Читать книгу A King by Night - Edgar Wallace - Страница 12

Gwendda did not scream; she did not faint. Looking about her with a courage which she had never suspected in herself, she put out her hand and switched on the light. At least the intruder was human. He was a tall, loose-framed man, above middle age, with a long, lined face and a thin, pendulous nose. His jaw dropped at the sight of her, and he stared in amazement.

"They told me this room was empty," he blurted, and then, quickly: "I hope I haven't scared you, miss. Jumping Moses! I didn't mean to scare you!"

She shrank back toward the bed, and looked at the door in horror. His quick eyes followed the glance, and as he saw the handle turn, a look of relief came into his face.

"Somebody trying to get in, miss?" he whispered eagerly.

There was no need for her to reply. Again the door bulged under the pressure of some huge body, and the intruder's eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" he whispered.

She did not ask him why he was there, or what was the meaning of his extraordinary method of ingress. She knew that, whatever he was, this bald-headed man with a long face was no enemy of hers, and had no designs against her.

"It is ... I don't know ... I don't know. I think it is the Terror," she breathed.

His mouth opened in amazement.

"The Terror?" he repeated incredulously.

He put his hand in his pocket, and when she saw the squat, ugly revolver he brought forth, her relief was so great that she could have fallen on his neck.

Stealthily he moved toward the door and listened, his finger and thumb on the key. Then, with a quick turn of the wrist, he flung the door open and stood back. Nobody was there. He stepped into the dimly-lit corridor. It was empty.

He came back to the room, rubbing his bald head irritably. "Quick mover, that fellow," he said, closing the door, and, to her amazement, locking it.

"Thank you. I am very grateful to you," she said. She had managed to put on her dressing-gown during his brief absence in the corridor. "Will you go, please?"

"I'm sorry I scared you, miss," said the bald stranger apologetically. "But if you don't mind, I'll stay a little longer. The night detective may have heard that noise, and he'll be loafing round."

Who he was, she did not even trouble to guess. Her mind was in such a state of turmoil that clear thinking was impossible. She accepted this visitor from the night as only a less remarkable phenomenon than the terrible animal man who had tried to get into her room.

"My name's Locks, but you needn't mention the fact," he said. "Commonly called Goldy Locks. I'm relying on your discretion, young lady, and I apologize again. Though I'm not a ladies' man, I've never given offence to the fair sex—by which I mean women. I never understood where they got that fair sex from, for some of them are dark. And as for being fair in other ways—well, they're not. A woman hasn't any sense of justice—her idea of a fair half would drive a mathematician to his grave. You never read Boswell's 'Life of Johnson,' miss?"

She shook her head, bewildered, almost hysterically amused.

"That's a good book," said Goldy Locks, with as much complacence as though he were its author. "So is Wesley's 'Life of St. John.' Theology is my long suit. I was intended for the church."

"Will you please go?" she faltered. "I'm very grateful to you for coming at this moment, but ... I want you to go."

He did not answer, but looked out of the window again, and then opened a long cupboard in the wall. Evidently he knew the Chatterton Hotel. Hanging on a peg was a long coil of rope, and she dimly remembered that, in going out of the room, the chambermaid had mentioned something about an emergency escape in case of fire. He lifted the rope from the peg, deftly knotted one end to the bedstead, and dropped the loose coil from the window. And then, with a little nod, he got astride of the sill.

"Would you be kind enough to pull it up when I'm through?" he asked apologetically. "I'm only going as far as the balcony of the first floor. And if you would be good enough to coil it up and put it back in the cupboard, and not to mention the fact that you've seen me, I should be very much obliged, miss."

Almost mechanically she carried out his instructions.

The sun was shining full on her face when the chambermaid knocked. She got out of bed hastily and opened the door.

"I hope you slept well, miss?" said the maid conventionally, as she bustled into the bathroom and turned on the faucets.

"No, I haven't slept very well."

"You didn't hear any disturbance in the night, miss?"

Gwendda did not answer.

"I mean, you didn't hear anybody walking about? There have been terrible happenings in the hotel," said the garrulous girl. "The Duchess of Leaport has lost all her diamonds. An hotel thief got into her room about two, and made his escape along the parapet. They think it's a man who must have been hiding in the hotel. I suppose you've lost nothing, miss?"

"Nothing," said Gwendda, finding her voice.

When the maid had gone, she got up and locked the door. From beneath her pillow she took the squat, bulldog revolver that Goldy Locks had left, and packed it away in her trunk. She was astonished to discover that she had a very kindly feeling for hotel thieves.