Читать книгу The Guv'nor and Other Stories - Edgar Wallace - Страница 10

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MR. REEDER'S theory had a rapid confirmation. "Huggins" was picked up the next night, not at a Channel port, but at Harwich, and he took his place in the dock as an accessory to the murder.

Friday came and passed. There was no evidence of reprisal. Gaylor would have placed detectives on guard before and in Mr. Reeder's house, but that gentleman grew so unusually testy at the suggestion that the inspector decided to let his colleague die any way he wished.

"Die be—um—blowed!" said Mr. Reeder, and apologised for his vulgarity. "That letter was what is called in America a—um—'front.' In other words, it was a show-off and meant nothing. I suspect friend Kressholm is establishing an alibi."

"A little late for an alibi," said Gaylor.

"Not so late as you think," was Reeder's cryptic reply.

It was during the trial of Daniel Brady that Kressholm came to London. There was no reason why he should not. He held a British passport, and there was not a scrap of evidence to connect him with the crime.

He had not been at his hotel five minutes when they telephoned from the inquiry office to ask him if he would see a lady. Before they told him Wenna's name he knew who it was.

Sorrow had refined, as it had aged, her. He never realised how much older than Danny she was till he saw that pale, haggard face.

"I've seen Danny," she said breathlessly. "He told me that he was coming to London. I've called here three times this afternoon. He believes in you—"

"What did he tell you?" His voice was sharp.

The two men seized their victim and dragged him from the interior of the van.

Danny's confidence in him did not outweigh his alarm. That he should be even remotely associated with this crime...

She shook her head impatiently.

"You needn't worry, Kressholm; I know you are in this. No, no, he didn't tell me, but I know. What can we do? You've got to save him."

He was staring at her hungrily, and, distressed as she was, she did not realise that even in this tragic moment his interest was for her and not for the man who stood in the shadow of the scaffold.

"I don't know what we can do. I'm getting the best lawyers. Only Reeder's tied him up pretty completely."

"Reeder" she gasped. "That old man! Has he done this?"

Bob Kressholm nodded.

"He's always been down on the Bradys," he said glibly. "That old bird will rather die than let up on Danny. He was waiting for him—in fact, he arrested him."

She sat down heavily in a chair and buried her face in her hands. He stood looking at the slim, bent back. That must be the ring that Danny gave her —the glittering sapphire on her finger. He went angrily hot at the thought.

It must be ten years since that disagreeable episode in the wood. She had forgotten all that perhaps... he had been a little raw. At any rate, she had forgiven him or she would not be here.

"I hate to see you like this, Wenna," he said. "I'll fix Reeder for you one of these days."

She sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing.

"One of these days—you? Don't worry, Kressholm, I'll fix him. If anything happens to Danny—" Her voice broke.

He soothed her with the clumsiness which was part of his insincerity.

She would have attended the trial, but he dissuaded her; she would upset Danny, he said. In truth he was anxious that she should not meet Reeder, that astute man who had a disconcerting habit of telling unpleasant truths, and he was glad that the girl had taken his advice when, on the opening day of the trial, Reeder approached him outside the Old Bailey.

"You're giving evidence, of course, Mr. Kressholm?"

The other man turned his suspicious eye upon his questioner.

"What do I know about it? I know Danny, of course, but I've been out of the crooked game so long that he wouldn't have told me he was going to do a fool thing like shooting a copper."

"Indeed?" Mr. Reeder inclined his head graciously. "I suppose that governors do not take risks—"

"Governors!" said the man scornfully. "Where did you get that word? You've been listening to those penny-dreadful flatties at the Yard! No, I tried to keep the boy straight he's the son of my pal, and that's why he is having all the legal assistance that money can buy."

"And Mr. Huggins—who, by the way, was identified this morning by a South African police officer, who happened to be in London, as Peter Hertz —is his father a friend of yours?"

For a second Bob Kressholm was embarrassed.

"Naturally I shall look after him," he said at last. "I don't know the bird, but they say that he is a friend of Danny's. I don't even know the gang."

Mr. Reeder looked down at the pavement for a long time.

"Is there anything wrong with my boots?" asked Kressholm facetiously.

Mr. Reeder shook his head.

"No—only I shouldn't like to be standing in them," he said. "Red Joe Brady is due for release in a month's time."

He left the master-man with this unpleasant reminder.

The trial ran its inevitable course. On the second day the jury retired and returned with a verdict of guilty against Brady and Hertz. Danny was sentenced to death and Hertz to fourteen years' penal servitude.

Mr. Reeder was not in court. It was not his business to be there, so he did not hear the commendations of the judge, or see Danny's frosty smile as the sentence of death was passed and there came to him the realisation that the all-powerful Governor was for once impotent. He had listened to Reeder's evidence closely, and only once did he appear startled; that was when the detective told of the warning he had had that the Seven Sisters were threatened.

Mr. Reeder read the account in the late editions of the newspapers and sighed drearily.

Kressholm was not in court at the last, and had asked for an interview with the young man, a request which was refused.

It was nearly midnight and Mr. Reeder was preparing to go to bed, when he heard the front bell ring. He had had installed a small house telephone on to the street. It saved him a lot of trouble when his housekeeper had gone to bed. He pressed the knob which lit a small red lamp in the lintel of the street door and incidentally showed the concealed receiver of the 'phone, and asked:

"Who is there?"

To his surprise, "Kressholm" was the reply.

Kressholm was the last man in the world he expected to see that night. He went downstairs slowly, switched on the light in the hall and opened the door. The man was alone.

"I'm sorry to disturb you—" he began.

"I'll take your apologies in my office," said Reeder. "Do you mind walking ahead of me?"

He followed the visitor into the big room which was office and living-room, and, closing the door, pointed to a chair.

"I'll stand," said Kressholm shortly.

He was nervous. His restless hands moved from one button of his overcoat to the other. He put down his hat in one place, took it up and put it down in another.

"I want you to understand, Reeder," he began.

"Mister Reeder," said that gentleman gently. "If ever I put you in the dock you can call me what you like; for the moment I would rather be called 'mister' which means 'master,' and I will be your master sooner or later, or my name is Smith!"

Kressholm was taken aback by the correction. He scowled a little and then laughed nervously. "Sorry, Mr. Reeder, but this case has rattled me. You see, the boy was in my charge. His father and I were old friends."

Mr. Reeder had sat down at his writing-table. He leaned back now and sighed.

"Is all this necessary?" he asked. "It is not conscience that has brought you here; it is blue funk, isn't it?"

Kressholm went an angry red.

"I am afraid of nobody in the world." He raised his voice. "Not you —, and not that damned—"

"S-sh!" J.G. Reeder was apparently shocked. "I do not like strong language. You are afraid of nobody but Red Joe. I wonder, too, if you are afraid of that little circus girl who has paid several visits to your hotel? Miss Haddin, isn't it?"

Bob Kressholm stared but said nothing. He found a difficulty in speaking.

"She was—um—engaged to the young man. A fiery young woman; I remember her—yes. If she knew what I know—"

"I don't know what you mean," said Kressholm huskily.

"Then let me tell you why you have called on me," said Mr. Reeder.

He folded his arms on the table and fixed the other with a steely eye.

"When I see his father, you want me to tell him that I and Mr. Gaylor were offered fifty thousand pounds to secure his escape. We were also threatened with death if we did not agree."

Kressholm's face was ludicrous in its blank amazement.

"That is just what you wished to ask me," Mr. Reeder went on; "but you don't exactly know how to broach the subject. Well, it is difficult to convey to a police officer the fact that you have both tried to bribe and threaten him without involving yourself in a lot of trouble. I will save you a little trouble, anyway. You were establishing your defence. You trained this boy the way he has gone, and it is going to take the whole Metropolitan Police Force to save your life. If you are wise you will go back to France and let Red Joe give the French police the bother of arresting him for your murder."

"If you think I am afraid of Red Joe—"

Mr. Reeder nodded.

"You are terrified, and I think you have very good reason."

Reeder walked to the door and opened it.

"I don't want to talk to you any more, Kressholm." He glanced down. "I see you are wearing shoes this evening. Well, I should not like to be in those, either."

Kressholm gave no further explanation. None of his gang, seeing him now, would have recognised the ruthless Governor they knew.