Читать книгу The Grassleyes Mystery - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 10

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"What is it that you wish to see me about, Mr. Granet?" Spenser asked.

"Nothing out of the way, I hope. A few of us just want to know what Miss Grassleyes' plans are with regard to the bungalows."

"Look here," Spenser replied in a tone of exasperation, "you may be all that your references pronounce you, but will you tell me why, when I advised you not to take a bungalow here and you insisted upon doing so—why, now that the lady who owned the property is no longer here—you make yourself the spokesman of all the tenants and come and bother me as to whether you are going to be turned out of your bungalows? Personally, I hope you are. If I am, as I believe, one of the executors of Lady Grassleyes' will, I shall see that you are."

Granet, taken aback by the manner of his reception, was silent for a few moments.

"Well, that's straight talk at any rate," he admitted. "All the same, if you don't mind my saying so, there does seem something a little mysterious about the whole affair. Why are you so anxious to get rid of us? What harm can we do by staying on for a few more days, especially the older residents who have got used to the place?"

Spenser turned the key of the door and beckoned him to a chair in the neighbourhood of the desk. He turned up the table lamp, switched off the other lights in the room and sat down himself. In the comparative gloom by the threshold his appearance had seemed to Granet fairly normal. But now, with this fierce glare thrown upon him, he had the air of a man in torture.

"You can tell your co-tenants this, Mr. Granet," he said, "and accept the same message yourself. I speak to you as a possible executor of Lady Grassleyes' will. In the interests of the estate every one of the tenants will receive a week's notice and any one who chooses to leave before that time is welcome to do so."

Granet reflected for a moment.

"I can understand that you might find the running of the estate in its present form a little unsound from a financial point of view," he admitted, "but how do you know that Miss Grassleyes, for instance, shares your views? She probably will have something to say about it. You are not likely to be the only executor."

"You can adopt that view, if you choose, Mr. Granet," was the irritable reply, "but considering you cannot have been here for more than a few hours and that your baggage can hardly have arrived, I cannot see what inconvenience you are put to in being asked to leave at once."

Granet relapsed into a further brief silence. He was still hesitating when he happened to glance up. Spenser was leaning across the table, his protuberant eyes widely open, his lips a little parted, a fierce expression of anxiety on his face. Granet was bewildered. He promptly changed his mind.

"If Miss Grassleyes," he said, "will confirm your request; if she, too, asks me to leave, I will go at once."

Spenser's expression remained almost ferocious.

"Why insist upon Miss Grassleyes' coming into the matter?" he demanded. "I am acting in her interests. She knows nothing about business. Set these others an example, Mr. Granet, in kindliness. Accept my word for it that your departure is for the good of everybody. If you do not go it may be a matter of great regret to you later on."

"That sounds almost like a threat," Granet observed.

"I have not threatened you. I have treated you courteously. I have not made the mistake of losing my temper as I did in my office this afternoon. The matter is one of great moment to those who have to carry on after Lady Grassleyes. I repeat my request. Please go yourself and so much the better if you can induce the others to follow your example."

"You have not advanced a single sane reason why I should do so," Granet pointed out.

The house-agent was silent.

"No," he admitted, "I have not. Furthermore," he added after another pause, "I shall not. I take it that you refuse?"

"Unless Miss Grassleyes adds her persuasion to yours. A single word from her will be sufficient."

"Very well, we will leave it like that. At present you must excuse me."

He rose to his feet. Granet, who had followed his example, found himself studying with as much alarm as a brave man can feel the change in his vis-à-vis's expression. Mr. Spenser was no longer the suave man of affairs temporarily disconcerted by the loss in somewhat dramatic circumstances of a valued client and friend. There was something in his eyes, something in the twitch of his lips, which was almost akin to lunacy. It was the expression of a man desperate with fear yet determined. His hand had strayed for a moment into the top drawer of the desk at which he had been seated. Granet leaned forward curiously, but the next second Spenser's left hand shot out towards the table lamp and they were plunged into darkness. The room was large, the windows small and closely curtained and the darkness seemed to possess a strangely enveloping quality. Even the somewhat bulky form of the house-agent seemed to have faded into complete obscurity. Then Granet heard his voice. He must have stolen away from his place at the desk. The voice came from somewhere near the middle of the apartment. The tone of it was apologetic and almost gentle.

"Sorry, I forgot you don't know your way about this room as I do. Will you turn on the light yourself or can you find your way to the door? I'm going to let you out."

Granet opened his lips to reply and suddenly closed them again. Every now and then in life he had trodden on the mantle of adventure. He remembered a room suddenly dark in a far-away shanty amongst the hills of Yukon, a voice ringing out through the darkness, a reply, and a rain of bullets from the spot whence the reply had come.... He closed his lips and on tiptoe stole away from the desk. He made not the slightest sound. Every instinct he possessed was directed towards self-preservation from a probable madman.

"Can't you answer me?" Spenser demanded, this time with a different ring in his voice. "Turn on the lamp, man, if you can't see the way."

Again silence. Granet was almost holding his breath. He could tell by the uneasy creaking of Spenser's shoes that he was nearer than he had been. He could tell, too, by that next staccato sentence, that his unseen enemy was losing his nerve, for there was a distinct tremble in his voice.

"Look here, no more of this! What are you hiding for? Are you going to turn up that lamp?"

Still silence, complete and utter darkness. If Spenser could have seen anything he would have very much disliked the smile on Granet's lips.

"Very well," he snapped out tremulously. "I am going to open the door and lock you in from the other side while I telephone to the police. You don't believe me? Well, listen."

Once more there was the uneasy squeaking of his shoes. Apparently he was keeping his word this time. A moment later Granet heard the withdrawal of the key. He listened intently. There had been no sound of unlocking.

"Come on!" cried Spenser, his voice now shaking with anxiety. "We have had enough of this farce. We don't want any more scandal about the place. I was going to throw you out, but instead we will leave together. I have wasted enough of my time up here."

Granet's unbroken silence continued. He had something else to think about now. From underneath the door of the adjoining apartment, only a few feet behind the chair where Spenser had been seated and which Lady Grassleyes had occupied earlier in the day, there was a sudden thin line of light. Some one had entered the room which Miss Grassleyes had told him was her sanctuary. Granet, whose silence had been so marvellously preserved, retained it during the next few moments with a gigantic effort.

"Very well, then, very well! In three seconds I shall put you out of the way!" cried Spenser, his voice vibrating through the silence.

Granet stooped a little and moved noiselessly a foot or two to the right. Nevertheless, the sound which he expected did not come. Soft footsteps he heard instead—footsteps drawing nearer every moment. He glanced over his shoulder at the faint line of light under the door of the adjoining room. Instinctively he knew that whoever was in that room was listening. Inch by inch the line of light grew wider.

"Be careful what you're doing, you fool!" he shouted at Spenser. "There's some one coming out of the next room."

He leaned forward, snatched a heavy paperweight from the table and slung it into the darkness. There was an angry shout from out of the invisible chaos ahead. The door behind him was suddenly flung wide open and a flood of light streamed in. Almost simultaneously a revolver bullet whistled past his head, followed by a feminine scream. Granet sprang like a cat to the door of the adjoining room at which Jane Grassleyes was standing. He thrust her backwards and slammed it to behind them.

"It's that fellow Spenser!" he gasped. "Gone mad—got hold of a revolver."

"If he's been in that room all this time," she cried, "he may have found the key. Let me pass!"

"Not I. I tell you he's mad."

The girl made a rush at the door and flung it open. The light streamed into the larger apartment, revealing a crashed vase of flowers in the middle of the carpet, the door at the end of the room standing open. They heard the slamming of the front door. Jane Grassleyes slipped suddenly from Granet's grasp and dashed across the room. The next moment they heard the honking of a horn and saw the flashing of lights of a disappearing car.