Читать книгу The India-Rubber Men - Edgar Wallace - Страница 7

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INSPECTOR WADE had a small cottage in Wapping. It stood at the end of a drab street and was surprisingly rural in its surroundings, for it boasted a small garden and at least three lime-trees. That section of Wapping society which takes an uncharitable view of the probity of police officers pointed to the fact that the property was Mr. Wade's own freehold, and hinted at secret malpractices which had made him wealthy. The fact that the house and the little bit of land had been left to him by his father, who had lived in it all his life, did not lessen the suspicions of his neighbours, who never lived anywhere longer than their defrauded landlords permitted. By their code, all police officers grow rich from illicit practices—from the acceptance of bribes, to a little private thieving on their own.

Wade had an ex-police officer as servant and caretaker, a very wise choice, for there were times when his unpopularity might have produced unpleasant results. As it was, two attempts had been made by the Wapping Lot to enter the house. Once a fire had been started at the back of the premises, and once, when he brought Liddy Coles to the scaffold, his windows had been smashed, and he had found a revolver bullet embedded in the wall of his sitting-room.

He had fallen into his first sleep when the telephone bell rang, and he heard the melancholy voice of Inspector Elk.

"Remember that suicide you pulled out of the river—the woman you were talking about?"

"Anna?" asked John Wade sleepily. At the moment he was not interested in would-be suicides.

"That's the lady. She was pinched to-night for assaulting Captain Aikness." He spelt the word. "Of the good ship Seal of Troy."

"This is very sensational. Inspector," said John sarcastically. "But have you called me out of my warm bed—"

"Hold hard," said Elk. "She was bailed out by Lord Siniford "—he spelt the name laboriously—"a soak who's got a flat in St. James's Street. Does that interest you?"

"I'm thrilled," snarled Wade.

"Wait a bit," urged Elk's plaintive voice. "That gold signet ring was found in the woman's hand when she was brought in. She couldn't account for it...she had a fit of hysterics, and we had to bring in the divisional surgeon. When they opened her hand they found the ring."

John Wade was wide awake now. He thought quickly. "Did he know her?"

"Apparently he did. She knew him—called him Tommy, or something. I wouldn't have called you up if it hadn't been for the ring."

"I'll be up in a quarter of an hour," said Wade.

He dressed quickly, got out his motor-cycle and drove through the drizzle to Scotland Yard. That Elk should be at Scotland Yard at two in the morning was not remarkable. He seldom left before. What he did nobody knew. His detractors advanced the theory that he had no home, but this was hardly true.

The ring had been sent to the Yard and was lying on a sheet of white paper on Elk's table when the detective arrived.

"Why did they let her out on bail?"

"The ring wasn't identified until she'd gone. The sergeant happened to look inside and remembered the report. Naturally, the divisional inspector sent down to Lord Siniford's flat to pull her in, but Siniford wasn't there, nor was the woman."

Wade knew Lord Siniford by reputation. He was loosely described as a man-about-town. He lived in an expensive flat in St. James's Street, and was a member of one or two clubs which were not particular as to the status or private character of their membership.

Siniford was the holder of an impoverished peerage. He had neither land nor money; the American marriage he had made had not proved successful, either from his or his wife's point of view, and had been dissolved. He had appeared on the boards of a few shaky companies; was so constantly in the County Court that he became an institution; had even been reduced to sleeping on the Thames Embankment. Then, unexpectedly, money had come to him, nobody knew whence. His debts were paid off, and it was generally believed that, whilst he had no great command of wealth, he must be in receipt of a respectable income.

His late wife was given the credit of being his benefactor, but this proved to be untrue when her father sued him for some money he had borrowed during his brief married life.

He was a frequenter of bars, an occasional visitor to racecourses; had owned a couple of horses, but had retired from the Turf with some precipitation after an inquiry into the running of one of them.

The police knew him as a good-natured creature, but their respect for him was somewhat tempered by information which came to their hands, but which need not be particularised in a narrative which may be read by young people.

He had not returned when John Wade arrived at the flat, and his slovenly servant could volunteer no precise information. "His lordship comes here when he likes," he said vaguely. "Police, are you? All, yes, they've been here before. His lordship bailed a woman out, but they didn't come here."

"Has he got a car?" asked John Wade.

"Yes; he keeps it at a garage—I don't know the name of it."

"Then remember, will you?" snapped the detective.

The servant's memory returned conveniently, and John went on to a garage off Dean Street and learned that the car had been taken out just before midnight.

He had finished his inquiries and had come out into the street, when he saw a little car turn the corner and approach him, slowing at the garage entrance. A man got out, and John Wade recognised in Lord Siniford the man he had seen at the entrance of the restaurant on the night Lila Smith and her mysterious guardian had dined tete-a-tete.

He lost no time in preamble.

"I'm a police officer. Lord Siniford; my name is Wade."

The man stared at him near-sightedly.

"Oh, I know you. You were the bird I saw the other night. The commissionaire told me who you were. What do you want?"

"I want to see the woman for whom you stood bail."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Lord Siniford was a little amused. "Well, my dear fellow, you'd better go and find her."

He was perfectly sober: either the drive or some shock had produced this effect.

"I believe she called you Tommy. You knew her?"

"Don't ask me silly questions, my good fellow."

"Do you know her?"

"Not from a crow," said his lordship cheerfully.

"Then will you explain why you bailed her, and stated to the police sergeant that you had known her for some years?"

The request took his lordship aback.

"Well, I do know her. She's an old servant of our family—Anna Smith."

"Make it Robinson," suggested Wade unpleasantly. He expected an outburst, but it did not come. "Where have you taken her?" Wade broke the awkward silence which followed.

"She asked me to put her down near her house in Camberwell," was the glib reply.

"It doesn't take you two hours to get from here to Camberwell and back, does it?"

He heard the man breathing heavily. "I refuse to make any statement to police. I've simply taken her to her house in Camberwell—"

Wade interrupted him:

"She stated at the police station that she lived in Holloway, which seems a long way from Camberwell. Lord Siniford, I think you would be wise if you told me all you know about this woman. I have a very special reason for asking. A ring was found in her possession which was stolen a few days ago from a police station. It is very necessary that I should see her at once and question her on that subject."

"A ring?" Siniford was obviously puzzled "I don't know anything about a ring She didn't tell me..." And then, rousing himself "I can't tell you any more about this woman than I have told you. She lives in Camberwell somewhere—at least, that's where I dropped her. She'll appear to-morrow at the police station, I suppose, or it'll cost me a tenner."

John Wade smiled in the darkness. "Suppose you've taken her to some place where we can't see her and can't question her?"

Lord Siniford was aroused. "You're damned impertinent!" he said loudly "I've simply done a good, kind—er—Christian act for an old servant of the family—dash it! could a gentleman do any less? And here you're telling me that I'm helping a common—er—thief who steals rings! It's disgraceful! I shall see the Chief Commissioner in the morning."

"See him to-night," said Wade "I'll give you his telephone number."

There was nothing to be got out of this man. The only thing to do was to wait for the woman to be charged at Marlborough Street, and he was in attendance at the court when her name was called. There was no response, but a solicitor, evidently instructed at the eleventh hour by Siniford, rose and said that his clerk had not been able to get in touch with the woman.

"He's taken her to the country somewhere," said Wade to the local inspector "Do you know anything about him?"

The officer shook his head. "No, except that he's the usual kind of waster one meets up West."

"Has he a country house?"

The inspector smiled. "No, he hasn't. I'll tell you something, though," he said, remembering, "in the old days he got into quite a lot of trouble by taking country cottages and leaving without paying his rent. He's probably rented a place on the river—that was his pet hunting ground. I've known him to take as many as three houses in a year, and bilk each landlord in turn. Since he's had money he's probably given up that game, but he may still have a weakness for the river. I'll put through an inquiry."

The inquiry, however, proved to be unproductive, when it was minuted on to Wade.

If the accused did not attend, neither had the prosecutor. John had been anxious to see the assaulted man and discover from him some cause for the demented Anna's action. And here the case came within his province, for the Seal of Troy was lying in the Pool. He had seen her several times as he had passed up and down the river, a 5,000-ton tramp, differing from no other tramp save that she had two funnels. She was lying in midstream, taking in a cargo of machinery. He had seen the heavily laden lighters at her side, had watched the huge packing-cases being swung into her hold.

At three o'clock that afternoon his launch came up by the companion-way and he went up the side of the ship. He was met by a dark-faced officer, who, he thought, was a South American.

"Captain Aikness is ashore," he said. "I am the second officer."

John Wade showed his card and was conducted down the companion-way to a small and surprisingly well furnished saloon. The walls were panelled with mahogany; there were two or three deep leather arm-chairs, and at the end of the saloon a small fire-place.

"This is the officers' dining-room," explained his guide. "It is our good fortune that we have an owner who treats officers like human beings— it is appreciated. Will you sit down, Mr. Wade?"

John Wade sat down on one of the leather-covered chairs flanking the long mahogany table that ran down the centre of the saloon.

"Captain Aikness had some little trouble, I believe, late last night. A woman attacked him in London, and there has been a police-court prosecution," said the second officer, his dark eyes fixed upon John. "I hope she was not sent to prison? Captain Aikness was very distressed."

"She was not sent to prison because she didn't appear," said John. "She jumped her bail."

The officer's eyebrows rose. "Indeed? That is very satisfactory. I will tell the captain when he returns."

There was nothing to be gained by waiting. John Wade followed his conductor to the upper deck, took a polite farewell and descended to his waiting launch.

"Take her round the bow of this boat," he ordered, and the little launch circled out into the stream, turned under the sharp bows of the Seal of Troy and came back along the shore side. Wade had no other intention than to bring the launch into slack water and to avoid two lighters which were being manoeuvred to the side of the ship. Looking up incuriously at the hull, he saw, towards the stern, three big, square portholes, and wondered if the owner provided sleeping accommodation as luxurious as the saloon. The portholes were open. From one of these a pair of short blue curtains were blowing. It was these that attracted his attention to the 'window'.

The launch was opposite the middle of the three when he saw through the porthole the face of a man. Only for a second—a brown, wrinkled face and a glistening, bald head. Almost as he saw it, the man withdrew quickly from view, but not quickly enough. John Wade had recognised the mysterious Mr. Brown, who once a year took Lila Smith to dine at a fashionable restaurant.