Читать книгу Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 97

For the moment a new element had been introduced into the horror of the little tableau. All eyes were fixed upon Quest, who had listened to the Inspector’s dubious words with a supercilious smile upon his lips.

“Perhaps,” he suggested, “you would like to ask me a few questions?”

“Perhaps I may feel it my duty to do so,” the Inspector replied gravely. “In the first place, then, Mr. Quest, will you kindly explain the condition of your clothes?”

Quest looked down at himself quickly. More than ever he realised the significance of his dishevelled appearance.

“I travelled from number ten tower, just outside New York, on top of a freight car,” he said grimly. “It wasn’t a very comfortable ride.”

“Perhaps you will explain what made you take it, then?” the Inspector continued.

Quest shrugged his shoulders.

“Here you are, then,” he replied. “This morning I decided to make an attempt to clear up the mystery of Macdougal’s disappearance. I sent on my secretary, Miss Laura, to make friends with the section boss, and Lenora and I went out by automobile a little later. We instituted a search on a new principle, and before very long we found Macdougal’s body. That’s one up against you, I think, Inspector.”

“Very likely,” the Inspector observed. “Go on, please.”

“I left the two young ladies, at Miss Lenora’s wish, to superintend the removal of the body. I myself had an engagement to deliver over her jewels to Mrs. Rheinholdt here at mid-day. I returned to where my automobile was waiting, started for the city and was attacked by two thugs near the section house. I got away from them, ran to the tower house to try and stop the freight, was followed by the thugs, and jumped out on to the last car from the signal arm.”

There was a dead silence. Quest began quietly to dust his clothes. The Inspector stopped him.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

Quest paused in his task and laid down the brush.

“Any more questions?”

“Where is your automobile?”

“No idea,” Quest replied. “I left it in the road. When I jumped from the freight car, I took a taxicab to the Professor’s and called for him, as arranged.”

“That is perfectly true,” the Professor intervened. “Mr. Quest called for us, as arranged previously, at ten minutes to twelve.”

The inspector nodded.

“I shall have to ask you to excuse me for a moment,” he said, “while I ring up Number 10 signal tower. If Mr. Quest’s story receives corroboration, the matter is at an end. Where shall I find a telephone?”

“In every room in the house,” Quest answered shortly. “There is one outside in the passage.”

The Inspector left the room almost immediately. The Professor crossed to Quest’s side. A kindly smile parted his lips.

“My dear Mr. Quest,” he exclaimed, “our friend the Inspector’s head has been turned a little, beyond doubt, by these horrible happenings! Permit me to assure you, for one, that I look upon his insinuations as absurd.”

“MR. QUEST, YOUR ALIBI HAS BEEN FOUND WITH A BULLET IN HIS BRAIN. I MUST PUT YOU UNDER ARREST.”

WHEN QUEST GOES TO THE SAFE TO PRODUCE THE JEWELS, HE FINDS THEM MISSING.

“The man has gone off his head!” Laura declared angrily.

“It will be all right directly he comes back,” Lenora whispered, laying her hand upon Quest’s arm.

“If only some one would give me my jewels and let me go!” Mrs. Rheinholdt moaned.

The door opened and the Inspector reappeared. He was looking graver than ever.

“Quest,” he announced, “your alibi is useless—in fact a little worse than useless. The operator at Number 10 has been found murdered at the back of his tower!”

Quest started.

“I ought not to have left him to those thugs,” he murmured regretfully.

“There is no automobile of yours in the vicinity,” the Inspector continued, “nor any news of it. I think it will be as well now, Quest, for this matter to take its obvious course. Will you, first of all, hand over her jewels to Mrs. Rheinholdt?”

Quest drew the keys of the safe from his pocket, crossed the room and swung open the safe door. For a moment afterwards he stood transfixed. His arm, half outstretched, remained motionless. Then he turned slowly around.

“The jewels have been stolen,” he announced with unnatural calm.

Mrs. Rheinholdt pushed her way forward, wringing her hands.

“Stolen again?” she said. “Mr. Quest! Inspector!”

“They were there,” Quest declared, “when I left the house this morning. It seems probable,” he added, “that the same person who is responsible for this double tragedy has also taken the jewels.”

The Inspector laid his hand heavily upon Quest’s shoulder.

“It does seem as though that might be so,” he assented grimly. “You will kindly consider yourself under arrest, Quest. Ladies and gentlemen, will you clear the room now, if you please? The ambulance I telephoned for is outside.”

The Professor, who had been looking on as though dazed, suddenly intervened.

“Mr. French,” he said earnestly, “I am convinced that you are making a great mistake. In arresting and taking away Mr. Quest, you are removing from us the one man who is likely to be able to clear up this mystery.”

The Inspector pushed him gently on one side.

“You will excuse me, Professor,” he said, “but this is no matter for argument. If Mr. Quest can clear himself, no one will be more glad than I.”

Quest shrugged his shoulders.

“The Inspector will have his little joke,” he observed drily. “It’s all right, girls. Keep cool,” he went on, as he saw the tears in Lenora’s eyes. “Come round and see me in the Tombs, one of you.”

“If I can be of any assistance,” the Professor exclaimed, “I trust that you will not fail to call upon me, Mr. Quest. I repeat, Inspector,” he added, “I am convinced that you are making a very grave mistake. Mrs. Rheinholdt, you must let me take you home.”

She gave him her arm.

“My jewels!” she sobbed. “Just as they had been recovered, too!”

“My dear lady,” the Professor reminded her, with a faint air of reproach in his tone, “I think we must remember that we are in the presence of a graver tragedy than the loss of a few jewels.”…

The ambulance men came and departed with their grim burden, the room on the ground floor was locked and sealed, and the house was soon empty except for the two girls. Towards three o’clock, Lenora went out and returned with a newspaper. She opened it out upon the table and they both pored over it.—

“WELL-KNOWN CRIMINOLOGIST ARRESTED FOR DOUBLE TRAGEDY!

“Sanford Quest, the famous New York criminologist, was arrested at noon to-day, charged with the murder of his valet, Ross Brown, and Miss Quigg, Salvation Army canvasser. The crime seems to be mixed up in some mysterious fashion with others. John D. Martin, of signal tower Number 10, offered by Quest as an alibi, was found dead behind his tower. Quest claimed that he travelled from the signal tower to New York on a freight train, leaving his automobile behind, but neither machine nor chauffeur have been discovered.

“Justice Thorpe has refused to consider bail.”

“He’s a guy, that Justice Thorpe, and so’s the idiot who wrote this stuff!” Laura exclaimed, thrusting the paper away from her. “I guess the Professor was dead right when he told French he was locking up the one man who could clear up the whole show.”

Lenora nodded thoughtfully.

“The Professor spoke up like a man,” she agreed, “but, Laura, I want to ask you something. Did you notice his servant—that man Craig?”

“Can’t say I did particularly,” Laura admitted.

“Twice,” Lenora continued, “I thought he was going to faint. I tell you he was scared the whole of the time.”

“What are you getting at, kid?” Laura demanded.

“At Craig, if I can,” Lenora replied, moving towards the telephone. “Please give me the phototelesme. I am going to talk to the Professor.”

Laura adjusted the mirror to the instrument and Lenora rang up. The Professor himself answered the call.

“Have you seen the three o’clock edition, Professor?” Lenora asked.

“I never read newspapers, young lady,” the Professor replied.

“Let me tell you what they say about Mr. Quest!”

Lenora commenced a rambling account of what she had read in the newspaper. All the time the eyes of the two girls were fixed upon the mirror. They could see the Professor seated in his chair with two huge volumes by his side, a pile of manuscript, and a pen in his hand. They could even catch the look of sympathy on his face as he listened attentively. Suddenly Lenora almost broke off. She gripped Laura by the arm. The door of the study had been opened slowly, and Craig, carrying a bundle, paused for a moment on the threshold. He glanced nervously towards the Professor, who seemed unaware of his entrance. Then he moved stealthily towards the fireplace, stooped down and committed something to the flames. The relief on his face, as he stood up, was obvious.

“All I can do for Mr. Quest, young lady, I will,” the Professor promised. “If you will forgive my saying so, you are a little over-excited just now. Take my advice and rest for a short time. Call round and see me whenever you wish.”

He laid the receiver down and the reflection on the mirror faded away. Lenora started up and hastily put on her coat and hat, which were still lying on the chair.

“I am going right down to the Professor’s,” she announced.

“What do you think you can do there?” Laura asked.

“I am going to see if I can find out what that man burnt,” she replied. “I will be back in an hour.”

Laura walked with her as far as the street car, and very soon afterwards Lenora found herself knocking at the Professor’s front door. Craig admitted her almost at once. For a moment he seemed to shiver as he recognised her. The weakness, however, was only momentary. He showed her into the study with grave deference. The Professor was still immersed in his work. He greeted her kindly, and with a little sigh laid down his pen.

“Well, young lady,” he said, “have you thought of something I can do?”

She took no notice of the chair to which he pointed, and rested her hand upon his shoulder.

“Professor,” she begged, “go and see Mr. Quest! He is in the Tombs prison. It would be the kindest thing any one could possibly do.”

The Professor glanced regretfully at his manuscript, but he did not hesitate. He rose promptly to his feet.

“If you think he would appreciate it, I will go at once,” he decided.

Her face shone with gratitude.

“That is really very kind of you, Professor,” she declared.

“I will send for my coat and we will go together, if you like,” he suggested.

She smiled.

“I am going the other way, back to Georgia Square,” she explained. “No, please don’t ring. I can find my own way out.”

She hurried from the room. Outside in the hall she paused, for a moment, listening with beating heart. By the side wall was a hat rack with branching pegs, from which several coats were hanging. She slipped quietly behind their shelter. Presently the Professor came out of the room.

“My coat, please, Craig,” she heard him say.

Her heart sank. Craig was coming in her direction. Her discovery seemed certain. Then, as his hand was half stretched out to remove one of the garments, she heard the Professor’s voice.

“I think that I shall walk, Craig. I have been so much upset to-day that the exercise will do me good. I will have the light coat from my bedroom.”

For a moment the shock of relief was so great that she almost lost consciousness. A moment or two later she heard the Professor leave the house. Very cautiously she stole out from her hiding place. The hall was empty. She crossed it with noiseless footsteps, slipped into the study and moved stealthily to the fireplace. There was a little heap of ashes in one distinct spot. She gathered them up in her handkerchief and secreted it in her dress. Then she moved hurriedly towards the door and stepped quietly behind the curtain. She stood there listening intently. Craig was doing something in the hall. Even while she was hesitating, the door was opened. He came in and moved towards his master’s table. Through a chink in the curtain she could see that he was stooping down, collecting some letters. She stole out, ran down the hall, opened the front door and hastened down the avenue. Her heart was beating quickly. The front door handle had slipped from her fingers, and it seemed to her that she could hear even now the slam with which it had swung to. At the gates she looked back. There were no signs of life. The house still bore its customary appearance, gloomy and deserted. With a sigh of relief, she hailed a taxicab and sank back into the corner.

She found Laura waiting for her, and a few minutes afterwards the two girls were examining the ashes with the aid of Quest’s microscope. Among the little pile was one fragment at the sight of which they both exclaimed. It was distinctly a shred of charred muslin embroidery. Lenora pointed towards it triumphantly.

“Isn’t that evidence?” she demanded. “Let’s ring up Inspector French!”

Laura shook her head doubtfully.

“Not so fast,” she advised. “French is a good sort in his way, but he’s prejudiced just now against the boss. I’m not sure that this evidence would go far by itself.”

“It’s evidence enough for us to go for Craig, though! What we have got to do is to get a confession out of him, somehow!”

Laura studied her companion, for a moment, curiously.

“Taking some interest in Mr. Quest, kid, ain’t you?”

Lenora looked up. Then her head suddenly sank into her hands. She knew quite well that her secret had escaped her. Laura patted her shoulder.

“That’s all right, child,” she said soothingly. “We’ll see him through this, somehow or other.”

“You don’t mind?” Lenora faltered, without raising her eyes.

“Not I,” she replied promptly. “I’m not looking for trouble of that sort.”

Lenora raised her head. There was an immense relief in her face.

“I am so glad,” she said. “I was afraid sometimes—living here with him, you know—”

Laura interrupted her with an easy laugh.

“You don’t need to worry,” she assured her.

Lenora rose to her feet. She was quite herself again. There was a new look of determination in her face.

“Laura,” she exclaimed, “we will save Mr. Quest and we will get hold of Craig! I have a plan. Listen.”