Читать книгу The Face in the Night - Edgar Wallace - Страница 10

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Dora signalled to Martin Elton to retire with their guest, and it was when they were left alone that Dora had her story to tell.

It was the story of an injured wife, who had been obliged to fly from the country because of her husband's brutality, leaving behind her the miniature of her child.

"I don't mind confessing to you that we have secured the miniature, Audrey," said Dora in an outburst of frankness. "I don't think we were strictly legal in our actions—in fact, Martin bribed the servant in Sir John's house to bring it to us. He guesses we have it, and has had us watched day and night, and any attempt we make, either through the post —we are sure he has notified the postal officials—or by messenger, is likely to lead to failure. A friend of this poor dear Lady Nilligan is coming to London tonight, and we have arranged to meet him at the station and hand him the miniature. Now the question is, Audrey, will you be a darling and take it to him? Nobody knows you; his sleuth-hounds will not molest you; and you can render this poor woman a great service. Personally, I think there's a little too much sentimentality about it, for I don't see why one miniature should be more valuable than another. But evidently this demented lady thinks it is."

"But what an extraordinary story!" said Audrey, frowning. "Couldn't you send one of your servants? Or couldn't he come here?"

"I tell you the house is watched," said Dora, never the most patient of individuals. "If you don't want to do it—?"

"Of course I'll do it," laughed Audrey.

"There is only one point I want to make," her sister interposed, "and it is this: if by any chance this comes out, I want you to promise me that our name shall not come into it. I want you to swear by our dead mother——"

"That is unnecessary," said Audrey, a little coldly. "I will promise —that is enough."

Dora took her in her arms and kissed her. "You are really a darling," she said; "and you've grown so awfully pretty. I must find a nice man for you."

It was on the tip of Audrey's tongue to suggest that her sister might very well try some other ground of search than that which produced the pallid Martin Elton, for whom she felt an instinctive dislike.

"Of course I'll take it, my dear," she said. "It seems such a little thing to do. And if I meet the grumpy husband, why, I'll just talk to him firmly!"

Apparently Dora's feasts were of a movable kind, for, although Audrey had her dinner in her room, the party of which her sister had spoken did not materialize. At half past eight Dora came up for her, carrying in her hand a small, oblong package, tied and heavily sealed.

"Now remember, you do not know me, you have never been to 508 Curzon Street in your life... " She repeated the admonition, and described in detail the mysterious Pierre. "When you see him, you will go up to him and say, 'This is-for madam'—that, and nothing more."

She repeated the instructions, and made the girl recite them after her. Audrey was at first amused, then a little bored. "It seems an awful lot of bother to make about so small a thing, but you have succeeded in arousing that conspirator feeling!"

With the package secure in an inside pocket of her coat, she went out into Curzon Street and walked quickly in the direction of Park Lane. She had hardly disappeared before Martin Elton came out. Keeping her in sight, he watched her board a bus, and, hailing a taxicab, followed.

To Audrey the adventure was mildly exciting. She knew neither of the parties of this family quarrel, and found it difficult even to speculate upon their identity. They were probably two very plain, uninteresting people. Family quarrellers usually were. But she was glad of the opportunity of earning her board and keep, and it relieved her of a sense of obligation, for which she was grateful.

The bus put her down opposite Charing Cross station, and, crossing the congested road, she hurried through the courtyard into the station building. There were hundreds of people in the big approach; the night mail was beginning to fill, and passengers and their friends stood in groups before the harriers. She looked for a considerable time before she saw Mr. Pierre, a short, stocky man with a square, flaxen beard, who seemed to be wholly absorbed in the animated spectacle. Moving to the other side of him to make absolutely sure, she saw the little mole on his cheek by which she was to identify him. Without further ado, she took the package from her pocket and went up to him.

"This is for madam," she said...

He started, looked at her searchingly, slipped the package in his pocket, so quickly that she could hardly follow his movements.

"Bien!" he said. "Will you thank monsieur? And—?"

He spun round quickly, but the man who had caught his wrist possessed a grip which was not lightly to be shaken. At the same moment somebody slipped an arm in Audrey's.

"I want you, my young friend," said a pleasant voice. "I am Captain Shannon of Scotland Yard."

He stopped, staring down at the frightened face turned up to his. "My ragged princess!" he gasped.

"Please let me go." She attempted to free herself. She was horribly frightened and for a second felt physically sick. "I've got to go to—" She checked herself in time.

"To see Mrs. Elton, of course," said Shannon, scrutinizing her.

"No, I haven't to see Mrs. Elton. I really don't know Mrs. Elton," she said breathlessly.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid we'll have to talk about that. I don't want to hold your arm. Will you come with me?"

"Are you arresting me?" she gasped.

He nodded gravely.

"I'm detaining you—until a little matter is cleared up. I'm perfectly sure you're an innocent agent in this, just as I am equally sure that your sister isn't."

Dora? Was he talking about Dora, she asked herself with a sinking heart. His tone, the hard judgment in the voice, told the girl something she did not want to know. Something that shocked her beyond expression. Then, forcing every word, she said: "I'll talk the matter over with pleasure, and I won't make any attempt to get away. But I have not come from Mrs. Elton's, and she is not my sister. The story I told you this afternoon was untrue."

"But why?" he asked, as they walked together through the stone corridor to the courtyard.

"Because"—she hesitated—"I knew you were a detective."

He signalled a cab, gave directions and helped her inside.

"You're lying to shield your sister and Bunny Elton," he said. "I hate using the word 'lie' to you, but that's what you're doing, my child."

Her mind was in a turmoil, from which one clear fact emerged. It was not a miniature that she was carrying from Dora to the mythical wife; it was something more important. Something horribly serious.

"What was in the parcel?" she asked huskily.

"The Queen of Finland's diamond necklace, unless I'm greatly mistaken. Her carriage was held up in The Mall four nights ago, and the jewels were stolen from her neck."

Audrey sat up with a grimace of pain. It was as though he had struck her. Dora! She had read something of the affair in the newspaper which he had bought for her at Barnham Junction. Mrs. Graffitt had spoken of the crime. For a spell she sat paralysed with horror.

"Of course you didn't know what it was," he said, and he was speaking to himself. "It's a hateful thing to ask you to do, but you must tell me the truth, even if it brings your sister to the place, that has been waiting for her these many years."

The cab seemed to go round and round; the stream of lights and traffic through the window became a confused blur.

"Do what you can for Dora... " Her mother's insistent lesson, almost forgotten, was ringing in her ears. She was trembling violently; her brain had gone numb and would give her no guidance. All that she knew was that she was under arrest... she, Audrey Bedford of Beak Farm! She licked her dry lips.

"I have no sister," she said, her breath labouring. "I stole the necklace!"

She heard his soft laughter, and could have murdered him.

"You poor, dear baby!" he said. "It was a job carried out by three expert hold-up men. Now let me tell you"—he patted her hand gently —"I'm not going to allow you to do this mad, quixotic thing. Didn't you know that Dora Elton and her husband are two of the most dangerous crooks in London?"

She was weeping, her face to her hands.

"No, no," she sobbed, "I don't know anything... She is not my sister."

Dick Shannon sighed and shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing to do but to charge her.

Pierre had arrived at the station before them, and-she watched, with fascinated horror, the process of his searching, saw the package opened on the sergeant's desk, and the flash and glitter of its contents. Presently Shannon took her gently by the arm and led her into the steel pen.

"The name is Audrey Bedford," he said. "The address is Fontwell, West Sussex, The charge"—he hesitated—"is being in possession of stolen property, knowing the same to be stolen. Now tell the truth," he whispered under his breath.

She shook her head.