Читать книгу Sir Adam Disappeared - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 5

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A shower of rain was drenching the streets when the little party arrived at the premises of Blockton's Bank, which were situated about two hundred yards away from the club. Mr. Groome, with unsteady fingers, first opened the heavy iron gates and then with a smaller key the massive front doors. One by one his companions passed on into the gloomy, vaultlike place. The cashier closed the doors after them and turned on the lights.

"It smells like a church," Lady Diana observed. "Mouldy enough for one, too."

Mr. Groome took no notice of her remark. He had worked himself up into a state of desperate calm, but every word he uttered sounded grim and portentous.

"You will allow me to show you the premises my own way," he begged. "Will you follow me behind the counters, please?"

He lifted a flap and they followed him to the far end, where the woodwork in front was heightened and there was a spy-hole window.

"This is my place," he pointed out. "From here I can check any deposits and payments and supply my clerks with any money necessary." He touched three drawers in front of him. "This one," he went on, "should contain Treasury notes, the other silver, the far one notes larger than five pounds."

He pulled them open. Deep and ample receptacles they were--but empty. Where the notes should have been there were oblong strips of cardboard secured by rubber bands but there was nothing between them. Mr. Groome passed on.

"This is where the first clerk would stand," he continued. "I will show you his drawers."

He drew another key from his bunch and opened the three. All of them were empty.

"This is the second clerk's desk," he indicated, moving on a few yards.

Again he opened three drawers, again there was the same grim emptiness.

"Where is all the cash kept at night?" Martin Mowbray asked.

"It goes into the office. Not one single penny is left in any of these receptacles."

"Supposing Sir Adam should turn up a little late in the morning?" Captain Elmhurst enquired.

"We could not pay," was the prompt reply. "I am bound to add, however, that such a thing has never happened. Since Sir Adam took over the control of the bank he has never been later than half-past nine in his office. The bank opens at ten. At a quarter to ten the two clerks come into the office and receive one hundred pounds each from Sir Adam. Years ago it used to be one thousand pounds each. I have known the time when it was five thousand. To-day the hundred pounds is seldom touched."

"Blockton's Bank!" Martin Mowbray muttered to himself.

"Gentlemen, you will now allow me to show you the remainder of the premises here," the cashier went on.

"What about the old man's office?" Diana asked. "All my life I have wanted to go in there and I have never been allowed to cross the threshold."

"We will visit that last, if you please," Mr. Groome begged.

He led them into a further recess of the bank, the nature of which was concealed by folding oak screens. These he pushed on one side. Behind them was a row of chairs, six empty desks--nothing else. There were disfigurements upon the wall where fittings seemed to have been removed. Apart from that there remained not even a cupboard.

"The screen was first erected," the cashier continued, "to give an impression of space beyond. As you see, there is nothing. Now I will show you Sir Adam's private office."

They followed him to the heavy, old-fashioned oak door, the upper panels of which were of glass, covered with faded red silk. Groome unlocked and threw it open. He turned on the electric light and they all looked round curiously. Somehow, the room, although its contents were still in good condition, seemed to preserve an air of great antiquity. The two fauteuils and the divan of worn leather, the square heavy table, the two high-backed chairs which faced one another on either side of it, one obviously for Sir Adam himself and the other for a possible client, the mirror on the mantelpiece, were all Georgian--not only undeniably of that period but with the air of having brought with them some part of the atmosphere of those days. The deep red Turkey carpet covered every inch of the floor. Upon the table there stood only a huge inkstand and a black oak case of stationery. Over the chimney-piece was an oil painting which seemed to be a picture of the statue opposite the club. There was no other attempt at decoration in the room. Martin Mowbray looked round him in puzzled fashion.

"What about the safes, Mr. Groome?" he asked.

The cashier shook his head.

"There are none up here of any account," he said solemnly.

"But where on earth is the money, deeds and all that sort of thing?"

"I will show you," the other replied.

He moved over to a spot near the hearth-rug and raised a flap of the carpet. Beneath it in the oak flooring was a brass ring attached to a trap door. Groome raised it and, feeling for a moment underneath, turned on an electric light. Diana leaned eagerly forward, an action which she was to regret for many weeks to come.

"I want to look at the money chests," she explained.

She stooped a little lower and peered into the vault. Almost immediately her shriek rang out even above the sound of the falling door, the brass ring of which had slipped from Groome's nerveless fingers. Diana had staggered back against the table, her hands stretched out in front of her, cowering back as though seeking to escape from some terrible sight. Groome stood like a waxen figure, his face utterly destitute of colour, blank, undiluted panic in his hollow eyes. He, too, swayed on his feet and caught at the edge of the mantelpiece for support. His groan was thrilling enough but it lacked the clear note of dramatic horror which had vibrated in the girl's voice. The whole company, for a few seconds, seemed spellbound. Then Martin Mowbray pulled himself together. He leaned forward and caught hold of the ring.

"Don't!" the girl shrieked. "Don't! It's horrible!"

The young man sank on to his knees and his fingers gripped the ring. He glanced at Elmhurst.

"Look after Lady Diana," he enjoined. "We've got to know what's down here."

He threw back the door. The cellar below might have stood for a chamber of horrors, for its walls were lined with a number of black upright boxes shaped like coffins, and only comprehensible when one realised that there were names painted in white letters upon each. The electric light was insufficient to penetrate the distant corners, but if possible the obscurity of the object which lay in the middle distance lent it even a deeper horror. It was only after a few moments of terrified concentration that the two men on their knees realised that they were staring at the figure of a human being all crumpled up, as though he had fallen or been thrown from the topmost of the short flight of stairs leading from the office to the floor of the cellar, or arrived there as the result of one terrific blow. The agony of sudden death was lurking at the corners of his mouth and in his staring eyes. By his side, where it had dripped from him, lay a pool of blood. The Chief Constable and Martin Mowbray were staring at one another. The same thought had blazed its way into the consciousness of both of them.

"It isn't Sir Adam," the young lawyer gasped.

Elmhurst shook his head.

"Twice his size," he muttered. "Drop the door."

Mowbray hesitated but did as he was told. Both men stood up. The Chief Constable plunged into direct speech.

"There has been a tragedy here," he announced. "It looks like a murder. But listen, Lady Diana. The victim is not your grandfather."

"Not Sir Adam?" she cried.

"No. It is impossible to say who it is but it is not Sir Adam. This has become my affair now. The best thing for you to do would be to go away. This is a man's job. Young Mowbray can stay with me."

She sank nervously into one of the high-backed chairs, gripping the arms with her fingers. Speech for the moment was quite impossible.

"Groome, I must rely upon you," the Chief Constable continued. "Will you ring up the police station? Say I want an inspector and two men here at once, also the police doctor and an ambulance."

The cashier nodded. His queer little voice seemed more subdued than ever. He was moistening his lips and struggling for breath.

"It wasn't Sir Adam, did you say?"

"Nobody I ever saw before," Mowbray assured him.

"A stranger to me, too," Elmhurst declared.

The cashier tottered to a chair and sat there for a moment, his hands covering his face, rocking himself gently and mumbling. Then he rose to his feet.

"I shall have to go next door. No telephone here," he faltered.

He disappeared, closing the door behind him. Diana took a little breath and rising to her feet laid her hand on Martin Mowbray's arm.

"Sorry I was such a fool," she said. "It was a nasty sight to look down on unexpectedly. You are right, though. It isn't my grandfather. It is no one I ever saw before, either. Do you think--is there anything I could do, Captain Elmhurst? I hate it, but I have my certificate for nursing."

"Not a thing," was the prompt reply. "An affair of this sort needs professional attention. All that I beg of you is to get away as quickly as possible before the police and the doctor arrive."

Diana lingered for a moment. There was an ugly thought in her mind.

"What about the rest of the cellar?" she faltered. "There may have been a fight. Sir Adam--"

Captain Elmhurst shook his head.

"My dear young lady," he interrupted, "take my advice and get away from here. It is possible, of course, that there may be more discoveries; but I promise you, if they are connected with your grandfather, you shall know at once. You are staying, I believe, with Lady Tidswell. You shall know all there is to be known without a moment's delay."

Martin Mowbray passed his arm through hers and led her towards the exit. The door of the bank itself had been left unlocked and the little wave of wet air which flowed in as he opened it was like a breath from Paradise. The girl threw back her head and drew it in.

"I am not often an idiot like this," she assured him.

"Any woman in the world would have been upset," he replied, his tone full of sympathy. "Here, get into my car, please. The chauffeur will take you anywhere you wish. I will go back to the club as soon as possible and telephone you. This hushing-up business is over now. The police have the case. Much simpler."

She gave him a feeble little smile of thanks and took her place in the coupé. The young man waited until the car had started, then he called over the policeman from the other side of the road.

"Constable," he explained, "there is a little trouble in the bank. Captain Elmhurst, the Chief Constable, is there and has sent for an inspector. Will you stay where you are, please, and see that no one else enters?"

The policeman was an exceedingly curious person and he looked longingly at the building.

"Nothing I could do inside?" he asked.

"Nothing," was the curt reply. "Stand out here and wait."