Читать книгу A King by Night - Edgar Wallace - Страница 22

The girl looked up quickly.

"Who is Mr. Fleet?" she asked. "And why do you think that?"

"Inspiration," said Selby lazily, as he passed the cake to Timms, and thereafter the conversation became more general. Timms had something to say, something that he was not prepared to tell in public, and once, when he caught the detective's eye, the inspector glanced meaningly at the door. At the first opportunity Selby excused himself.

"Now, Timms," he said, as he led the other into his private sitting-room on the next floor, "what is the trouble? I gather you didn't come here to give me your views about Goldy Locks?"

For answer the detective took from his pocket with great care a long, flat package and laid it on the table. It was a postal package, bearing an Italian stamp and postmark, and had been heavily sealed at both ends.

"This came through the post," he said, "and we held it up. Have a look at the writing on the package. And I've come to see you about that young lady."

"Who—Miss Guildford?" asked Selby in astonishment.

Timms nodded.

"She left the Chatterton Hotel a little abruptly to-day, and left no address."

"That was an oversight. Probably Mr. Joyner has already rectified that on her behalf. He is her lawyer," he added mendaciously.

"After she'd gone, we found this. It came addressed to her."

Selby examined the writing on the package. It was addressed to "Miss Gwendda Guildford" and marked "Private and Urgent."

"After I'd failed to tail up Goldy, I went back to the hotel to see if there were any guests in the house that might have been responsible. The first news I got was of this young lady who had come and gone so mysteriously. Then I found this package and took the liberty of opening it. What do you make of that?"

He took the lid from the small wooden box that the paper contained, and revealed what Selby thought at first was a steel rod, sharpened at the end. He lifted it gingerly and felt the point: it was needle sharp.

"A glass dagger," he said.

The weapon was a beautiful production of the craftsman's art. Selby guessed it was Venetian made. The short handle was covered with successive layers of silk thread, and beneath the hilt, which was also of glass, were two nicks in the blade.

"Was there anything came with this—any letter?"

The inspector took out his pocket-book and extracted a slip of paper. There were three lines of writing in printed characters.

"I send the second stiletto to make sure. Remember all that you have escaped, and strike fearlessly."

There was no signature.

Selby looked at the paper, spellbound, and then:

"Do you for one moment believe that Miss Guildford is a potential assassin?" he asked.

"I don't believe anything," said the dogged detective. "All I know is that this was addressed to her by somebody who knew she was coming to London. You can't get over that, Mr. Lowe."

"I'm going to show this to Miss Guildford," said Selby with determination. "You had better come down with me."

The detective demurred, but Selby had his way, and Timms followed him down the stairs into the cool room in time to interrupt what was apparently the story of Bill Joyner's life.

The girl took the dagger in her hand with every appearance of interest.

"How beautiful!" she said. "Is it very old?"

"I should think it was," said Selby quietly. "It was found in a box addressed to you at the Chatterton Hotel."

"To me?" She looked at Timms, realizing that he had brought the curious "gift."

"With it were a few lines of writing. Will you read them?" asked Selby.

Gwendda took the paper from his hand and read the message twice.

"I don't understand it," she said. "I have never received a dagger. This paper says that it is the second."

"Do you know the writing?"

She looked at the inscription on the package, and shook her head.

"Is there anybody who would be likely to play a joke on you?"

"I know nobody," she said, and, in answer to his question: "Not even a shipboard friend. I was in my cabin most of the time, as we had rather a bad passage. No, I am afraid I can't help you. Of course, it is a joke; nobody would suggest that I should 'strike fearlessly.'"

To at least one man in that room her amused laughter was very convincing.

"If it is a joke, it is a joke in the worst possible taste," said Timms, severely, glaring at her as though she were responsible for this lack of good manners. "You had better keep it, Miss Guildford," he said as she was handing it back to him. "It is your property."

Before she could reply, Bill Joyner had taken the weapon from her hand.

"I think not," he said quietly. "I have a very keen sense of humour, but I don't see the joke in this. On the other hand, there may be something which is not a joke."

Selby nodded.

"And in all the circumstances," Bill went on, "I think it would be advisable if you took this little weapon and kept it at Scotland Yard in your Black Museum, or wherever such murder tools are exhibited."

"Before you take that away, Timms," said Selby quietly, "I think I will make a little alteration to its general appearance."

He took the dagger in his hand, and with a knife struck a sharp blow near the point. There was a tinkle, as the end, including sharp point, broke off.

"Now you may have it," said Lowe.

He stooped and picked up the end and threw it into the fireplace.

"If Oscar Trevors is to die," he said, "let them find another way."