pretty sure of getting off. He’s made all his plans beforehand, but it’s my belief we shall just get our hands upon him, after all. Lenora, you’d better get along round to the hospital. You don’t come in this time. It’s bad enough to have Laura laid up—can’t risk you. There’ll be a little trouble, too, before we’re through, I’m afraid.”

Lenora sighed as she picked up her bag.

“If it weren’t for Laura,” she said, “you’d find it pretty hard to keep me away. I think that if I could see the handcuffs put on that man, it would be the happiest moment of my life.”

“We’ll get him all right,” Quest promised. “Remember me to Laura.”

“And present my compliments, also,” the Professor begged.

Lenora left them. The Professor, his spirits apparently a little improved by the prospect of action, accepted some whisky and a cigar. Presently they heard the automobile stop outside and French appeared.

“Anything doing?” he asked.

Quest showed him the card and the sailing list. The Inspector nodded.

“Say, that fellow’s some sport!” he remarked admiringly. “You wouldn’t believe it just to look at him. That staircase this afternoon, though, kind of teaches one not to trust to appearances. So you think he’s getting a move on him, Mr. Quest?”

“I think he had a truck waiting for him at the corner of Gayson Avenue,” Quest replied. “It was the machine my men went after. The men looked like river thugs, although I shouldn’t have thought of it if the Professor hadn’t used the word ‘river pirates.’ It’s quite clear that they took Craig down to the river. There’s only one likely ship sailing to-night and that’s the Durham. It’s my belief Craig’s on her.”

The Inspector glanced at the clock.

“Then we’ve got to make tracks,” he declared, “and pretty quick, too. She’ll be starting from somewhere about Number Twenty-eight dock, a long way down. Come along, gentlemen.”

They hurried out to the automobile and started off for the docks. The latter part of their journey was accomplished under difficulties, for the street was packed with drays and heavy vehicles. They reached dock Number Twenty-eight at last, however, and hurried through the shed on to the wharf. There were no signs of a steamer there.

“Where’s the Durham?” Quest asked one of the carters, who was just getting his team together.

The man pointed out to the middle of the river, where a small steamer was lying.

“There she is,” he replied. “She’ll be off in a few minutes. You’ll hear the sirens directly, when they begin to move down.”

Quest led the way quickly to the edge of the wharf. There was a small tug there, the crew of which were just making her fast for the night.

“Fifty dollars if you’ll take us out to the Durham and catch her before she sails,” Quest shouted to the man who seemed to be the captain. “What do you say?”

The man spat out a plug of tobacco from his mouth.

“I’d take you to hell for fifty dollars,” he answered tersely. “Step in. We’ll make it, if you look quick.”

They clambered down the iron ladder and jumped on to the deck of the tug. The captain seized the wheel. The two men who formed the crew took off their coats and waistcoats.

“Give it her, Jim,” the former ordered. “Now, then, here goes! We’ll just miss the ferry.”

They swung around and commenced their journey. Quest stood with his watch in his hand. They were getting up the anchor of the Durham, and from higher up the river came the screech of steamers beginning to move on their outward way.

“We’ll make it all right,” the captain assured them.

They were within a hundred yards of the Durham when Quest gave a little exclamation. From the other side of the steamer another tug shot away, turning back towards New York. Huddled up in the stern, half concealed in a tarpaulin, was a man in a plain black suit. Quest, with a little shout, recognised the man at the helm from his long brown beard.

“That’s one of those fellows who was in the truck,” he declared, “and that’s Craig in the stern! We’ve got him this time. Say, Captain, it’s that tug I want. Never mind about the steamer. Catch it and I’ll make it a hundred dollars!”

The man swung round the wheel, but he glanced at Quest a little doubtfully.

“Say, what is this show?” he asked.

Quest opened his coat and displayed his badge. He pointed to the Inspector.

“Police job. This is Inspector French, I am Sanford Quest.”

“Good enough,” the man replied. “What’s the bloke wanted for?”

“Murder,” Quest answered shortly.

“That so?” the other remarked. “Well, you’ll get him, sure! He’s looking pretty scared, too. You’d better keep your eyes open, though. I don’t know how many men there are on board, but that tug belongs to the toughest crew up the river. Got anything handy in the way of firearms?”

Quest nodded.

“You don’t need to worry,” he said. “We’ve automatics here, but as long as we’re heading them this way, they’ll know the game’s up.”

“We’ve got her!” the captain exclaimed. “There’s the ferry and the first of the steamers coming down in the middle. They’ll have to chuck it.”

Right ahead of them, blazing with lights, a huge ferry came churning the river up and sending great waves in their direction. On the other side, unnaturally large, loomed up the great bows of an ocean-going steamer. The tug was swung round and they ran up alongside. The man with the beard leaned over.

“Say, what’s your trouble?” he demanded.

The Inspector stepped forward.

“I want that man you’ve got under the tarpaulin,” he announced.

“Say, you ain’t the river police?”

“I’m Inspector French from headquarters,” was the curt reply. “The sooner you hand him over, the better for you.”

“Do you hear that, O’Toole?” the other remarked, swinging round on his heel. “Get up, you blackguard!”

A man rose from underneath the oilskin. He was wearing Craig’s clothes, but his face was the face of a stranger. As quick as lightning, Quest swung round in his place.

“He’s fooled us again!” he exclaimed. “Head her round, Captain—back to the Durham!”

The sailor shook his head.

“We’ve lost our chance, guvnor,” he pointed out, “Look!”

Quest set his teeth and gripped the Inspector’s arm. The place where the Durham had been anchored was empty. Already, half a mile down the river, with a trail of light behind and her siren shrieking, the Durham was standing out seawards.