Читать книгу The Frightened Lady - Edgar Wallace - Страница 9

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CHIEF INSPECTOR TANNER preserved in his big frame and his super-practical mind just that quantity of romance which makes life endurable. He had faith in many things, practical and material things mainly, but no small part of his life had its basis on the imponderable substance of dreams. He argued that when a man stopped dreaming, he died, and here he was right, for out of his dreams, often wild and extravagant, came many oddly practical solutions to the most mundane of his problems.

He was a fanatical believer in the efficiency of the Records Department, but even here he found the glamour of romance, and he would spend hours in the bureau renewing old acquaintances. Give him a file, a few cross-indexes, a guard book, packed with the photographs of unpleasant people, and he was thoroughly happy. He could sit and ponder and wonder.

Mainly his speculations started off following a conventional path. What had happened to Old Steine? It was years since he had seen him. There he was, the ugly old man, staring from the guard book; a man with a two-card record; burglar, safe blower, suspected murderer. Dead perhaps? Filling a pauper's grave, or dissipated under the hands of a youthful anatomist in some London hospital. Here was Paddy the Boy; good-looking, the same hard stare in his eyes; a burglar who could never resist the temptation of kissing a sleeping housemaid. That had been was his undoing. Here was Johnny Greggs, benevolent, bald, smirking at the prison photographer who posed him. Johnny was doing seven and five at Parkhurst, and was lucky to have escaped a bashing. The crime was robbery with violence, and when arrested he had been found in possession of two automatics fully loaded—an unforgivable sin.

Mr. Tanner had allowed himself to be led from the path of investigation. He closed the book, and went back to the examination of the M.O. cards.

Now all habitual wrong-doers are specialists, and the modus operandi method reduces their speciality to the measure of a cold-blooded index, and Mr. Tanner was inspecting the names and records of all the men who had at any time, since the formation of the criminal index, strangled or attempted to strangle. Not a few of the names he read were men who had taken the nine o'clock walk to the dropping trap. Some of them were in Broadmoor; perverts who had stepped across the border line. In the remainder he could find no parallel to the event at Marks Priory. There was a surprisingly large number of men and women who had attempted or succeeded in snuffing out life with a cord, but examining them one by one he could discover no name and no record which suggested the perpetrator of the Marks Priory murder.

He went down to his room, found Sergeant Totty comfortably installed in his chair, and unceremoniously snapped him out of it.

Sergeant Totty was not romantic in the larger sense. He was an ingenious liar when recounting his own achievements. A harmless liar, because nobody accepted his embroideries as being of the piece; they were tacked on to clumsily. He harboured a grievance against educational authorities which demanded a certain standard by which men who desired promotion should be tested, and he shared with the redoubtable Sergeant Elk, long since inspector and retired, an almost malevolent disrespect for Queen Elizabeth, since it was his failure to furnish accurate particulars of her very full life that had led to his undoing three separate examinations.

Totty got up reluctantly, went to the window and stared down at the busy Embankment. Professionally it had been a dull week.

"Who is Amersham?" asked Tanner unexpectedly.

"Eh?" Mr. Totty was taken aback. "Amersham," he said, "is a town down in Kent."

"Amersham," interrupted Inspector Tanner patiently, "is a town in Buckinghamshire. Your passion for knowing everything will lead you one of these days to being accurate. I am talking about Dr. Amersham."

Totty pursed his lips. "Oh, him!" he said. "You mean that bird down at Marks Thornton. He's a doctor."

"Even that you don't know," said Tanner. "He calls himself a doctor and presumably is a doctor, but whether he is a doctor of music or a doctor of medicine we have no means of knowing." He took a notebook from his pocket, turned the pages and stopped to read a note.

"He has a flat at Ferrington Court, Devonshire Street," he said. "A block of flats, one supposes."

"It's on the corner of Park Lane," said Totty briskly.

When he was brisk Tanner knew he was wide off the mark.

"That I would be prepared to believe if I didn't know you were wrong," said the big man. "Ferrington Court is an expensive residence for a doctor. He owns a couple of race-horses, too."

"One of them won the other day," said Totty. "Funny enough, I meant to back it."

"None of them has won for two years," said Mr. Tanner gently. "I wonder what his antecedents are? And before you make any wild guess about antecedents, I mean what is his dark and gruesome past."

"I hardly noticed the man," said Totty.

"That is not remarkable," said his superior, "since you didn't see him. I'll tell you in case you would like to pose as an authority on the subject: he's been to India, so presumably he is a doctor of medicine. I wonder exactly what he does at Marks Priory, what is his connection with the family?"

"He could have committed the murder," said Sergeant Totty, momentarily alert.

"So could you," said Tanner. "So could almost anybody you can find in the telephone directory."

"I'll tell you what I did notice when I was down there." Totty's voice was very business-like, and Mr. Tanner was prepared to listen. "They have a gamekeeper fellow named Tilling. He has a face as cheerful as a vet week. I saw him down at the boozer—at the inn, I mean. His hands were on the counter. I never saw hands like 'em: like shoulders of mutton. I mentioned it to the bung—"

"To the what?" Mr. Tanner was elaborately puzzled.

"You know what I mean. Tanner—the landlord. And he said that Tilling had killed a dog once with his bare hands—strangled him."

"The devil he did," said Tanner.

Totty preened and smiled. "I keep me ears open. Tanner. You think I am a dud, but if there is anything going—"

"Of course you keep your ears open. Nature has built you that way," said Tanner. "Strangled a dog? Why didn't you tell me before?"

"To tell you the truth "—-Totty was unusually frank—"it went out of me mind. He's got a wife too—a beauty from what I've heard."

"Does that mean she's good-looking or troublesome?"

"She's both. Very fond of the boys by all accounts. There have been two or three fellows having a little sweethearting with her. Good Lord!" His jaw dropped. "Why, Studd was one. Now how did I forget that?"

"The man who was killed—the chauffeur?"

"That's right." Totty was permeating knowledge. "Very funny I didn't put that two and two together. But I am like that, Tanner. I have to get everything right in my mind."

"What else has been simmering in that vacuum?" asked Tanner, impatiently. "I saw the man—a big, sulky fellow; I remember him."

Totty looked up to the ceiling for inspiration. "That's about all I know," he said. "Oh, yes, he was in London the night the murder was committed. He went up to town with the landlord's son. That's why I didn't go any farther with my inquiries."

"Tilling was in town—we'll check that up. I'll go down and have a little chat with that woman, and in the meantime I'd like to meet Dr. Amersham." He looked at his watch. It was half-past four.

"Want me to come with you?" asked Totty.

"I don't think it is necessary. You stay here and try to think up a little more that you have forgotten. You know where Tilling and the landlord's son went when they came to London?"

Totty tapped his forehead, and smiled slowly. "Yes, I do," he said. "It's there. Tanner." He tapped his forehead again. "Criminal index. Card index. I never forget anything once it's planted. They came up to see the landlord's brother who has a pub in the New Cut. It was his birthday or something, and young Tom drove Tilling up, and they spent the night in town."

"Check that," said Tanner.

He came to Ferrington Court half an hour later. It was a new block of flats, erected by an architect who had leanings towards the Queen Anne type of building when he was planning exteriors, but went arty-crafty the moment he got inside the walls. The lobby was of marble. The false pillars were neither of Corinth nor Egypt, nor yet Byzantine. There was an elevator with a French gilt door, and its interior was of lacquer in the Chinese manner.

"Dr. Amersham? Yes, sir, he's in. Is he expecting you?"

"I hope not," smiled Bill Tanner.

He had stepped into the lift when a newcomer entered the Vestibule and hurried across. He was a clergyman, a weak, pale man who smiled benevolently at the elevator attendant and as genially upon Bill.

They went up to the third floor. When the door was opened, Bill followed the clergyman on to the landing. He saw him now at No. 16, which was also his destination.

A young liveried footman opened the door. Evidently the clergyman was no stranger. For some reason he accepted Mr. Tanner as accompanying the clerical visitor.

"I will tell the doctor you are here, Mr. Hastings," said the man, and left them alone.

"My business is not at all pressing," smiled the clergyman. "So please do not let me interfere. I am the vicar of Peterfield—John Hastings. Do you know Peterfield?"

"By repute," said Tanner politely.

He did not wonder at Dr. Amersham knowing a man of the cloth. Amersham, for all he knew, might be a man of deeply religious principles, or this might be an old school friend.

The vicar lowered his head, and spoke in a confidential tone. "I am afraid I am going to be a nuisance to our dear friend Amersham," he said, a note of waggishness in his voice. "It is the village hall—a perfect nightmare to me. We have been seven years, and we haven't completed it yet. The doctor has been awfully kind, and—" He coughed.

The door opened and Dr. Amersham came in. The smile with which he greeted the vicar vanished as he saw Bill.

"Good evening, Mr.—Tanner, I think, isn't it?"

"That is my name, doctor," said Bill. "You have a good memory."

"A marvellous memory," breathed Mr. Hastings. "I had a remarkable instance of that when the doctor came down to Peterfield on rather, shall I say, a vital errand—?"

"I can give you a few minutes alone, Mr. Tanner. Will you come into the dining-room?"

Amersham was brusque, almost rude, in his interruption.

"You don't mind, Vicar?"

He walked quickly through the open doorway, and, when Bill had passed, closed the door behind him. "Well, Mr. Tanner, have they discovered anything about this wretched affair?"

"No, doctor, nothing very important. I wondered if you would be able to tell me something?"

Dr. Amersham looked at him thoughtfully, pursed his bearded lips and shook his head. "No, I don't think there is much that I can tell you. Naturally, it is a great shock to me and to Lady Lebanon—a terrible shock. The man himself—Studd, I am talking about—was not a particularly pleasant person; in fact, I had many rows with him. He was rather impertinent in his manner, and not an especially good chauffeur."

Studd was, in fact, an excellent chauffeur, but the doctor could not forego the disparagement.

"He was something of a lady-killer, too, wasn't he?" asked Tanner.

The doctor stared at him. "I don't quite know what you mean. Naturally I knew very little about his private life. Was there a woman in it?"

Bill laughed softly and shook his head. There had been something of malice in his question.

"I am not much wiser than you, but I have heard that there was some sort of affair between himself and a gamekeeper's wife, a Mrs.—" He paused to remember the name. "Tilling, isn't it?"

He saw the doctor brindle. The suggestion was hurtful to his vanity. "That's absurd!" He almost snapped the words. "Mrs. Tilling is quite a—er—nice woman. Studd? Ridiculous!"

"She is rather pretty?" suggested Bill. "At any rate attractive?"

"Yes, I believe she is," said the doctor shortly. "No, Mr. Tanner, you're altogether wrong about Studd. Mrs. Tilling is a very reserved young woman, and hardly the sort of person—tush!"

Bill Tanner had never heard a human being say "Tush" before, and he wanted to laugh.

"Who told you this?" asked the doctor.

The inspector lifted his broad shoulders. "It was one of those idle rumours that float around and attach themselves to a listening ear," he said good-humouredly. "But I understand her husband is rather jealous of her. Have you heard that?"

"Her husband's a fool," said the doctor angrily; "a stupid commonplace oaf, and a brute! He has treated that girl most abominably!" He seemed to feel Tanner's interested inspection, and went on hastily: "I don't know her very well, of course. I've attended her professionally. One has to depend upon rumour, as you do, Mr. Tanner."

Obviously here was a delicate subject to enlarge upon. The doctor was prepared to change the conversation. Bill, on the other hand, would have been glad to hear more. "I thought you knew her very well," he said, in all innocence 'Otherwise I should not have mentioned her."

"Why should I know her well?" asked the dodos coldly. "To me she is just the wife of one of her ladyship's employees—that and no more. Naturally I take a great deal of interest in the staff—but it is the interest of a doctor in his patients."

"Naturally," murmured Bill. "So in your opinion all talk of any kind of"—he shrugged his shoulders again—"well, any kind of friendship between Studd and Mrs. Tilling is absurd?"

"Absolutely," said the other emphatically. "It is the sort of foul rumour that goes round a little village that has no other occupation in life than to gossip—and to gossip maliciously." Then he forced a smile.

"I expected you to come here with a lot of information to give me about this wretched case. Scotland Yard is not living up to its reputation for sensation."

"We have no reputation for sensation," said Inspector Tanner easily. "We are the most commonplace department of Government. If you want a real thrill you should go to the Treasury! I'm sorry to have bothered you, and I won't keep you any longer from your friend." He held out his hand.

"Oh, you mean Mr. Hastings? Do you know him at all?"

Amersham asked the question carelessly, but the big man sensed a hidden anxiety. When Tanner shook his head: "A very amusing country parson," the doctor went on, "I've been helping him with his boys' club—by the way, Mr. Tanner, is it true that there was a well-known criminal in Marks Thornton on the night of the murder? I heard something about it, and I was wondering whether you were pursuing that line of investigation."

Bill Tanner thought of Briggs and chuckled. "I wouldn't call him a well-known criminal. He is certainly a well-convicted criminal. No, there's no suspicion attaching to him. He's a forger, and this was about his third or fourth conviction. You may have met him in India; you were there for some time, I understand? A man named Briggs."

Dr. Amersham could control the muscles of his face, but he could not control its colour. The red faded to yellow, and presently grew redder still. For a second Inspector Tanner could not believe the evidence of his senses. At the mention of this little forger Amersham had paled. It was unbelievable, but it was a fact, and he was dumbfounded.

"I've never met him," said Amersham slowly, "or even heard of him. Yes, I was in India for five or six years—I suppose you know that? In the Indian Medical Service. It was a dreadful job, and I resigned...the fluctuation of the rupee...and the conditions of the work were..." He was incoherent, but he recovered himself almost immediately, and again flashed his white teeth in a smile. "If at any time I can give you information, don't hesitate to ring me up, Mr. Tanner. I am usually here, though I spend two or three days a week at Marks Priory. Lady Lebanon and I are writing a book together—this is a secret and I hope you won't tell her, because she'd be rather annoyed—on heraldry. I am rather an authority."

Bill did not ring for the lift, but walked down the marble stairs, and in his mind were one or two problems. The hall porter in his little cubby hutch smiled at him and tried to catch his eye, but Bill's mind was fully occupied.

Curiously enough, the first of his problems was the "vital occasion" of Amersham's visit to the village church of which Mr. Hastings was vicar. He turned that over and disposed of it by the mental promise of further investigation, and came back to Amersham himself. Here was no small problem. Why had the doctor changed colour when Briggs's name was mentioned? What association could there possibly be between a cheap criminal who had spent the greater part of his life in prison for forgery and counterfeiting, and this officer of the Indian Medical Service? And why had he championed with such vehemence the reputation of Mrs. Tilling?

As to this, there was a simple explanation—that the gossip which brought their names together was true. It was not unlikely. Mrs. Tilling was, as he had said, a most attractive woman, and, unless he was wrong at every point, Dr. Amersham was, to say the least, impressionable.

Tanner stepped out into Devonshire Street, and was looking round for a taxi when he became aware of a man who had been standing on the opposite side of the road. He saw him turn abruptly and become absorbingly interested in the window of a maker of surgical instruments. But he had not turned quickly enough: Tanner had immediately recognised in this man, momentarily fascinated by the gruesome exhibits which filled the window, no other than Tilling the gamekeeper—and he knew that Tilling the gamekeeper had been watching Dr. Amersham's flat.