Читать книгу Blue Hand - Edgar Wallace - Страница 7

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JIM came stumbling to his feet, staring in blank amazement at the unexpected apparition, and for a moment thus they stood, facing one another, the girl stricken dumb with fear and surprise.

She thought he was part of a dreadful dream, an image that was conjured by her imagination and would presently vanish.

“Jim—Mr. Steele!” she gasped.

In a stride he was by her side, his arm about her shoulders.

“What is wrong?” he asked quickly, and in his anxiety his voice was almost harsh.

She shuddered and dropped her face on his breast.

“Oh, it was dreadful, dreadful!” she whispered, and he heard the note of horror in her low voice.

“May I ask what is the meaning of this?” demanded a suave voice, and with a start the girl turned.

A man was standing in the doorway and for a second she did not recognize him. Even Jim, who had seen Digby Groat at close quarters, did not know him in his unusual attire. He was dressed in a long white overall which reached from his throat to his feet; over his head was a white cap which fitted him so that not a particle of his hair could be seen. Bands of white elastic held his cuffs close to his wrists and both hands were hidden in brown rubber gloves.

“May I again ask you, Miss Weldon, why you are standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night, attired in clothes which I do not think are quite suitable for street wear? Perhaps you will come inside and explain,” he said, stepping back. “Grosvenor Square is not quite used to this form of midnight entertainment.”

Still clutching Jim’s arm, the girl went slowly back to the passage and Digby shut the door.

“And Mr. Steele, too,” said Digby with ironic surprise, “you’re a very early caller.”

Jim said nothing. His attention was wholly devoted to the girl. She was trembling from head to foot, and he found a chair for her.

“There are a few explanations due,” he said coolly, “but I rather think they are from you, Mr. Groat.”

“From me?” Mr. Groat was genuinely unprepared for that demand.

“So far as my presence is concerned, that can be explained in a minute,” said Jim. “I was outside the house a few moments ago when the door swung open and Miss Weldon ran out in a state of abject terror. Perhaps you will tell me, Mr. Groat, why this lady is reduced to such a condition?”

There was a cold menace in his tone which Digby Groat did not like to hear.

“I have not the slightest idea what it is all about,” he said. “I have been working in my laboratory for the last half-hour, and the first intimation I had that anything was wrong was when I heard the door open.”

The girl had recovered now, and some of the colour had returned to her face, yet her voice shook as she recited the incidents of the night, both men listening attentively.

Jim took particular notice of the man’s attitude, and he was satisfied in his mind that Digby Groat was as much in ignorance of the visit to the girl’s room as he himself. When she had finished, Groat nodded.

“The terrifying cry you heard from my laboratory,” he smiled, “is easily explained. Nobody was being hurt; at least, if he was being hurt, it was for his own good. When I came back to my house to-night, I found my little dog had a piece of glass in its paw, and I was extracting it.”

She drew a sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry I made such a fuss,” she said penitently, “but I—I was frightened.”

“You are sure somebody was in your room?” asked Digby.

“Absolutely certain.” She had not told him about the card.

“They came through the French window from the balcony?”

She nodded.

“May I see your room?”

She hesitated for a moment.

“I will go in first to tidy it,” she said. She remembered the card was on the bed, and she was particularly anxious that it should not be read.

Uninvited Jim Steele followed Digby upstairs into the beautiful room. The magnificence of the room, its hangings and costly furniture, did not fail to impress him, but the impression he received was not favourable to Digby Groat.

“Yes, the window is ajar. You are sure you fastened it?”

The girl nodded.

“Yes. I left both fanlights down to get the air,” she pointed above, “but I fastened these doors. I distinctly remember that.”

“But if this person came in from the balcony,” said Digby, “how did he or she get there?”

He opened the French door and stepped out into the night, walking along the balcony until he came to the square space above the porch. There was another window here which gave on to the landing at the head of the stairs. He tried it—it was fastened. Coming back through the girl’s room he discovered that not only was the catch in its socket, but the key was turned.

“Strange,” he muttered.

His first impression had been that it was his mother who, with her strange whims, had been searching the room for some trumpery trinket which had taken her fancy. But the old woman was not sufficiently agile to climb a balcony, nor had she the courage to make a midnight foray.

“My own impression is that you dreamt it, Miss Weldon,” he said, with a smile. “And now I advise you to go to bed and to sleep. I’m sorry that you’ve had this unfortunate introduction to my house.”

He had made no reference to the providential appearance of Jim Steele, nor did he speak of this until they had said good night to the girl and had passed down the stairs into the hall again.

“Rather a coincidence, your being here, Mr. Steele,” he said. “What were you doing? Studying dactylology?”

“Something like that,” said Jim coolly.

Mr. Digby Groat searched for a cigarette in his pocket and lit it.

“I should have thought that your work was so arduous that you would not have time for early morning strolls in Grosvenor Square.”

“Would you really?” said Jim, and then suddenly Digby laughed.

“You’re a queer devil,” he said. “Come along and see my laboratory.”

Jim was anxious to see the laboratory, and the invitation saved him from the necessity of making further reference to the terrifying cry which Eunice had heard.

They turned down a long passage through the padded door and came to a large annexe, the walls of which were of white glazed brick. There was no window, the light in the daytime being admitted through a glass roof. Now, however, these were covered by blue blinds and the room owed its illumination to two powerful lights which hung above a small table. It was not an ordinary table; its legs were of thin iron, terminating in rubber-tyred castors. The top was of white enamelled iron, with curious little screw holds occurring at intervals.

It was not the table so much as the occupant which interested Jim. Fastened down by two iron bands, one of which was about its neck and one about the lower portion of its body, its four paws fastened by thin cords, was a dog, a rough-haired terrier who turned its eyes upon Jim with an expression of pleading so human that Jim could almost feel the message that the poor little thing was sending.

“Your dog, eh?” said Jim.

Digby looked at him.

“Yes,” he said. “Why?”

“Haven’t you finished taking the glass out of his paw?”

“Not quite,” said the other coolly.

“By the way, you don’t keep him very clean,” Jim said.

Digby turned.

“What the devil are you hinting at?” he asked.

“I am merely suggesting that this is not your dog, but a poor stray terrier which you picked up in the street half an hour ago and enticed into this house.”

“Well?”

“I’ll save you further trouble by saying that I saw you pick it up.”

Digby’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you did, did you?” he said softly. “So you were spying on me?”

“Not exactly spying on you,” said Jim calmly, “but merely satisfying my idle curiosity.”

His hand fell on the dog and he stroked its ears gently.

Digby laughed.

“Well, if you know that, I might as well tell you that I am going to evacuate the sensory nerve. I’ve always been curious to——”

Jim looked round.

“Where is your anæsthetic?” he asked gently, and he was most dangerous when his voice sank to that soft note.

“Anæsthetic? Good Lord,” scoffed the other, “you don’t suppose I’m going to waste money on chloroform for a dog, do you?”

His fingers rested near the poor brute’s head and the dog, straining forward, licked the torturer’s hand.

“Filthy little beast!” said Digby, picking up a towel.

He took a thick rubber band, slipped it over the dog’s mouth and nose.

“Now lick,” he laughed; “I think that will stop his yelping. You’re a bit chicken-hearted, aren’t you, Mr. Steele? You don’t realize that medical science advances by its experiments on animals.”

“I realize the value of vivisection under certain conditions,” said Jim quietly, “but all decent doctors who experiment on animals relieve them of their pain before they use the knife; and all doctors, whether they are decent or otherwise, receive a certificate of permission from the Board of Trade before they begin their experiments. Where is your certificate?”

Digby’s face darkened.

“Look here, don’t you come here trying to bully me,” he blustered. “I brought you here just to show you my laboratory——”

“And if you hadn’t brought me in,” interrupted Jim, “I should jolly well have walked in, because I wasn’t satisfied with your explanation. Oh, yes, I know, you’re going to tell me that the dog was only frightened and the yell she heard was when you put that infernal clamp on his neck. Now, I’ll tell you something, Mr. Digby Groat, I’ll give you three minutes to get the clamp off that dog.”

Digby’s yellow face was puckered with rage.

“And if I don’t?” he breathed.

“I’ll put you where the dog is,” said Jim. “And please don’t persuade yourself that I couldn’t do it.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Take the clamps off that dog,” said Jim.

Digby looked at him.

For a moment they gazed at one another and there was a look of malignity in the eyes that dropped before Jim’s. Another minute and the dog was free.

Jim lifted the shivering little animal in his arms and rubbed its bony head, and Digby watched him glowering, his teeth showing in his rage.

“I’ll remember this,” he snarled. “By God, you shall rue the day you ever interfered with me!”

Jim’s steady eyes met the man’s.

“I have never feared a threat in my life,” he said quietly. “I’m not likely to be scared now. I admit that vivisection is necessary under proper conditions, but men like you who torture harmless animals from a sheer lust of cruelty, are bringing discredit upon the noblest of professions. You hurt in order to satisfy your own curiosity. You have not the slightest intention of using the knowledge you gain for the benefit of suffering humanity. When I came into this laboratory,” he said—he was standing at the door as he spoke—“there were two brutes here. I am leaving the bigger one behind.”

He slammed the padded door and walked out into the passage, leaving a man whose vanity was hurt beyond forgiveness.

Then to his surprise Groat heard Jim’s footsteps returning and his visitor came in.

“Did you close your front door when you went upstairs?”

Digby’s eyebrows rose. He forgot for the moment the insult that had been offered him.

“Yes—why?”

“It is wide open now,” said Jim. “I guess your midnight visitor has gone home.”