Читать книгу The Twister - Edgar Wallace - Страница 5

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Ursula Frensham had a little car, and Lord Frensham's small Hampstead estate offered her an opportunity of getting away from the house without observation. She knew Tony's habits. He was a great walker. It was his practice when he called to dismiss his car and pick it up again at the park end of Avenue Road. He was halfway down Fitzjohn's Avenue when her two-seater drew in to the curb and she called him by name. He looked round with such a start that she knew she had surprised him in a moment of deepest agitation.

"Get in, brawler," she said sternly.

"Many things I am; brawler I am not," he said as he took his place by her side. "Isn't it a little indecent riding in a two-seater wearing a top hat?"

"You can pretend you're the family doctor," she said. "And really, Tony, I am very, very hurt with you. Uncle is furious. Poor Julian!"

"I'm rather ashamed of myself," he confessed. "I have never quite got out of my old Barberton ways."

"You mean barbarian," she said. "Tony, what is the trouble? What did you say that made everybody so angry? I know it was you who really provoked Julian. Was it about my money?"

He looked round at her in consternation.

"Did they tell you that?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"No, I guessed it," she said quietly. "I'm rather worried, too, Tony—not that I'm afraid for my own sake, but I think, if anything happened to that nest egg of mine, Uncle John would die. You see, poor dear, he's been working so hard all his life and living so shabbily, and the title brought none of those broad lands that a missing heir inherits—only a lot of mortgaged old country houses full of snuffy tenants. And I'm quite sure he knows nothing whatever about the city."

"And Julian?" asked Tony, looking straight ahead.

She did not reply to this for some time.

"I'm not sure about Julian, and one really ought to be sure about the man one is going to marry."

He opened his eyes wide at this.

"Do you mind stopping the car? I feel sick," he said with heavy irony. "Whose idea is this—Julian's?"

"Uncle's." She was frowning. "Of course, it's all very much in the air. Tony, do you really think that Julian is a good financier? I don't."

"Why?" he asked.

He thought that Julian Reef's little secret belonged to a very exclusive city circle.

"Well, for one thing, he sold some stock of mine called Bluebergs. Do you know them?"

He nodded.

"Yes, a very sound company, paying an enormous dividend. Why on earth did he sell?"

She shook her head.

"I haven't asked. Only Sir George Crater—he's the head of the Blueberg company." Tony nodded. "I met him at a dance last night, and he said he was going to have a long, serious talk with Uncle about selling the shares—he knows in some mysterious way."

"There's nothing mysterious about share transfers, my dear," said Tony, his eyes twinkling. He was serious again in a moment. "Perhaps he bought something better," he said, and felt a hypocrite, for he knew Julian could find nothing better on the market than Blueberg Consolidated.

They had reached the end of Avenue Road and were turning to skirt the park when a very tall man, leaning against a lamp post, raised a languid hand and lifted his hat with a tremendous effort and almost let it fall on his head again.

"Do you want to speak to him?" asked Ursula as Tony half turned.

"Yes, I'd rather like you to meet this gentleman," said Tony, "unless you have a rooted objection to hobnobbing with detective officers from Scotland Yard."

She jerked on the brake and brought the car to a jarring standstill.

"How foolish! I'd love to, Tony."

The tall man was walking toward them with such a pained expression on his face that she sensed his boredom.

"Inspector Elk, I would like you to meet Miss Ursula Frensham."

So this was the great Elk! Even she had heard about this lank, unhappy man, which was not surprising, for he had figured in half the sensational cases that had forced their attention upon the newspaper reader as long as she could remember.

"Glad to know you, Miss Frensham," said Elk, and offered a large limp hand. "Aristocracy's my weakness lately. I pinched a 'sir' last week for selling furniture that he hadn't paid for."

He looked at Tony thoughtfully.

"I haven't taken a millionaire for I don't know how long, Mr. Braid; and according to what I hear about twisters and twisting——" He surveyed a possible victim blandly. "Education's at the bottom of all crime," he went on to his favourite theme. "It's stuffing children's heads with William the Conqueror 1066 and all that kind of junk that fills Borstall University. If people couldn't write there'd be no forgers; if they couldn't read there'd be no confidence men. Take geography: What does it do, miss? It just shows these hard-boiled murderers where they can go when they get out of the country! I never knew an educated policeman that ever lasted more than three years in the force." He shook his head sadly. "What's going to win the Stewards Cup, Mr. Braid? Not that I hold with racing unless I get a tip that can't lose. Racing and betting are the first steps to the gallows. I had four pounds on a horse at Newmarket last week. It was given to me by a criminal friend of mine and it lost. The next time I catch him I'll get him ten years!"

There was a twinkle in his kindly gray eyes that belied the horrific threat.

Tony had first met the detective in Johannesburg when he went out to bring home a defaulting bankrupt. They had met since in London. Tony Braid liked this lazy man with his everlasting railings at education, knew him for what he was—the shrewdest thief catcher in London—and though he had no occasion to ask his services it had frequently happened that the inspector's presence at his Ascot home had enlivened many a dull evening.

"Are you looking for criminals now, Inspector?" asked Ursula, trying hard not to laugh for fear she offended him.

He shook his head.

"No criminals live in St. John's Wood, miss—my lady—I don't know what to call you exactly."

"Miss will do," she said.

He inclined his head.

"If a queen's called ma'am, miss is good enough for most people," he said. "No, miss, I'm not looking for criminals; I'm looking for my fellow lodger. I realize I'm not doing my duty, which is to leave him to an active and intelligent police constable."

"Has he stolen something?" asked Ursula.

"No, miss, he has stolen nothing," said Elk, shaking his head. "He has merely put an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains. Which is in the prayer book. He's an intelligent man when he's sober, but talkative when he's soused, if you'll excuse the foreign expression. He's probably lying on the canal bank asleep or maybe in the canal. When he's sober he talks rationally, and it's a pleasure and an education to listen to his talks about the flora and fauna of Africa; but when he's tight he talks about Lulanga oil fields and how the wells are all dry, what he thinks of the chief engineer——Well, he's a trial."

He caught Tony's eye at that moment. The Twister was staring at him as if he had seen a ghost.