Читать книгу Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 127

The Professor, who was comfortably seated in Quest’s favourite easy-chair, glanced at his watch and shook his head.

“I am afraid, my friend,” he said, “that Craig’s nerve has failed him. A voluntary surrender was perhaps too much to hope for.”

Quest smoked for a moment in silence.

“Can’t understand those fellows letting him give them the slip,” he muttered. “He ought to have been under close surveillance from the moment he set foot in New York. What’s that?” he added, turning to the door.

His servant entered, bearing a note.

“This was left a few minutes ago, sir,” he announced, “by a messenger boy. There was no answer required.”

The man retired and Quest unfolded the sheet of paper. His expression suddenly changed.

“Listen!” he exclaimed.

To Sanford Quest.

Gather your people in Professor Ashleigh’s library at ten o’clock to-night. I will be there and tell you my whole story.

John Craig.

The Professor sat for a moment speechless.

“Then he meant it, after all!” he exclaimed at last.

“Seems like it,” Quest admitted. “I’ll just telephone to French.”

The Professor rose to his feet, knocked the ash from his cigar, struggled into his coat, and took up his hat. Then he waited until Quest had completed his conversation. The latter’s face had grown grave and puzzled. It was obvious that he was receiving information of some importance. He put down the instrument at last with a curt word of farewell.

“Let me send a couple of men up with you, Professor,” he begged. “You don’t want to run any risk of having Craig there before we arrive.”

The Professor smiled.

“My friend,” he said, “it is seldom in my life that I have had to have recourse to physical violence, but I flatter myself that there is no man who would do me any harm. We will meet, then, at my house. You will bring the young ladies?”

“Sure!” Quest replied. “I am just sending word up to them now.”

The Professor moved towards the door.

“If only this may prove to be the end!” he sighed.

Quest spent the next hour or so in restless deliberations. There were still many things which puzzled him. At about a quarter past nine Lenora and Laura arrived, dressed for their expedition. Quest threw open the window and looked out across the city. A yellowish haze which, accompanied by a sulphurous heat, had been brooding over the city all day long, had suddenly increased in density. The air was stifling.

“I’m afraid we are in for a bad thunderstorm, girls,” Quest remarked.

Laura laughed.

“Who cares? The automobile’s there, Mr. Quest.”

“Let’s go, then,” he replied.

They descended into the street and drove to the Professor’s house in silence. Even Laura was feeling the strain of these last hours of anxiety. On the way they picked up French and a plain-clothes man, and the whole party arrived at their destination just as the storm broke. The Professor met them in the hall. He, too, seemed to have lost to some extent his customary equanimity.

“Come this way, my friends,” he invited. “If Craig keeps his word, he will be here now within a few minutes. This way.”

They followed him into the library. Chairs were arranged around the table in the middle of the room, and they all sat down. The Professor took out his watch. It was five minutes to ten.

“In a few minutes,” he continued solemnly, “this weight is to be lifted from the minds of all of us. I have come to the conclusion that on this occasion Craig will keep his word. I am not sure, mind, but I believe that he is in the house at this present moment. I have heard movements in the room which belonged to him. I have not interfered. I have been content to wait.”

“At least he has not tried to escape,” Quest remarked. “French here brought news of him. He has been living with his niece very quietly, but without any particular attempt at concealment or any signs of wishing to leave the city.”

“I had that girl brought to my office,” French remarked, “barely an hour ago, but she slipped away while we were talking. Say, what’s that?”

They all rose quickly to their feet. In a momentary lull of the storm, they could hear distinctly a girl’s shrill call from outside, followed by the clamour of angry voices.

“I bet that’s the girl,” French exclaimed. “She’s been looking up the Professor’s address in a directory.”

They all hurried out into the hall. The plain-clothes man whom they had left on guard was standing there with his hand upon Craig’s collar. The girl, sobbing bitterly, was clinging to his arm. Craig was making desperate efforts to escape. Directly he saw the little party issue from the library, however, the strength seemed to pass from his limbs. He remained in the clutches of his captor, limp and helpless.

“I caught the girl trying to make her way into the house,” the latter explained. “She called out, and this man came running down-stairs, right into my arms.”

“It is quite all right,” the Professor said, in a dignified tone. “You may release them both. Craig was on his way to keep an appointment here at ten o’clock. Quest, will you and the Inspector bring him in? Let us resume our places at the table.”

The little procession made its way down the hall. The girl was still clinging to her uncle.

“What are they going to do to you, these people?” she sobbed. “They shan’t hurt you! They shan’t!”

Lenora passed her arm around the girl.

“Of course not, dear,” she said soothingly. “Your uncle has come of his own free will to answer a few questions, only I think it would be better if you would let me—”

Lenora never finished her sentence. They had reached the entrance now to the library. The Professor was standing in the doorway with extended hand, motioning them to take their places at the table. Then, with no form of warning, the room seemed suddenly filled with a blaze of blue light. It came at first in a thin flash from the window to the table, became immediately multiplied a thousand times, and played round the table in sparks which suddenly expanded to sheets of leaping, curling flame. The roar of thunder shook the very foundations of the house—and then silence. For several seconds not one of them seemed to have the power of speech. An amazing thing had happened. The oak table in the middle of the room was a charred fragment, the chairs were every one blackened remnants.

“A thunderbolt!” French gasped at last.

Quest was the first to cross the room. From the table to the outside window was one charred, black line which had burnt its way through the carpet. He threw open the window. The wire whose course he had followed ended there with a little lump of queer substance. He broke it off from the end of the wire, which was absolutely brittle, and brought it into the room.

“What is it?” Lenora faltered.

“What have you got there?” French echoed.

Quest examined the strange-looking lump of metal steadily. The most curious thing about it seemed to be that it was absolutely sound and showed no signs of damage. He turned to the Professor.

“I think you are the only one who will be able to appreciate this, Professor,” he remarked. “Look! It is a fragment of opotan—a distinct and wonderful specimen of opotan.”

Every one looked puzzled.

“But what,” Lenora enquired, “is opotan?”

“It is a new metal,” Quest explained gravely, “towards which scientists have been directing a great deal of attention lately. It has the power of collecting all the electricity from the air around us. There are a dozen people, at the present moment, conducting experiments with it for the purpose of cheapening electric lights. If we had been in the room ten seconds sooner—”

He paused significantly. Then he swung round on his heel. Craig, a now pitiful object, his hands nervously twitching, his face ghastly, was cowering in the background.

“Your last little effort, Craig?” he demanded sternly.

Craig made no reply. The Professor, who had disappeared for a moment, came back to them.

“There is a smaller room across the hall,” he said, “which will do for our purpose.”

Craig suddenly turned and faced them.

“I have changed my mind,” he said. “I have nothing to tell you. Do what you will with me. Take me to the Tombs, deal with me any way you choose, but I have nothing to say.”

French smiled a little grimly.

“We may make you change your mind when we get you there,” he remarked.

“No one will ever make me change my mind,” the man replied. “This is my last word.”

Quest pointed a threatening finger at him.

“Your last voluntary word, perhaps,” he said, “but science is still your master, Craig. Science has brought many criminals to their doom. It shall take its turn with you. Bring him along, French, to my study. There is a way of dealing with him.”

Quest felt his forehead and found it damp. There were dark rims under his eyes. Before him was Craig, with a little band around his forehead and the mirror where they could all see it. The Professor stood a little in the background. Laura and French were side by side, gazing with distended eyes at the blank mirror, and Lenora was doing her best to soothe the terrified niece. Twice Quest’s teeth came together and once he almost reeled.

“It’s the fight of his life,” he muttered at last, “but I’ve got him.”

Almost as he spoke, they could see Craig’s resistance begin to weaken. The tenseness of his form relaxed; Quest’s will was triumphing. Slowly in the mirror they saw a little picture creeping from outline into definite form, a picture of the Professor’s library. Craig himself was there with mortar and trowel, and a black box in his hand.

“It’s coming!” Lenora moaned.

Quest stood perfectly tense. The picture suddenly flashed into brilliant clearness. They saw Craig’s features with almost lifelike detail. From the corner of that room where the Professor was standing, came a smothered groan. It was a terrifying, a paralysing moment. Even the silence seemed charged with awful things. Then suddenly, without any warning, the picture faded completely away. A cry which was almost a howl of anger broke from Quest’s lips. Craig had fallen sideways from his chair. There was an ominous change in his face. Something seemed to have passed from the atmosphere of the room, some tense and nameless quality. Quest moved forward and laid his hand on Craig’s heart. The girl was on her knees, crying.

“Take her away,” Quest whispered to Lenora.

“What about him?” French demanded, as Lenora led the girl from the room.

“He fought too hard,” Quest said gravely. “He is dead. Professor,—”

They all looked around. The spot where he had been standing was empty. The Professor had gone.