Читать книгу Smoky Cell - Edgar Wallace - Страница 5

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THE first impression that seeped back into Josephine's consciousness was of a continuous steady drone. It was rather soothing than otherwise, and for some time she listened to it without making the effort to speculate on what might be its cause. She felt terribly tired, and the least mental or physical exertion seemed too stupendous a task to be attempted. She had a vague idea that something unpleasant had occurred, and the longer she could postpone the moment when she would remember what it was the better. Her head was aching appallingly.

There came a strident screech. She recognized that, anyway; it was the screech of a motor klaxon. That steady, continuous hum, she supposed, was the sound of an engine. She imagined that she must be in a car. But whose car? And where was she going? She could remember getting into a car—oh, yes, of course—Mr. Schnitzer's car—with the funny little monkey-faced chauffeur. She was going to Mr. Schnitzer's apartment on Lincoln Avenue. There were some letters to be dictated which couldn't be done at the office. But she had an idea that she had already been to Mr. Schnitzer's apartment. She must have been there, because she remembered the room quite distinctly. But she hadn't taken down any letters; she was quite sure of that. It was all very muddling. She made a tremendous mental effort. There had been something about a curtain—a heavy tapestry curtain. She remembered standing close to it—pulling it aside ever so carefully—peeping through....

Memory returned with a rush: Mr. Schnitzer, terribly scared, with his hands above his head—the two men standing by the door—the muffled report—and then that horrible shapeless heap on the floor, with the red stain that was spreading....

She shuddered and tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids only fluttered feebly. She felt that she must open them. She must know at all costs where she was. She was in a car, of course—travelling very fast by the sound of it—and there was a smell of tobacco smoke; a cigar, she thought....

"She's coming round, Mike."

The voice cut sharply into her consciousness. She would know that voice anywhere—never be able to forget it.... "I guess I've a better title than you to give him the works."... The fat man with the gun, pointing it at Schnitzer.... Pennyfeld or Perryfeld or something like that....

She heard another voice, which she recognized as belonging to the thin man with a face like a ferret's.

"I'm all for the milk of human kindness, Perryfeld," said the voice. "You may as well do the job before she comes to."

"No hurry," grunted Perryfeld.

"If she comes round and sees the gun she'll yell, and she's got a voice that'll carry here to Police Headquarters and back again."

"I guess we ought to be grateful," replied Perryfeld. "If she hadn't let out that yell we'd not have known she was there. She's seen too much to be left lying about where the police can find her."

"Sure. We'll get the job done quick and leave her where the police won't find her."

"I'll do it in my own time," snapped Perryfeld. "If you're so darned keen on getting it done, why don't you do it yourself?"

"I'm driving, ain't I?"

There were several moments of silence, and then 'Perryfeld's voice came again:

"Say, Mike!"

"Hallo!"

"She's a swell kid!"

"Trust Schnitzer."

"Maybe there's no need, after all—"

"No need? Say, Perryfeld, what's bitten you? Not going all soft and lovesick, are you? You're right—she knows too much to be left to go squealing to the police, an' she's not going to be left. If you're looking for a swell kid to comfort you in your loneliness, you've got to keep on looking, because you haven't found her yet."

"Huh!" grunted Perryfeld.

"What I mean is, don't get toying with the idea of a honeymoon, because this kid's booked for a different sort of trip. She'd prefer it, I shouldn't wonder. Shut your eyes, sweetheart, and turn your head away, and let her have it."

Very cautiously Josephine opened her eyes—just wide enough to enable her to make out the shadowy figure of Perryfeld sitting on the opposite seat of the car. She watched the red tip of the cigar as he raised it to his mouth, and in the glow as he drew at it she caught a glimpse of his other hand resting on his knee. There was no gun in his hand yet, anyway. They meant, of course, to shoot her. She did not feel particularly frightened—not nearly so frightened as she had felt when she had seen Mr. Schnitzer standing with his hands above his head. If they intended shooting her, there was nothing that she could do to prevent them. Screaming wouldn't be of the least use; they were out in the country somewhere, travelling very fast, and nobody would hear her. Besides, if she started screaming they would certainly shoot....

She noticed that the car was slowing down. It stopped and she heard the man who had been driving get out of his seat. The door was opened and she could see the outline of his head and shoulders as he stood in the opening. Her heart began pounding. They were going' to do it now, she supposed. It would be of no use struggling; they'd only hurt her all the more if she struggled. She would just lie still and close her eyes.

"Say, what's the game?" inquired Perryfeld.

"I'm asking you," replied the man called Mike. "You've been playing it long enough, anyway, Perryfeld. Been holding her hand and stroking her hair, I shouldn't wonder, and I'm through with that sort of stuff—see? If you can't brace yourself up to do the job, then I'm doing it myself—"

Josephine saw a quick movement of Perryfeld's hand. There was a gun in it now. She had just caught the gleam of metal for an instant and she could make out his white hand grasping the butt.

"Get to hell out of this!" There was suddenly a rasping snarl in Perryfeld's voice. "Do the job yourself, will you? Like hell you will! Who's running this outfit, me or you? Not you, Alike Osier, and the sooner you lay hold of that fact, the better. Now then, back to the wheel and get going."

"Listen, Perryfeld, there's no sort of sense—"

"I'm telling you there's going to be no shooting—see? This is my show and I'm running it my way. If you don't like it, you can quit." The gun moved a few inches nearer. "But you'll quit my way. Get that?" Alike did not move.

"Listen," he said again. "You just can't afford it. All this blue eyes and golden hair stuff—it's not worth it. You can't chance letting this kid go blabbing to Tricks O'Regan—"

"She won't," snapped Perryfeld. "Not my way. I reckon she'd be more helpful to Tricks O'Regan dead than alive, and there's no sense in presenting him with an extra bit of evidence. You've got no foresight, Mike; that's your trouble—no brains, no imagination. If it hadn't been for me, Tricks O'Regan would have got you a dozen times, and you know it. O'Regan will get busy on the Schnitzer trail, but it won't lead him anywhere so long as this kid's still breathing. But if we stop her breathing... Sure, Mike, you've no brains. That'd be another trail for O'Regan, wouldn't it? And sooner or later the two trails would cross, and that's the spot where he'd find you and me standing."

Mike seemed to hesitate.

"I'm not saying you're not clever, Perryfeld—"

"Sure I'm clever."

"But we don't want her waking up and yelling just when we're passing a cop. There's no trusting women to keep quiet when you want them quiet. You'd best shove something in her mouth to damp it down a bit if she starts yelling. I'd feel kind of safer."

"O.K.," replied Perryfeld.

Josephine saw the flutter of a white handkerchief and realized that Perryfeld was folding it on his knees. She felt certain that if he started to tie it across her mouth she wouldn't be able to help screaming; and if she began screaming it was ten chances to one that Mike would shoot her. She saw Perryfeld lean forward, saw the white bandage approaching her mouth.

"It's all right, Mr. Perryfeld," she said quietly. "I'm not going to scream."

Perryfeld sat back suddenly in his seat.

"If I promise not to scream there's no need to tie up my mouth, is there?"

"Huh!" grunted Perryfeld. "So you're awake, are you?"

"What did I tell you?" began Mike excitedly. "You'd much better have—"

Perryfeld silenced him with a gesture.

"Now listen, Miss Brady," he said. "You are Miss Brady, aren't you? You're Schnitzer's secretary?"

"I was," replied Josephine significantly.

"I guess we won't split hairs. You just listen to what I'm saying, because if you should happen to forget some little thing I'm telling you you'll be spared the trouble of remembering anything. You were in Schnitzer's apartment this evening, eh?"

"I went there to take down some letters," she explained. "Mr. Schnitzer came through on the wire and asked me to go, and sent his car for me—"

"The point is, you were there, and people knew you were there—the chauffeur, for instance—and, that being so, it's no kind of use pretending you weren't. If anyone asks you—the police, for instance—you'll say you were there—tell them just what you've told me. Got that?"

"Yes, Mr. Perryfeld."

The man scowled.

"Where were you, eh?"

"In the dining-room, behind the curtain."

"And when you were there behind the curtain, you saw something, eh?"

"Sure," she nodded.

"You don't have to beat about the bush, Miss Brady. What did you see?"

Josephine took a deep breath.

"I saw—saw you—shoot Mr. Schnitzer."

"Did you hell!" exclaimed Perryfeld. "Now listen, Miss Brady, and I'll tell you what you saw. You saw just nothing at all. Nothing, d'you hear? You heard voices, and you heard a gun go off, and when you went into the other room and found Schnitzer on the floor there was nobody else there. You didn't see me, nor Mike here, nor anybody. Is that clear?"

"Ye-es, Mr. Perryfeld."

"And my name isn't Perryfeld," he went on. "You don't know my name—see? You've never heard of a fellow called Perryfeld. If anyone should ask you, you just know nothing more than I've told you. You fainted—see? And the next thing you remember is finding yourself lying on the grass by the side of the road somewhere."

Josephine began to breathe more easily. After all, they weren't going to shoot her. They were going to dump her by the roadside.

"And don't go running away with the idea you can double-cross me," added Perryfeld, "because you can't do it. I'll know. I'd sure hate to see you all messed up like Schnitzer was, but if you try any funny business that's what's coming to you. Just say one word more than I've told you and you'll see. We'll be watching you. All the time. If Tricks O'Regan pulls you in, don't fancy I won't know what you're telling him, because I'll know every word you say; and if you say things I don't care about a dozen Tricks O'Regans aren't going to save you. Just remember, wherever you are, there's a gun not many inches away from you—even at Police Headquarters. If you don't think you can keep your mouth shut—"

"I can," she interrupted breathlessly. "You can trust me absolutely—on my word of honour—"

"Perhaps," interrupted Perryfeld. "But I'm not proposing to trust you. I'm keeping an eye on you all the time—and a gun. Any moment I want you I'll know where to get you. I suggest you bear that in mind, Miss Brady, or you'll be losing your good looks. And now you'd better get started; you've a longish walk in front of you."

She got hurriedly out of the car, and, as she did so, the man called Mike jumped into the driving-seat, and a moment later the high-powered car was roaring away.

For a time Josephine stood still, watching the tiny red glow of the rear-lamp as it grew fainter and fainter. She felt dazed, and her head was still throbbing painfully. So much had happened, and she couldn't remember anything very clearly. All that seemed to matter at the moment was that she had been terribly close to death and by some miracle had escaped. She might have been lying on the roadside now, looking like Schnitzer had looked. She shuddered, and glanced around her. She had not the slightest idea where she was, but she knew that at all costs she must get away quickly. Perryfeld might change his mind and come back But she must remember not to call him Perryfeld—even to herself. She didn't know his name, had never seen him, had seen nothing and nobody. The least little slip and that gun which was always within a few feet of her would go off. She knew that it had been no idle threat; things like that were common enough these days.

She turned and glanced back along the road. There was a glow in the sky in that direction, and that way lay home. She began walking, walked, faster and faster, and then broke into a run.

For some minutes she ran on, pausing now and then to recover her breath, but only for a few seconds. She had a feeling that all the time out here on the road she was being watched, that she must get back home quickly, that she wouldn't be safe until she was in her own room with the door shut and locked.

There came a blaze of light, and a powerful car, travelling fast towards the city, swept past her. She started violently. But it wasn't Perryfeld's. This was a light green car, and Perryfeld's had been black. But that meant nothing. There would be others besides Perryfeld.

Suddenly she halted abruptly, catching her breath. Twenty yards or so ahead the big green car had stopped, and a man was walking back towards her. She wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction, but remembered that she must not do that sort of thing. She must not let anyone guess that anything unusual had happened to her or that she was frightened. She must be quite natural and self-possessed if she didn't want to start people asking questions. She could be. She had been calm enough in the car with Perryfeld, and a gun only a foot away from her....

The man paused as he reached her.

"Anything wrong?" he inquired.

"Wrong?"

He nodded.

"Why should there be anything wrong?"

"I just wondered. I saw you running, and I thought you looked kind of worried."

She pressed a hand to her side.

"Stitch," she smiled. "I'm out of training. Too many cigarettes, I expect."

"Running far?"

"Home," she told him.

"And where's home?"

She mentioned her address and he smiled. She rather liked his smile.

"Some run!"

"Some runner," she laughed.

"Sure," he agreed. "But twenty miles is a longish way—"

"Twenty miles? You don't mean to say—"

"It can't be less," he told her. "Didn't you know?"

"No—at least—I didn't think it was quite so far. You see—"

She hesitated, and he smiled again.

"Think up something good," he advised. "I'm not easily kidded. It might save a whole lot of trouble if you told me the truth. Something's wrong. Girls don't go running twenty miles in court shoes and silk stockings just to get their weight down. What's the trouble?"

"Well, it isn't exactly any trouble," she told him, hesitating. "You see, I—I went out—with a friend—in his car—and he started getting a bit fresh, and because I wouldn't stand for that sort of thing he said he didn't see wasting petrol on carting a snowdrift around—"

"He dumped you?"

She nodded.

"Too bad," he smiled. "How's the stitch?"

"Oh, it's gone now, thanks."

"It'll come back," he warned her, "long before you've covered twenty miles. You'd better get aboard my bus and let me take you."

She hesitated, eyeing him keenly. She decided that he looked all right. Anyway, she'd never make the distance on foot, and she'd have to risk it.

"I expect you're right," she said.

They hardly spoke during the drive, and, as the car pulled up outside her house, she jumped quickly out and slammed the door.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm terribly grateful."

"Glad to have been useful," he said. "But I'd like to meet the guy that dumped you."

She smiled at that.

"I guess you wouldn't."

"If ever I do, I've a few kind words to say to him and I'd welcome the chance of saying them. What's his name?"

"Name?"

He nodded.

"In case I run across him."

"Smith," she told him. "Good night!"

She turned and hurried indoors, and a few moments later was in her room. Tossing her hat on to the table, she flung herself into an armchair. There, for a long time, she sat with her hands covering her face and her fingers pressed against her temples. She did not want to think, yet again and again she went over each scene of that evening of horror—the look on Schnitzer's face as he had remarked on her pretty hair; the touch of his hand as he grasped her arm; the huddled figure on the floor; Perryfeld's glowing cigar; the gun glinting in his hand; his voice dictating the terms on which she might remain alive; the stranger with the rather nice smile who had come to the rescue. She made an effort to dismiss it all from her mind. It was over now, anyway. She was back home, safe in her room.

She lighted a cigarette and forced herself to smile. There was nothing she could do, and it was no use worrying. Perryfeld couldn't be watching her now, anyway. There was no gun here within a few feet of her ready to go off. Perryfeld might only have said that to scare her. Probably the best thing she could do would be to ring up Police Headquarters and tell them everything. Perryfeld couldn't possibly know that she had done it.

She crossed to the telephone and stood beside it, hesitating. "Even at Police Headquarters," Perryfeld had said. That might, of course, have been bluff, but

She started violently as the telephone bell rang and her hand shook as she took up the receiver.

"Hallo!"

"Is that Miss Brady?"

"Yes."

"I must want to tell you, Miss Brady, you did very well tonight."

"Who-who's speaking?"

"Well, my name's of no consequence, but I guess you'll remember me. I drove you home."

"Oh!"

"That lie about the guy who dumped you because you wouldn't stand for petting—that was good. Mr. Smith, wasn't it? Much wiser to spin that yarn than tell the truth, Miss Brady. If you'd told me the truth I wouldn't have been surprised to hear a gun go off."

"I don't understand—"

"I guess you do," replied the voice. "The gentleman who took you for a car drive this evening told you something about telling the truth, didn't he? I guess he'll be glad to know you've not forgotten what he said to you." She drew in her breath sharply. So the man with the rather nice smile—Perryfeld had sent him—to test her out—see if she was to be trusted.

"What—why have you 'phoned?"

"Just to let you know we're watching over you, honey, and you've no cause to worry. Good night!"

She heard him cut off, and frowned thoughtfully as she replaced her own receiver. Then she turned suddenly, crossed to the door and turned the key in the lock.