Читать книгу The Sinister Man - Edgar Wallace - Страница 11

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A KNIFE! Who left it there? She had to remove the wedge which kept the upper sash of her window in place, before she could lift the lower and look out. For a second she saw nothing, and then...

A builder's long ladder had been reared against the wall, and the explanation of the midnight visit was now clear. The top of the ladder reached within two feet of her window, and as she looked she saw a dark figure slide down to the ground, pause for a moment and look up before it vanished in the shadow of the big tree. In that space of time she saw the face distinctly—it was Feng Ho.

What should she do?

"I ought to scream, I suppose," she said to herself, but never felt less like screaming although she had had a bad scare.

She turned on the light and looked at the clock. It was half-past three. Mr. Tarn would be in bed, and he was the last person she wanted to arouse. Pulling on her dressing-gown and slippers, she went out of the mom and down the dark stairs to the dining-room, the windows of which were shuttered and barred. Here she made herself tea with an electric kettle, and sat down to consider what she should do next.

Feng Ho! She frowned at the thought. "You will see a great deal of Feng Ho," Amery had said, and her lips twisted in a smile. At any rate, she did not wish to see a great deal of Feng Ho in circumstances similar to those in which he had made his appearance that morning.

And then came to her a wild and fantastic idea. It was the sight of the telephone on the sideboard that gave it to her. Major Amery occupied his uncle's house in Brook Street.

She put the thought from her, only to turn to it again. Presently she went in search of the telephone directory and found it in her uncle's study. The place reeked with the smell of brandy, and for a moment she felt physically sick, and hurried out with the thick volume under her arm.

Yes, there it was—"Amery, Major P., 97b, Brook Street. Mayfair 10016." He would be in bed and asleep. The prospect of rousing him filled her with malicious joy, and she lifted the hook and waited. It was a long time before the operator answered, but within a few seconds of his answering her signal, she heard a click and a sharp voice demanded:

"Who is that?"

Elsa's lips twitched.

"Is that Major Amery?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes. What do you want, Miss Marlowe?"

He had recognised her voice! The discovery took her breath away, and for a moment she was unable to proceed.

"I—we've just had a visit from a friend of yours," she said, a little wildly. "A least he didn't come in!"

"A friend of mine? You mean Feng Ho?"

His coolness was staggering.

"Of course I mean Feng Ho. He was trying to get in through the window of my room," she said, her anger rising.

"Your room?" came the quick response. "You mean your bedroom?"

"That is the only room I have," she added, and there was a silence at the other end of the 'phone.

After a while he spoke.

"You must have been mistaken. It could not have been Feng Ho," said his voice. "He is with me now. One Chinaman looks very much like another to the uninitiated eye. I'm sorry you have been frightened."

The last words came in a different tone. He had explained her error hurriedly, which was not like him. She knew it was useless to argue the matter on the telephone.

"I'm sorry I got you out of bed," she said.

"Are you scared?"

Was she mistaken in imagining an undercurrent of anxiety and concern in his voice?

"No, I was startled." Another silence. "Does Mr. Tarn know?"

"No, he is asleep; I haven't awakened him, unless I'm waking him now. I'm sorry I bothered you. Goodnight."

"Wait," he said sharply. "You are sure you're not frightened?"

"Of course I'm not frightened, Major Amery. You're forever thinking that I'm frightened," she said with a smile, remembering the conversation of the morning.

Was it a quiet laugh she heard? Apparently not, for there was no laughter in his voice when he said, with his customary brusqueness:

"Good-night. Go back to bed."

How like him to finish that strange conversation with a peremptory order, she thought, as she hung up the telephone. At that moment Maurice Tarn, with an old dressing gown huddled about him, came blinking into the light.

"What's wrong?" he asked harshly. "What are you doing here, telephoning at this hour of the morning? Whom were you talking to?"

"I was talking to Major Amery."

"Amery!" he squeaked. "Major Amery? What were you telling him?"

He was terrified, and in his agitation gripped her wrist with such force that she cried out.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "What is it all about, Elsa?"

"I was merely telling Major Amery that I caught a friend of his to-night, trying to get in through my window."

For a moment he could not grasp her meaning.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. A Chinaman—"

"A Chinaman!" he screamed. "A friend of Amery's trying to get in!"

In as few words as possible she told him all she had seen, and he listened, his teeth chattering.

"Oh, my God!" he said, his hand on his brow. "A Chinaman! He had a knife, had he? You're sure about the knife?"

"He may have only been using it to open the window," said the girl, astounded at the extraordinary effect which the news had upon her relative. She had never seen a man in such an abject condition of fear. By the time she had finished his pallid face was streaming with perspiration.

"You 'phoned Amery?" huskily. "What did he say?"

"That it wasn't Feng Ho."

"He's a liar! It was the Chinaman who came into the office to-day... I just saw him... Feng Ho! Elsa, that's my finish! They'll be watching for me now—every port..."

"What is the matter, Mr. Tarn?" she asked, frightened in spite of herself by the terror of the man. "Have you done something—"

"Don't talk, don't talk." He waved her to silence. "I don't want to discuss it, I tell you. I was expecting this." He waved his hand into the pocket of his tattered dressing-gown and drew out a long-barrelled revolver. "But they'll not catch me, Elsa, by God!"

The hand that held the pistol shook so violently that she was in some fear that it would explode by accident, and was relieved when he put it back into his pocket.

"Paul Amery, curse him! I could tell you something about Amery... not now, not now.. I'm going into my study."

He rushed out, and she heard the key turn in the lock, and then, through the thin partition which separated the dining-room from the study, there came the clink of glass against glass. Mr. Tarn was fortifying himself against the terrors which the remaining hours of darkness might hold.