Читать книгу Slane's Long Shots - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 9

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JASPER SLANE, seated in the smoking-room of his Hampstead residence a few mornings later, glanced from the card which he held in his hand to the young lady in black clothes, who had just been ushered in. Perhaps because he saw that she had violet eyes, and was on the point of tears, he rose quickly to his feet, and placed a chair for her by the side of his desk.

"Miss Brest?" he repeated. "You must forgive me if I find the name interesting. Am I to understand that you were related in any way to the young man who—to Montague Brest?"

"I was his sister."

There was a momentary silence. The girl was very pretty and very distressed. Sir Jasper could see the tears dimming her eyes, and he decided that perhaps speech was best.

"Everyone was so sorry to hear of the tragedy of your brother's death," he ventured compassionately. "He was likely to have done so well."

"He was very clever," she agreed, "but he was always very nervous about his position. He was good at Chinese, and a great many of the Indian dialects, but he knew very little Afghanistan and Tibetan."

"I see," Jasper Slane murmured. "Well, I wonder who does? Now, my dear young lady," he went on, "I should like you to feel that you are with a friend. Tell me in your own way, just as you please, why you have come to me."

She sighed.

"I had to come to see someone," she told him, speaking almost in a whisper. "I dared not go to the police. I have heard that you are so clever in arranging things just outside the law. That is why I came to you."

"Capital!" he declared. "You shall have my help, if help is possible. Don't hurry. Tell your story your own way, and in your own time."

"How kind you are," she murmured. "Well, on that awful night, Montague brought home, as he used to sometimes, a manuscript from the Foreign Office to translate. Directly he opened his case, I heard him groan. It was in Tibetan."

"Hard luck!" Jasper commiserated. "What did he do about it?"

"He telephoned at once for a friend," she confided. "You know that is against regulations, and he made me promise upon my honor that, whatever happened, I would never let anyone know that he had shown the document to anyone else."

"I see," Jasper Slane reflected. "So that was why you gave no evidence at the inquest."

"That was why," she admitted. "It may have been wrong of me, but I kept my word to the dead. Besides, when the inquest upon Monty was held, nothing had happened to the other man—his friend. I knew that Monty was alive and well, even happy, after he had left, so you see there didn't seem any reason why I should not keep my word and forget his visit."

"Precisely," Slane assented. "Well, to continue. The friend came, and what happened about the manuscript?"

"He was very interested. He took it away, and promised a translation within three days."

"And the name of the man?"

"It was Mark Odane, who was murdered at the Lavender Club two days ago," she replied, in an awe-stricken tone.

Slane was very grave indeed.

"This is a very serious affair. Miss Brest," Slane said.

"I know that it is," she acquiesced. "That is why I felt that I must not keep my promise to Monty any longer. I know, of course, why he asked me to make it. You are never allowed to let a document pass into anyone else's hands. Now Mr. Odane took that manuscript away with him."

"Has no one from the Foreign Office been to you to ask for it?"

"Of course. A gentleman came down with the police before anything had been touched. I think they took it for granted that it had been stolen by the man who murdered Monty. As a matter of fact, I know that it wasn't. I know that Mr. Odane took it away with him."

"That Tibetan document seems to have been badly wanted by someone," Slane reflected. "Miss Brest, I am afraid your story will have to go to the police."

"If you think it ought to," she assented with a little sigh.

She looked at him wistfully.

"Will they do anything to me for not telling the truth the first time?" she asked timidly.

"Nothing whatever," he assured her. "I'll keep you out of it altogether if I can. From the police point of view I think it was an excellent thing that you didn't give your evidence at the inquest."

She almost smiled as she bade him good-by.

"You have been so kind to me," she said gratefully. "Thank you very much."

When she had gone, Sir Jasper Slane rang the bell.

"Densham," he directed the young man who answered it, "get down to Scotland Yard as quickly as you can, and bring back Inspector Stimpson. If he is not in, wait for him. You understand?"

"Perfectly, sir," the young man assented. "But here is Mr. Stimpson. He has been waiting to see you."

Slane pushed the boy out of the room, and dragged Stimpson in.

"A coincidence!" he exclaimed. "I was just sending for you. Sit down."

He almost forced his visitor into a chair.

"Listen," he enjoined. "The Brest murder case—here it is, made simple for the young—a kindergarten. Brest took home with him from the Foreign Office a document for purposes of translation. That was his job there—a specialist in Oriental languages. He found that it was in Tibetan. He failed to make sense of it, and he sent for Odane, who is supposed to have every Asiatic language at his fingertips. Odane found it none too simple, and took it away with him.

"Later on, Montague Brest was murdered, and his study ransacked. No result. Odane completes the translation, and on his way to keep an appointment at the Foreign Office oh Tuesday night dines at the Lavender Club. He hears us talking about the Brest murder. He is a recent member of the Club, and as yet without any standing there. The chance of creating a sensation is too great for him. The key to the murder lies in the dispatch forwarded from the authorities in India, the translation of which he has now just completed. He is on the point of enlightening us all, when what happens? He is shot by someone outside in the street.

"Listen, Stimpson. Do you know who opened the window? Of course you don't. I was there, thanks to you. I saw it. It was Le Bretton, the explorer. . . . No, don't interrupt me yet. Just get this into your mind. Le Bretton returned only six months ago from Tibet."

"But Le Bretton—Colonel Le Bretton—he is a very distinguished man!" the detective remonstrated. "They say that he is to be knighted as soon as his book comes out. He was received at Buckingham Palace a few weeks ago."

"Quite so," Slane assented irritably. "It seems a ridiculous situation, doesn't it? On the other hand, just get the facts into your head. They send us from India a dispatch arrived from Tibet. It is taken home for translation by a young official who is murdered. He had no other possessions of value, so it is obviously the document that was wanted. That document has been handed on to another man who is also murdered. You will regard it, I presume, as a coincidence," Slane concluded sarcastically, "that Colonel Le Bretton was in the room when the second murder took place, that the murder itself was committed just as Odane was about to reveal to us the nature at least of the document, and that it was Le Bretton himself who opened the window which facilitated the murder."

"Do you think he could have had any idea of disclosing information contained in the document if it concerned Le Bretton in any way," Stimpson asked shrewdly, "while Le Bretton himself was of the party?"

"I don't think that he knew Le Bretton from Adam," Slane replied. "He was a very new member, and Le Bretton is a very occasional visitor."

"All this is very interesting as the foundation for a theory," Stimpson admitted, after a few moments' reflection, "but there's nothing definite in it, is there? You can't expect me, for instance, to arrest Colonel Le Bretton."

"Whoever spoke of arresting him?" Jasper Slane demanded. "Your job now is not to do any promiscuous arresting, but to try and discover the whereabouts of the translated document, which Odane probably had with him the night he was shot."

"I'll get to work on that," Stimpson promised. "Tell me, as a matter of curiosity, where did you get your information from?"

"Privileged for the present," Slane replied. "When it becomes necessary, you shall know the whole truth."