Читать книгу The Grassleyes Mystery - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 7

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"Not disturbing you, I hope?" the newcomer asked in a surly tone as he pushed open the wooden gate.

Granet made no reply. He had drawn himself up. There was a frown upon his face and his eyes were fixed steadfastly upon the head-gear of the man who was lounging towards them. The latter paused a few paces away. Granet's eyes remained fixed on his hat. With an awkward little laugh the man dragged it from his head.

"No harm in coming to call upon a neighbour is there?" he asked.

"It depends upon the manner of arrival," was the dry comment. "I do not as yet know that you are a neighbour. And, to let you in to one of my idiosyncrasies, I am never favourably disposed towards a stranger who seems lacking in manners."

"High and mighty, aren't you," the other sneered. "I live in the next bungalow but one on this estate. There are queer things going on up at the Manoir. I thought it was time we tenants got together and discussed it."

"Thank you," Granet said. "I have only just arrived myself, I have not had time to get used to the place and I have nothing to discuss with anybody."

"My name," the intruder confided, "is Herbert Johnson. Good old British name, that. I have been here a month and I was just settling down nicely. Now I am told we may have to turn out at any moment because the old lady has popped off. What might your name be, sir?"

"My name is Granet," was the calm reply, "but I really don't see that it is any business of yours. I came here for quiet because I understood that I had no near neighbours. Might I suggest that you close the gate as you go out?"

The man stood motionless for some moments. He was looking at Granet curiously and without any sign of anger or annoyance.

"So you are one of that sort, are you?" he remarked. "Well, perhaps the lady is a little more amiable. I called to propose, madam," he went on, turning to the girl, "that we go up to the Manoir and ask if the agent is there. I should like a little information as to what is happening to the tenants. Are we supposed to leave at once, for instance?"

She laid her hand upon Granet's arm.

"Perhaps," she suggested, "one ought to do that. What do you think, Mr. Granet? To me it seems rather soon to go and trouble Miss Grassleyes with questions about ourselves, though."

"Well, for my part," Granet decided, "I shall wait until things have quietened down a little. The doctors have had their turn. One understands that the police are there now."

"The police?" Mr. Johnson exclaimed. "What the hell business is it of theirs?"

"Well, sir," Granet confided, "even if you are a neighbour I do not like you. I do not like the way you kept your hat on in a lady's presence. Nor do I like your language. Might I suggest that you go on to the Manoir and ask what questions you like and leave us alone?"

"Oh, shut up!" Mr. Johnson protested, producing a large handkerchief and dabbing his forehead. "I'll go up there fast enough and I'm not asking for your company. What about the police, though? What have they got to do with it? Nothing wrong with the place, is there?"

"Go away and find out!"

"Look here—"

"On second thoughts," Granet interrupted, "that might be an unkind suggestion. Perhaps you are the man for whom they are searching."

Johnson resumed his head-gear. Curiously enough, in a matter of a few seconds it had slipped back to its original, somewhat unbecoming angle.

"If there's any search for me," he declared belligerently, "any search for Herbert Johnson, I'm here. They can ask me any questions they want to. I never saw the woman but three times in my life. She sent that fat-bellied man down with the key to show me the bungalow, and I took it. The next time was a few days afterwards when I called upon her and made a perfectly sound business proposition. She laughed me out of the place. She was pretty well as rude to me as you have been, and that's saying something. The third time was when she drove round in her tumbled-down carriage to collect the rent. So now what?"

Granet waved his hand towards the house.

"That," he said slowly. "Go away. We are tired of you. Go and find out everything you want to know for yourself."

"Well, all I can say," Johnson remarked in the nature of a concluding speech, "is that if they make a success of this bungalow idea it won't be because of the sociability of the occupants. You get me, Mr. Granet?"

Complete silence. Granet had drawn his chair a little back and was once more seated by the girl's side. They were at that particular moment absorbed in the contemplation of the fire-flies....

Johnson, on his way to the gate, turned round once more. He jerked his head towards the Manoir.

"Do you know whose car that is?" he asked, pointing to a car with exceedingly powerful head-lights which was standing in the drive.

Granet leaned forward and shook his head.

"Considering I only arrived this evening," he said, "I am not likely to recognize it. Perhaps it belongs to the doctor."

"It has nothing to do with the doctor. That is Spenser's Lancia."

"Spenser, the house-agent?"

"That's the chap."

Carlotta leaned over and touched Granet's arm.

"The rude man is quite right," she said. "Mr. Spenser drove my sister down to the opera one night and I am sure that is his car."

"There ain't no doubt about that," Mr. Johnson declared. "They have been trying to get hold of him all day to tell him about the old lady. Mr. Granet—why don't you come off your high horse and stroll up with me? We will get to know how the land lies, anyhow. Spenser's a pal of mine and he will tackle the young woman if necessary."

"You are more interested than I am," Granet said curtly. "You had better hurry up and catch him before he leaves."

Johnson relieved his feelings with a grunt of disgust, slammed the little gate behind him and made his way up towards the Manoir.