Читать книгу The Treasure House of Martin Hews - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 6

Table of Contents

The apartments to which my new employer’s peculiar manservant in due course conducted me were, after the hard time through which I had recently passed, a revelation in comfort and luxury. There was a pleasantly furnished sitting-room, with a bedroom and large bathroom communicating, all on the ground floor, and the windows of all three protected by iron bars. With a suit of clothes it was impossible to provide me, but linen, sponges, and all manner of toilet articles seemed to have appeared by magic. Minchin, at his master’s wish, reappeared, after I had had my bath and made as much of a toilet as I could, and he told me strange things in a curiously matter-of-fact fashion.

“Mr. Hews thought, sir,” he confided, “that you had better become acquainted with the constitution of the household. In addition to the ordinary domestic staff we have five footmen in the house.”

“What on earth for?” I asked.

“For purposes of defence. Mr. Hews is very nervous about burglars. Then there are three electricians.”

“Also fighters?”

“They are generally too busy to think about anything but their work,” he said. “The house, as you may have noticed, is full of electric devices. Even the master’s carriage runs up or downstairs in grooves connected with an electric dynamo. Then there is a complete set of burglar alarms indoors and out, and the secret doors are all worked in the same manner. We have a huge searchlight in the tower, and some other smaller contrivances which Mr. Hews will probably tell you about himself. So far as I have been able to observe, sir—and I have been here for eleven years—I should say that the electricians are the hardest worked members of the staff.”

“Well, it all sounds odd to me, of course, Minchin,” I acknowledged, “but I daresay I shall get used to it.”

“Life here usually has plenty of variety, sir,” the man continued. “Your meals can be served in your sitting-room at any hour you order them, and there is a car at your disposal whenever you require it. Across the passage there is a library. There is also a billiard room. The master wishes you to keep for the present the automatic you have, and there are other weapons and ammunition in the cupboard.”

“Who actually lives in the house beside the servants?” I asked.

“Miss Essiter, Mr. Hews and yourself, sir.”

“Why, there must be forty empty rooms!” I exclaimed.

“There are a great many,” he admitted. “Still, there are visitors—foreign chiefly—coming and going all the time, and the whole of the north wing has been converted into a museum for pictures and suchlike. The master often spends several hours a day locked in there.”

“What on earth made Mr. Hews choose this singular neighbourhood?” I asked.

“It has its advantages, sir,” Minchin explained. “You saw one of them to-day when we were able to get Donkin away by means of the river. Years ago,” the man added reflectively, “we used to have a great many callers drop off from the steamers. The police became a little inquisitive, though. There was an accident on the road between here and the river one night. A Chinaman was shot with some very valuable precious stones upon him. I am afraid the police since that time have been a trifle suspicious of this house and our doings.”

It occurred to me that I was perhaps becoming too curious concerning matters which were not exactly my affair. I endeavoured to change the subject.

“Talking of the police,” I remarked, “don’t you think they’ll get Donkin? There must be a warrant out against him, and they can telephone and wireless down the river.”

“We are not afraid of the police, sir,” Minchin assured me. “The only trouble was getting Donkin on to the motor boat before any of Joseph’s lot arrived. The police are all very well in their way, but they are much slower. The motor boat did the trick for us. By this time, Donkin is on a tanker. He leaves that to-night for a coasting steamer, and so on. The master is a great organiser. It gives him pleasure to arrange these things. His agents in London are almost as clever.... At what time will you take your dinner, sir?”

“At any time that is convenient,” I told him, trying, by adopting a casual tone about the matter, to conceal the fact that I had had no luncheon.

“It will be served about eight o’clock then, sir,” he announced.

He laid upon the table the evening paper which he had been carrying, and respectfully took his leave. I looked after him for a moment or two, wondering why the man had inspired me with such a profound sense of distrust. His manner was quiet and civil, almost impressive. There was nothing in the least furtive about him. He looked one in the face, and he was certainly an excellent servant. He was of a secretive type, without a doubt, but as likely as not it was his master’s secret he guarded. I mixed myself a whisky and soda and stretched myself out in an easy-chair to reflect upon this amazing household of which I had become a member. Exactly what was Martin Hews’ object in life? What were the thoughts and schemes with which that strange brain of his was occupied? Why had it become a point of honour with him to secure the escape of a desperate criminal and give shelter to his mistress? That he should keep his house closely guarded was not an unreasonable thing, especially if that other wing, of which Minchin had spoken, was filled with as many priceless treasures as was the library in which he usually sat. On the other hand, I was not at all convinced that his energies were purely defensive. His organisation outside must exist for some purpose or other. Was he, I speculated, the head of a band of criminals of his own, of which I was already a member, or was he simply a receiver of stolen goods on a huge scale, a financier of robberies and fraudulent exploits? After all, my interest in the matter was really little more than academic. After years of bitter hardship, I had adopted the vagabond’s philosophy. There was to be a roof over my head to-night, food to eat, wine to drink, tobacco to smoke. Questions of ethics could go hang. I was content to wait for the first problem to present itself....

My room became a little close, and presently I took advantage of a cleverly concealed door, and, finding the fastening with some difficulty, opened it and stepped out into the night. A slight drizzling rain was falling, which cooled my cheeks, as I strolled down the flinty path towards the road. There was scarcely a sound to be heard except the melancholy hooting of steamers crawling up the river, and the prospect all around was as dreary as ever. Suddenly I was aware that my solitude was about to be disturbed. A motor car or taxicab had stopped in the road some two hundred yards away, and a man was proceeding on foot towards me. The incident in itself was ordinary enough, but the singular part of it was that, although it was a dark night, the vehicle had approached without lights and the footsteps which every moment I could hear more distinctly seemed to be the footsteps of a man seeking as far as possible to avoid attention. Even when he came in sight—a large, bulky figure, wearing a bowler hat and a long mackintosh—his progress was furtive, and at his first glimpse of the light of my cigarette he appeared to hesitate. In a moment or two, however, he came on, and paused as he reached my side. I recognised him at once. It was Miles, the butler, who had admitted me. He had lost his manner, however. He was no longer the dignified but affable major-domo of a large household; he gave one the impression of a man skulking in from an errand of which he was ashamed.

“Good evening,” I greeted him. “You have had a wet walk, I am afraid.”

He lifted his hat with an effort at politeness.

“A miserable walk, sir,” he confided. “A shocking neighbourhood this. You’ll find it dull, I’m afraid, if you’re staying with us long.”

My immediate reply was interrupted in a singular fashion. I felt suddenly blinded, bathed in a great sheet of light. I shielded my eyes with my hand and swung around. A brilliant shaft of electric illumination from the further tower had caught us both, played on us for a moment, and travelled over the mud-soaked wilderness to the road beyond. The water in the dykes glistened, the wizened trees stood out one by one. About halfway to the station, the vehicle in which Miles had arrived was clearly visible—a motor car or taxicab perhaps—being driven very slowly, and still without lights. Then as suddenly as it had appeared, the searchlight was shut off, and the darkness around us seemed more intense than ever. I realised to my surprise that the man by my side was trembling violently.

“God bless my soul, sir, what was that?” he gasped.

“A searchlight,” I explained. “Minchin told me that they had one in the tower.”

“Curse their spying ways!” he exclaimed, with an abrupt vehemence which astonished me. “As though a man couldn’t take a little jaunt to see a friend without their wanting to know all about it! It’s a strange household, sir. I shall not be able to stand their ways. I’m used to something very different. I shall give notice to-morrow.”

“It’s an unusual household, at any rate,” I admitted. “I daresay they heard our voices and wanted to see who was about.”

He lifted his hat once more, mumbled something which I did not catch, and hurried back towards the house. Presently I followed his example and returned to my room. Here I found a surprise in store for me. Seated in the easy-chair which I had drawn up to the fire was the young lady who had travelled down with Donkin from London that afternoon. She was still wearing the dark red gown and tam-o’-shanter in which she had arrived. Her feet were upon the high fender, and she was smoking a cigarette from the opened box which I had left. She started at my unexpected appearance.

“Gawd, how you scared me!” she exclaimed. “Is this house all secret doors and passages? Don’t any one walk about like a Christian being?”

“I believe they generally do,” I assured her. “I haven’t seen much of the place myself yet. Making yourself comfortable, I hope?”

She turned her head and looked at me for a moment through her dark velvety eyes.

“Oh, I’m O. K., thanks,” she remarked, sinking a little lower in the chair. “Gives me the creeps, this place does, though. Tell me about Jim? You got him off all right?”

“With about five minutes to spare,” I answered, drawing up another and smaller chair to the other side of the hearthrug. “Mr. Joseph himself, I believe it was, arrived with a small band of desperadoes before the motor boat was out of sight.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

“I expect it was Jo. I can’t think why he’s so bitter. One of those two was bound to get his before they’d done, and I always reckoned it would be Jim. He’s pretty well all in, poor chap. I don’t know as he’ll be able to stand a sea voyage.”

“In any case, I’m afraid you’ll have to make up your mind to wait some time before you see him again,” I warned her. “It may have been a fair fight, but he killed his man—there’s no doubt about that—and a knife’s an ugly thing to explain away.”

She stretched out her hand for another cigarette.

“The Wolves all carry knives,” she confided. “Phil Abrahams had his—they found it on him—but he couldn’t get at it. Jim had his gun as well, but he didn’t use it. I don’t see much to choose between ’em myself.”

“If Joseph wanted you so much, why didn’t he come after you himself, instead of sending another man?” I asked.

“Oh, he wants me all right,” she replied, lighting the cigarette which she had selected. “He’s been after me, too, more than once, only the luck was our way and we managed to dodge him. He and Jim would have been at one another’s throats pretty soon, anyhow, but it happened to be Phil we met first, coming out of a pub in Aldgate. Jim never used his knife till he was down, and Phil had his halfway out, so they couldn’t make it anything but manslaughter. I say, what do you and the old gentleman upstairs expect me to do if Joseph comes down here after me?”

“Lie low, I should think,” I answered. “Martin Hews promised to keep you safe, and I fancy when he says a thing he means it.”

She looked thoughtfully into the fire, and I found myself studying her. Her frock was of the sort which had probably come from Shaftesbury Avenue—daring but in its way well fashioned. It disclosed the lines of her exquisite little figure with purposeful artistry. Her silk-clad legs, beautifully shaped, were both extended upon the fender. Her dark, glossy eyebrows were gathered together in a little frown, and her brilliantly coloured lips were distinctly pouting. She turned at last towards me, and there was a gleam of laughter in her eyes.

“Nice thing for me to be cooped up here like this, ain’t it?” she complained. “I don’t know that I wouldn’t just as lief have been left to go my own way. Jo, he wants me back again bad, but he wouldn’t dare touch me unless I were willing. There’s no man breathing would. Do you know what I’d do to him?”

“I imagine you would make yourself remarkably unpleasant,” I ventured.

She thrust her hand unashamedly up the side of her leg and produced a little poniard in a small sheath. She removed the latter and sprung the steel with her finger—a streak of wonderful blue metal.

“I’d stab him,” she confided, “if it was the wrong man. The right man—well, that’s a different thing. I’ve chosen all my life, and I shall choose to the end. No one will have me against my will.”

“All your life?” I repeated, smiling at her. “Why, how old are you then?”

“I’m all but twenty,” she answered. “I began young. What do they reckon they’re going to do, these fellows of Joseph’s, if they come along? Bash you all on the head, I suppose, and carry me away. Seems to me I’m giving a bit of trouble.”

“That was what your famous prototype discovered many years ago.” I told her.

She stared at me suspiciously.

“Who are you getting at?” she demanded. “What I mean is, that if Jim were to hear I’d gone back to Joseph, he’d come after me from South America or wherever he was. Why can’t they leave me alone, that’s what I want to know? I can make up my own mind. I’ll have to have some sort of a man. If I fancy Jo, well, it will be him. I don’t know as I do, though. Jim’s a good sort, he’d stick to me, although he’s a bit rougher. What do you think about it all, Mister? I expect you’re wondering why any two men should go kind of wild about me.”

She showed all her beautiful white teeth as she smiled, and her soft, dark eyes coquetted for mine. She was the London type, without a doubt, the child of the East End streets, but she had her charm just as surely as the peasants of Naples, or the pleasure children of Marseilles. I had wandered about Southern Europe a good deal in my younger days, but I could remember, at the moment, no one of the type who had seemed to me so devilishly beautiful.

“Well, I really don’t know what to think,” I told her. “As a matter of fact, I don’t fancy that girls are much in my line.”

“I’m a good looker, ain’t I?” she persisted. “They all say so. I can make ’em all crazy when I try—the whole gang. They would have fought about me every night—but Donkin’s lads all knew that I belonged to him.”

I laughed, and something in the quality of my mirth apparently annoyed her. She frowned angrily.

“I’m not your sort, I suppose, eh?” she demanded.

“You’re good looking enough to turn any one’s head,” I assured her hastily, “but you must remember that I’m a great deal older; besides, I’m rather a dull person with your sex anyhow.”

She surveyed me appraisingly.

“You’re not so very old,” she said, “but I dare say you’re kind of set in your ways. Jim, now, he was always up to some devilment or other to keep things merry, and Joseph—he was the cleverest man at tricks I ever knew. We used to have wonderful nights before he and Jim quarrelled, and the gang split up—mostly about me that was too. You ain’t so bad, though. You’re a good looker, and my, you’re strong, I should think! Why, I could sit on your knee, and you wouldn’t feel me.”

“I might,” I warned her quickly. “I was wounded in my leg during the war.”

“Well, that’s better than having none at all, like the poor gent upstairs,” she observed. “I say, do you think they’ll let me out of here now and then? It seems kind of dead and lonesome without the electric cars and lights and horns tooting.”

“I am rather afraid,” I told her, “from what I know of Mr. Martin Hews’ methods, that you won’t be allowed a great deal of liberty.”

She yawned.

“I ain’t sure that the air of this neighbourhood’s going to suit me,” she decided. “I like a cinema and a bit of a dance at nights.”

A footman, in very correct striped waistcoat and dark livery, entered the room, attended to the fire, and brushed up the grate. Rachel watched him quizzically.

“Will it be convenient for me to lay the cloth for dinner now, sir?” he enquired.

I nodded assent, and he disappeared. The girl looked after him.

“Gee!” she exclaimed. “Are they going to do that sort of thing to me?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Perhaps you’d better run along to your quarters now and see. It must be getting on towards dinner-time.”

She swung herself on to her feet and indulged in a little grimace.

“Nice sociable sort of a fellow, you are!” she grumbled. “You ain’t going to put on airs with me all the time, I hope?”

“It appears to me, my child,” I said evasively, “that my job is going to be to fight for you if that gang comes along.”

“Well, there’s many as have done that,” she confided, pausing and boldly linking her arm through mine as we moved towards the door. “I don’t mind it. There’s always a kiss for the winner—sometimes for the other chap, if I fancy him.... My, have you come all this way just to open the door for me.”

“Why not?”

“Want anything for it?” she asked mischievously.

“I am too frightened of your knife,” I replied.

She stood upon tiptoe, smacked my cheek lightly with her hand, and darted away with a little mocking laugh. For a moment I lingered there, I must confess half angry. Then I forgot all about it. From somewhere in the upper regions of the house came the most appalling shriek of terror I had ever heard in my life.