Читать книгу The Sinister Man - Edgar Wallace - Страница 10

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ELGIN CRESCENT was singularly unattractive to Elsa that night. She came by 'bus from the City to Trafalgar Square and walked the remainder of the way through the three parks. The crocuses were blooming; the trees were shooting out emerald-green buds; the early bushes were in full leaf; here and there she saw the beginning of rhododendron flowers, hard little sticky masses of an indescribable colour that would presently set the park aflame. But wherever her eyes roamed, her mind was completely absorbed, even to the exclusion of Maurice Tarn and his amazing proposal, in the strange man who had suddenly come into her workaday life. She did not even resent the companionship of the voluble Miss Dame, who, against her will, had insisted upon coming home with her. Miss Dame lived at Notting Hill Gate, and her company could hardly be refused.

The speech might have been all on one side but for the fact that Jessie Dame chose for her discourse the subject of Elsa's thoughts.

"What I hate about him," said Miss Dame, with typical energy, "is his slinkiness. Have you ever noticed, Miss Marlowe, how he slinks around, wearing sneakers too?"

"Sneakers? Oh, you mean his rubber shoes?"

"Sneakers is the word for them, and a very good word," said Miss Dame. "He's like that fellow in 'The Horrible Night.' You know the one I mean—Ethel Gilbey was in it. You remember when those mysterious hands came out of doors and the lights went out? And then another hand came up and caught her by the throat. Oh, it was perfectly marvellous. Well, that's him," she added incoherently.

And yet, thought Elsa, the sinister man did not "slink." He was furtive, but not meanly furtive. You could not imagine a mean leopard or a mean lion stalking his prey... The thought startled her. Was that the reason for his queer secretiveness? Was he stalking somebody? She dismissed the possibility with a smile.

"I'm getting romantic," she said.

"You are romantic," said Miss Dame decisively. "I've always said that you're wasted in an office; you ought to be on the pictures. You're svelte—that's the word, svelte. I believe in a woman showing her figure if she's got any to show."

"Do I show my figure?" asked the alarmed Elsa.

"Of course you do," said Miss Dame derisively. "And why shouldn't you? What's a figure for? You'd be perfectly marvellous on the screen. I thought of going in for it myself, but only as a comic," she said with a sigh. "I'm not svelte enough."

Out of the corner of her eye Elsa caught a glimpse of the ungainly figure and agreed.

Mr. Tarn had not returned when she got to the maisonette. They kept no servants; two daily helps came in, in the morning and in the evening, and from one of them she learnt that he had telephoned to say that he would not be home until late, and that she was not to wait dinner for him. For this she was grateful, for she was not inclined to resume the conversation of the morning.

No. 409, Elgin Crescent, consisted of two maisonettes, a lower, comprising the ground floor and basement, and an upper, which her guardian occupied, comprising the remainder of the house. The study and dining-room were on the first floor; she had the back room on the second floor, above the dining-room, or a bed-sitting-room; and to this safe harbour she retreated just as soon as she had finished her dinner.

It was a pleasant little apartment, with a writing-table, a dozen well-filled bookshelves, a cosy chair that she could draw up before the gas fire, and a tiny wireless set which had filled so many long and dreary winter evenings with amusement.

She tried to read, but between her eyes and the printed page came the face of the sinister man, and the lifted lips sneered up at her so vividly and so insistently that presently she closed the book with a crash. She wondered what a man like he did in the evenings. He had a club perhaps. She remembered Ralph had told her he had seen him there. Perhaps he went to theatres. What sort of plays would arouse him from his ingrained cynicism? Had he any relations or friends? In a way she felt a little sorry for him, just as the sight of a prison would arouse sorrow and tenderness for its undeserving occupants.

She fitted the headphones and heard part of "Aida" relayed from the Open House, and found herself speculating as to whether he would be in the audience. At this evidence of imbecility she viciously tugged off the headphones and prepared for bed. She was undressing when she heard the blundering steps of Mr. Tarn on the stairs, and the bang of his study door as he closed it. At any rate, he could not bother her that night. She said her prayers, turned out the light and jumped into bed, and in a few minutes fell into the sweet, sound sleep which is youth's greatest but least appreciated blessing.

She was not a heavy sleeper, but, if she had been, the sound would have awakened her. The room was in complete darkness. She could hear the ticking of the clock on the mantelshelf, and, for the rest, silence reigned in the house.

What was it? She sat up, trying to recall the noise that had awakened her. It came again, but this time it could not have been so loud—a faint, snapping sound, which came from the window.

Slipping out of bed, she pulled aside the curtains. The fading moon still bathed the world in its eerie radiance, and reflected evilly from a glittering something that lay on the window-sill.

She threw up the window and, with a cry of astonishment, took the thing in her hand. It was a dagger, and the handle was inscribed in Chinese characters!