Читать книгу The Black Box - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 22
1.
ОглавлениеMr. Sanford Quest sat in his favourite easy-chair, his cigar inclined towards the left hand corner of his mouth, his attention riveted upon a small instrument which he was supporting upon his knee. So far as his immobile features were capable of expression, they betrayed now, in the slight parting of his lips and the added brightness of his eyes, symptoms of a lively satisfaction. He glanced across the room to where Lenora was bending over her desk.
“We’ve done it this time, young woman,” he declared triumphantly. “It’s all O.K., working like a little peach.”
Lenora rose and came towards him. She glanced at the instrument which Quest was fitting into a small leather case.
“Is that the pocket wireless?”
He nodded.
“I’ve had Morrison out at Harlem all the morning to test it,” he told her. “I’ve sent him at least half-a-dozen messages from this easy-chair, and got the replies. How are you getting on with the code?”
“Not so badly for a stupid person,” Lenora replied. “I’m not nearly so quick as Laura, of course, but I could make a message out if I took time over it.”
Laura, who had been busy with some papers at the further end of the room, came over and joined them.
“Say, it’s a dandy little affair, that, Mr. Quest,” she exclaimed. “I had a try with it, a day or so ago. Jim spoke to me from Fifth Avenue.”
“We’ve got it tuned to a shade now,” Quest declared. “Equipped with this simple little device, you can speak to me from anywhere up to ten or a dozen miles. What are you working on this morning, Laura?”
“Same old stunt,” the girl replied. “I have been reading up the records of the savants of New York. From what I can make out about them, it doesn’t seem to me that there’s one amongst the whole bunch likely to have pluck enough to tamper with the Professor’s skeleton.”
Quest frowned a little gloomily. He rose to his feet and moved restlessly about the room.
“Say, girls,” he confessed, “this is the first time in my life I have been in a fix like this. Two cases on hand and nothing doing with either of them. Criminologist, indeed! I guess I’d better go over to England and take a job at Scotland Yard. That’s about what I’m fit for. Whose box is this?”
Quest had paused suddenly in front of an oak sideboard which stood against the wall. Occupying a position upon it of some prominence was a small black box, whose presence there seemed to him unfamiliar. Laura came over to his side and looked at it also in puzzled fashion.
“Never saw it before in my life,” she answered. “Say, kid, is this yours?” she added, turning to Lenora.
Lenora shook her head. She, too, examined it a little wonderingly.
“It wasn’t there a short time ago. I brought a duster and went over the sideboard myself.”
Quest grunted.
“H’m! No one else has been in the room, and it hasn’t been empty for more than ten minutes,” he remarked. “Well, let’s see what’s inside, any way.”
“Just be careful, Mr. Quest,” Laura advised. “I don’t get that box at all.”
Quest pushed it with his forefinger.
“No bomb inside, any way,” he remarked. “Here goes!”
He lifted off the lid. There was nothing in the interior but a sheet of paper folded up. Quest smoothed it out with his hand. They all leaned over and read the following words, written in an obviously disguised hand:
“You have embarked on a new study—anthropology. What characteristic strikes you most forcibly in connection with it? Cunning? The necklace might be where the skeleton is. Why not begin at the beginning?”
The note was unsigned, but in the spot where a signature might have been there was a rough pen drawing of two hands, with fingers extended, talon fashion, menacingly, as though poised to strike at some unseen enemy. Quest, after their first moment of stupefaction, whistled softly.
“The hands!” he muttered.
“What hands?” Lenora asked.
“The hands that gripped Mrs. Rheinholdt by the throat,” he reminded them. “Don’t you remember? Hands without any arms?”
There was another brief, almost stupefied silence. Then Laura broke into speech.
“What I want to know is,” she demanded, “who brought the thing here?”
“A most daring exploit, any way,” Quest declared. “If we could answer your question, Laura, we could solve the whole riddle. We are up against something, and no mistake.”
Lenora shivered a little. The mystery of the thing terrified her, the mystery which only stimulated her two companions.
“The hand which placed that box here,” Quest continued slowly, “is capable of even more wonderful things. We must be cautious. Hello!”
The door had opened. The Professor stood upon the threshold. He carried his soft felt hat in his hand. He bowed to the two young women courteously.
“I trust that I have done right in coming up?” he enquired.
“Quite right, Professor,” Quest assured him. “They know well enough downstairs that I am always at liberty to you. Come in.”
“I am so anxious to learn,” the Professor continued eagerly, “whether there is any news—of my skeleton.”
“Not yet, Professor, I am sorry to say,” Quest replied. “Come in and shut the door.”
The Professor was obviously struggling with his disappointment. He did not, however, at once close the door.
“There is a young lady here,” he said, “who caught me up upon the landing. She, too, I believe, wishes to see you. My manners suffered, I fear, from my eagerness to hear from your own lips if there was anything fresh. I should have allowed her to precede me.”
He threw open the door and stood on one side. A young woman came a little hesitatingly into the room. Her hair was plainly brushed back, and she wore the severe dress of the Salvation Army. Nothing, however, could conceal the fact that she was a remarkably sweet and attractive-looking young person.
“Want to see me, young lady?” Quest asked.
She held out a book.
“My name is Miss Quigg,” she said. “I want to ask you for a subscription to our funds.”
Quest frowned a little.
“I don’t care about this house-to-house visitation,” he remarked.
“It is only once a year that we come,” the girl pleaded, “and we only go to people who we know can afford to help us, and who we believe can appreciate our work. You know so much of the darker side of New York, Mr. Quest. Wherever you go you must find signs of our labours. Even if I put on one side, for a moment, the bare religious question, think how much we do for the good and the welfare of the poor people.”
Quest nodded.
“That’s all right,” he admitted. “You reach the outcasts all right. There’s many a one you save whom you had better leave to die, but here and there, no doubt, you set one of them on their legs again who’s had bad luck. Very well, Miss Quigg. You shall have a donation. I am busy to-day, but call at the same hour to-morrow and my secretary here shall have a cheque ready for you.”
The girl smiled her gratitude.
“You are very kind indeed, Mr. Quest,” she said simply. “I will be here.”
The Professor laid his hand upon her arm as she passed. He had been watching her with curious intentness.
“Young lady,” he observed, “you seem very much in earnest about your work.”
“It is only the people in earnest, sir,” she answered, “who can do any good in the world. My work is worth being in earnest about.”
“Will you forgive an old man’s question?” the Professor continued. “I am one of the men of the world who are in earnest. My life is dedicated to science. Science is at once my religion and my life. It seems to me that you and I have something in common. You, too, move in the unusual ways. Your life is dedicated to doing good amongst the unworthy of your sex. Whether my brain approves of your efforts or not, you compel my admiration—my most respectful admiration. May I, too, be permitted?”
He drew out a pocket-book and passed over towards her a little wad of notes. She took them without a moment’s hesitation. Her eyes, as she thanked him, were filled with gratitude.
“It is so kind of you,” she murmured. “We never have any hesitation in accepting money. May I know your name?”
“It is not necessary,” the Professor answered. “You can enter me,” he added, as he held open the door for her, “as a friend—or would you prefer a pseudonym?”
“A pseudonym, if you please,” she begged. “We have so many who send us sums of money as friends. Anything will do.”
The Professor glanced around the room.
“What pseudonym shall I adopt?” he ruminated. “Shall I say that an oak sideboard gives you five hundred dollars? Or a Chippendale sofa? Or,” he added, his eyes resting for a moment upon the little box, “a black box?”
The two girls from the other side of the table started. Even Quest swung suddenly around. The Professor, as though pleased with his fancy, nodded as his fingers played with the lid.
“Yes, that will do very nicely,” he decided. “Put me down—‘Black Box,’ five hundred dollars.”
The girl took out her book and began to write. The Professor, with a little farewell bow, crossed the room towards Quest. Lenora moved towards the door.
“Let me see you out,” she said to the girl pleasantly. “Don’t you find this collecting sometimes very hard work?”
“Days like to-day,” the girl replied, “atone for everything. When I think of the good that five hundred dollars will do, I feel perfectly happy.”
Lenora opened the door. Both girls started. Only a few feet away Craig was standing, his head a little thrust forward. For a moment the quiet self-respect of his manner seemed to have deserted him. He seemed at a loss for words.
“What do you want?” Lenora demanded.
Craig hesitated. His eyes were fixed upon the Salvation Army girl. The changes in his face were remarkable. She, however, beyond smiling pleasantly at him, gave no sign of any recognition.
“I was waiting for my master,” Craig explained.
“Why not downstairs?” Lenora asked suspiciously. “You did not come up with him.”
“I am driving the Professor in his automobile,” Craig explained. “It occurred to me that if he were going to be long here, I should have time to go and order another tire. It is of no consequence, though. I will go down and wait in the car.”
Lenora stood at the top of the stairs and watched him disappear. Then she went thoughtfully back to her work. The Professor and Quest were talking at the farther end of the room.
“I was in hopes, in great hopes,” the Professor admitted, “that you might have heard something. I promised to call at Mrs. Rheinholdt’s this afternoon.”
Quest shook his head.
“There is nothing to report at present, Mr. Ashleigh,” he announced.
“Dear me,” the Professor murmured, “this is very disappointing. Is there no clue, Mr. Quest—no clue at all?”
“Not the ghost of one,” Quest acknowledged. “I am as far from solving the mystery of the disappearance of your skeleton and Mrs. Rheinholdt’s necklace, as I have ever been.”
The Professor failed entirely to conceal his disappointment. His tone, in fact, was almost peevish.
“I should have expected this from the regular officials of the law, Mr. Quest,” he admitted, “but I must say that in your hands I had hoped—but there, there! Excuse me! I am an old man, Mr. Quest. I am getting a little irritable. Disappointments affect me quickly. I must be patient. I will be patient.”
“There are certain evidences,” Quest remarked, with his eyes upon the black box, “which seem to point to a new arrival in the criminal world of New York. More than that I cannot tell you. I will simply ask you to believe that I am doing my best.”
“And with that, Mr. Quest, I will be content,” the Professor promised. “I will now pay my promised call upon Mrs. Rheinholdt. I shall convey to her your assurance that everything that is possible is being done. Good morning, young ladies,” he concluded. “Good morning, Mr. Quest.”
He took a courteous leave of them all and departed. Lenora crossed the room to where Quest was seated at the table.
“Mr. Quest,” she asked, “do you believe in inspiration?”
“I attribute a large amount of my success,” Quest replied, “to my profound belief in it.”
“Then let me tell you,” Lenora continued, “that I have one and a very strong one. Do you know that when I went to the door a few minutes ago, the Professor’s servant, Craig, was there, listening?”
“Craig?” Quest repeated. “Let me see, that was the man who was at the Rheinholdts’ house the night of the robbery, and who might have left through the conservatory.”
“He did leave by it,” Lenora declared. “He is in a state of panic at the present moment. What else do you suppose he was out there listening for?”
“The Professor speaks very highly of him,” Quest reminded her.
“The Professor is just one of those amiable old idiots, absorbed in his mouldy old work, who would never notice anything,” Lenora persisted. “He is just the man to be completely hoodwinked by a clever servant.”
“There is some sense in what the kid says,” Laura remarked, strolling up. “The fact remains that Craig was one of the few men who could have got at the necklace that night, and he is also one of the few who knew about the skeleton.”
Quest sighed as he lit a cigar.
“It is a miserably obvious solution,” he said. “To tell you the truth, girls, our friend Inspector French has had his men watching Craig ever since the night of the robbery. What’s that? Answer the telephone, Lenora.”
Lenora obeyed.
“It’s Inspector French,” she announced. “He wants to speak to you.”
Quest nodded, and held out his hand for the receiver.
“Hullo, French,” he exclaimed. “Anything fresh?”
“Nothing much!” was the answer. “One of my men, though, who has been up Mayton Avenue way, brought in something I found rather interesting this morning. I want you to come round and see it.”
“Go right ahead and tell me about it,” Quest invited.
“You know we’ve been shadowing Craig,” the Inspector continued. “Not much luck up till now. Fellow seems never to leave his master’s side. We have had a couple of men up there, though, and one of them brought in a curious-looking object he picked up just outside the back of the Professor’s grounds. It’s an untidy sort of neighbourhood, you know—kind of waste ground they commenced to build over, and then the real estate man who had it in hand, went smash.”
“What is the thing?” Quest asked.
“Well, I want to see whether you agree with me,” French went on. “If you can’t come round, I’ll come to you.”
“No necessity,” Quest replied. “We’ve got over little difficulties of that sort. Laura, just tack on the phototelesme,” he added, holding the receiver away for a moment. “One moment, French. There, that’s right,” he added, as Laura, with deft fingers, arranged what seemed to be a sensitised mirror to the instrument. “Now, French, hold up the article just in front of the receiver.”
French’s reply was a little brusque.
“What are you getting at, Quest?” he demanded. “You are not going to pretend that you can see from your room into this, are you?”
“If you’ll hold the object where I told you,” Quest replied, “I can see it. I promise you that. There, that’s right. Hold it steady. I’ve got the focus of it now. Say, French, where did you say that was found?”
“Just outside the Professor’s back gates,” French grunted, “but you’re not kidding me—”
“It’s a finger from the Professor’s skeleton you’ve got there,” Quest interrupted.
“How the blazes did you guess that?” the Inspector demanded.
“I’m not kidding,” Quest assured him. “I’ve got a phototelesme at work here. I’ve seen the bone all right. French, this is interesting. I must think it over.”
Quest hung up the receiver and rang off. Then he turned towards his two assistants.
“Another finger from the Professor’s skeleton,” he announced, “has been found just outside his grounds. What do you suppose that means?”
“Craig,” Lenora declared confidently.
“Craig on your life,” Laura echoed. “Say, Mr. Quest, I’ve got an idea.”
Quest nodded.
“Get right ahead with it.”
“Didn’t the butler at Mrs. Rheinholdt’s say that Craig belonged to a servants’ club up town? I know the place well. Let me go and see if I can’t join and pick up a little information about the man. He must have a night out sometimes. Let’s find out what he does. How’s that?”
“Capital!” Quest agreed. “Get along, Laura. And you, Lenora,” he added, “put on your hat. We’ll take a ride towards Mayton Avenue.”
