Читать книгу The Table - Edgar Wallace - Страница 5

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AS the car roared along the Dinneford High Street Lorna crouched forward over the wheel, gripping it so hard that it hurt her hands, and steering it, when steering was necessary, with quick, jerky movements that set the machine swaying dangerously. Once she glanced back through the rear window, caught a glimpse of the crowd that was beginning to collect outside the bank, saw the figure of a man run into the middle of the road, his arm raised, heard the crack of a revolver, and, again instinctively hunching her shoulders, bent over the wheel and stared steadily at the road ahead.

Had there been any considerable traffic in the street Lorna's erratic steering must have landed her into trouble; but the roadway was almost deserted, and as she sped along it at more than forty miles an hour the worst thing that happened to her was that the policeman at the cross-roads stuck his hands on his hips and stared after the car with a wealth of official disapproval in his stare.

Once she was free of the town, she felt, she would be fairly safe. She could dump the car somewhere in the country and have a good chance of getting clean away. If they took it into their heads to give chase—well, she wouldn't worry about that: this 'bus could do ninety, and she had enough petrol on board for a hundred miles' run.

She glanced at the petrol gauge on the dashboard, saw that it registered five gallons and was thankful that she had taken the precaution of having the tank filled that morning.

She was soon clear of the town, and, as the houses disappeared, she settled back in her seat and pressed the accelerator. She knew the country well, and, with that precise attention to detail which had so irritated Dinkie Lane, had already mapped out what route she would take if things went wrong at the Devon and District Bank and she had to make a dash for it. She had calculated that before she could reach the next town news of the raid would have already got there, so that the only safe course would be to avoid any town so long as she was in the car. She had accordingly planned a route which lay along the side roads and country lanes.

She was to take a turning to the right, about ten miles out of Dinneford. At the speed at which she was travelling—just under sixty—she should reach the corner in ten minutes, and then, to all intents and purposes, she would be safe.

Glancing at her speedometer to assure herself that she was maintaining her speed she noticed the petrol gauge. It registered rather less than three gallons now. Her forehead puckered into a frown. A few moments ago, when she had looked at it, she had thought that it stood at the five-gallon mark. She must have misread it, she supposed. She couldn't have used two gallons in the few minutes since she had set out from the bank. It was of no consequence in any case: three gallons would take her far enough.

A minute later, however, as she took another look at the petrol gauge her frown deepened and her eyes grew anxious. It registered well under two gallons now. Either the gauge was crazy or something was seriously wrong. It must be the gauge: engines didn't drink petrol at that rate.

As she drove on she glanced at the gauge every few seconds and each time she glanced she saw that it had sunk a little lower. One gallon—half a gallon—a quarter of a gallon—and there wasn't a garage this side of the turning which she planned to take.

Damn Dinkie! She should have known better than to let him in on a job like this. She might have known he would let her into some sort of a mess. She should have held up the cashier herself and let Dinkie cover the others. They wouldn't have shot at her, because they wouldn't have believed that she would shoot at them....

The engine spluttered. Glancing at the gauge again, she saw that it registered an empty tank. She pressed the accelerator down until it touched the floor-boards, and realised that the car not only failed to go faster but was actually slowing down.

She stopped, got out, raised the bonnet and tried to flood the carburetor. But no petrol was coming through, and she hurriedly closed the bonnet and strode to the back of the car. There was a petrol gauge on the tank and, bending down, she rubbed off the dust with her finger and consulted it. It agreed with the dashboard gauge that the tank was empty. But there had been five gallons in the tank only a few minutes ago and it couldn't be empty. She took off the cap, peered inside but could see nothing.

She stood upright, biting her lip. Turning, she broke off a small branch from the hedge, thrust it into the tank and withdrew it. It was quite dry, and she tossed it aside impatiently.

Then, as she replaced the cap on the tank, she suddenly saw what had happened: at the bottom of the tank was a small round hole from which every now and then a drop of petrol dripped on to the ground.

That fool with his revolver! She must have been trailing petrol behind her all the way from Dinneford without realising what was happening.

For a time she stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the hole, undecided what to do. As she caught the sound of an engine, she glanced up to see a car coming towards her at a leisurely pace from the direction of Dinneford. Instantly she made up her mind. It was a big risk, but it was the only way out and she must chance it.

As the machine drew near she stepped into the middle of the road, her hand upheld. The car stopped. Lorna caught a glimpse of the face of a man with a monocle in his left eye, staring at her through the windscreen. She ran to the side of the car, wrenched open the door and jumped in.

"Quick!" she exclaimed. "Get a move on!"

Dr. Allerman turned his head and gave her an expressionless stare.

"Did you hear what I said? Get a move on and step on it!"

Still Dr. Allerman stared at her without replying, and Lorna suddenly sat upright in her seat.

"Say, are you deaf as well as dumb? I said fast and I meant it." She pulled out her revolver, pointing it towards him. "Get her moving, mister, and don't argue, or you'll have me trying to score a bull through your monocle."

Dr. Allerman slowly lowered his gaze to the revolver. Then, with a faint smile, he turned his head away and set the car in motion.

Lorna sat watching the speedometer needle as it gradually crept round. At twenty miles an hour it became stationary and she glanced quickly at Allerman.

"Faster!" she ordered.

Allerman kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

"I find twenty miles an hour a very comfortable speed," he said. "It enables one to admire the country."

"I'm not saying it doesn't, but I'm not interested in admiring the country, and you're going to do as I tell you—see? You're going to rev her up to fifty."

Slowly the speedometer needle moved to twenty-five, and there it paused again.

"That," said Allerman, "is the utmost concession which I am prepared to make. If you are still dissatisfied—"

"I am. This car will do seventy and you're going to make her do it."

Allerman glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You seem to be in a hurry," he said.

"You bet I am!"

Allerman nodded.

"You were in that hold-up in Dinneford, weren't you?"

"You're a good guesser, aren't you? Yes, I was in it, and now I'm in another." She glanced quickly over her shoulder, through the back window of the car, and then turned again to Allerman. "Can't you go faster? You can't kid me—I know. This car will do seventy."

"Eighty," corrected Allerman calmly.

For a few moments Lorna frowned thoughtfully at Allerman's expressionless face as though trying to probe his mind.

"Here, what's the game?" she exclaimed suddenly. "Trying to be clever, are you? Waiting for the police to catch us up so that you can hand me over? Well, that game isn't going to work, I give you my word. They've got Dinkie, but they're not going to get me. There's six bullets in this gun, and if the police turn up there'll be one for you and five for them. So the nearer you get to eighty the more chance you've got of staying alive."

The car still travelled at the same leisurely speed.

"Dinkie, I presume," said Allerman calmly, "is the young man who helped you in the hold-up?"

"That's right."

"Then if it's any consolation to you I don't mind telling you that the police haven't got him."

"They haven't?"

"No part of him that's likely to interest them. Dinkie's dead."

"Dead! My God! That crazy swine with his revolver—"

"But I shouldn't waste any pity on him," added Allerman. "Dinkie was a particularly low type of degenerate and is better dead than alive. What was he to you—your husband?"

"No, he wasn't," replied the girl sharply.

"I beg your pardon," said Allerman. "Merely a fellow degenerate was he? It may interest you to know that he thought you a 'swell kid.' That delightfully sentimental utterance was his last. Are you interested?"

"I'm interested in going faster!" exclaimed Lorna. She waved a hand towards the road ahead. "You see that fork?"

Allerman nodded.

"Yes, I see that fork."

"Well, you're taking the left road and you're taking it at fifty miles an hour. I guess I'm tired of talking. The left fork at fifty—see?"

"I'm taking the right fork," replied Allerman, "and I'm taking it at twenty-five."

Suddenly the girl turned in her seat and jabbed the muzzle of her revolver against his ribs.

"Listen, you!" she exclaimed. "Don't get the idea that I've got a gun which I don't dare use I I'll use it all right if I have to. If you want to stay alive you'll take the left fork. I mean what I say, and when I say left I mean left."

For a few seconds Allerman made no movement. Then suddenly his left hand shot back, grabbed her hand, wrenched the revolver from her fingers, transferred it to his right hand and slipped it into the pocket of his coat.

Lorna half rose to her feet.

"I'll teach you—you swine—"

She got no further. Allerman's left arm shot out. His hand gripped her throat and flung her back violently into her seat.

"When I say right, I mean right," he said quietly, turned the wheel slightly and sent the car along the right-hand road.

Again Lorna half rose to her feet, raising her hand to strike him, but as her arm swung forward Allerman's left hand gripped her wrist and gave it a quick twist. With a sharp cry of pain she sank back on to the seat.

"You beast!"

She struggled furiously to free herself, wrenching, twisting, beating at his face with her free hand, but all to no purpose: Allerman sat unmoved, gazing steadily at the road ahead, his fingers still gripping her wrist like a steel trap. Suddenly she leaned forward and buried her teeth in the fleshy part of his arm. But the doctor did not even wince, and the car did not swerve an inch out of its course.

Lorna sat up and stared at him in astonishment.

"Aren't you human?" she demanded.

A cynical smile showed on Allerman's thin lips.

"Superhuman," he replied. "As much above the average of mankind in general as you are below it. Inhuman, if you like."

"You're strong. Damn you, don't you know how strong you are? Leave go of my wrist: you're hurting me."

"Are you going to sit quiet?"

"Suppose I'm not—what then? You can't hold me here forever, can you?"

"There are other things I might do."

"Such as?"

"We shall be entering the woods shortly. I could leave you there."

"That'll suit me fine."

"But before I left you I should take the precaution of severing an artery in your arm. You'd be dead within a few minutes—long before anyone could get to you—even if anyone should happen to hear you about. And it'd probably be weeks before anyone came across your body. People don't frequent the woods very much."

Lorna's eyes searched his face, but they had lost their look of challenge and defiance now: they were uneasy, doubting, and a little scared. Allerman, who could let her bury her teeth in his arm and give no sign that he had even felt it, was something beyond her experience. She would have understood it if he had snatched his hand away, sworn at her and knocked her senseless with his fist; but his calm indifference had her guessing and gave her an unpleasant feeling of insecurity.

"Here, what's the idea, you big sap?" she demanded. "Give me back my gun."

"Even you can't be fool enough to believe I shall do that. Sit still and try to behave yourself. We're just coming to the woods."

He turned the car off the road into what was little more than a cart track, and Lorna, gazing through the windscreen, frowned as she saw the dark mass of the woods some little way ahead.

"Are you going through those woods?"

"Into them at any rate. Through them—that depends. You'd better tell me the truth. Was that boy they killed your husband?"

"He wasn't killed," exclaimed Lorna passionately. "You're lying to me—the same as you've been doing all along. He wasn't killed, I tell you."

"Was he your husband?"

"No, he wasn't, if you must know."

"Just one of your lovers?"

"No, he wasn't my lover. I haven't got a lover—see? What would I want with a lover?"

"Then where is your husband?"

"I tell you I haven't got a husband. And who the hell are you, anyway?"

"All alone in the world, eh? No one to miss you if you disappeared?"

Lorna made no reply. Once again she lapsed into silence, her gaze fixed on the woods as the car slowly bumped along towards them over the rough track, every now and then stealing a quick glance at Allerman's inscrutable face. But Allerman, intent on keeping the car's wheels out of the deep ruts, seemed to have forgotten her, except that his hand still gripped her wrist like a steel trap.

It was just as the car was entering the woods that he turned his head and for some moments stared intently at her face.

"You're pretty," he remarked.

She turned sharply towards him.

"Here, what's the game?"

The doctor's glance swept over her appraisingly.

"You're pretty," he repeated. "If one removed the make-up and allowed your hair to return to its natural colour one might even discover that you were beautiful. You've a good figure, too—"

Lorna suddenly made another desperate attempt to free herself.

"So that's the game is it?" she exclaimed. "I see it now, you devil! But if you try any monkey business with me I swear to God I'll kill you if I have to do it with my bare hands. I'm not that sort—see? I'm straight. I've always been straight. There isn't a man living or dead who's ever laid a hand on me, and if you've got the idea you're going to be the first—well, try it and see! There's only one man alive who's good enough for me, and it isn't you and it never will be you, so don't go kidding yourself. He's going to marry me—see? Mickey Stone's his name. There you are"—holding out her hand and displaying a fine diamond ring—"that's the ring he gave me. That shows you I'm straight."

Allerman smiled indulgently.

"You're amusing," he said. "If your mind were of the same quality as your body you would be interesting. If one could find some method of preventing your talking your physical perfection might even make you attractive."

With a sudden wrench Lorna freed her wrist, grasped the handle of the door, flung it open and was almost out of it when Allerman's fingers closed over her arm and he jerked her roughly back on to the seat.

"Shut the door," he ordered.

She hesitated, meeting his glance defiantly for a moment. Then her gaze wavered and fell, and with a gesture of resignation she leaned forward and shut the door.

"All right—you win," she said listlessly. "Where are you taking me?"

"I'm taking you to my house."

"You're not taking me to the police?"

"I'm taking you to my house."

"What for?"

"Because I have an idea that you may prove useful to me. You can be delivered at the police station instead if you would prefer it. But I imagine this affair at the bank isn't the only hold-up for which you're wanted, and things might go rather hard with you. You'd be wiser to come with me—provided you come quietly. Make up your mind."

For several minutes Lorna sat huddled in her seat, sullen and silent. Then:

"If I come with you, what—what are you going to—do to me?"

"You must leave that to my discretion and take a chance."

She shrugged.

"All right—I'll take a chance—damn you!"

She neither spoke nor moved again until, as the car rounded a bend, they came in sight of a high fence topped with barbed wire and a heavy nail-studded gate. Then she suddenly sat upright.

Showing above the fence, to the right of the gate, was a large white notice-board with black lettering, and Lorna, leaning forward, peered up at it through the windscreen. The notice ran as follows:

Dr. Allerman's Experimental Farm.

Danger.

Slowly, with a look of terror in her eyes, the girl turned her head and glanced at Allerman.

"Is this your place? Are you Dr. Allerman?"

He nodded.

"What does that notice mean?"

"What it says."

She looked again at the notice-board and then back at Allerman's face.

"Danger!" she repeated in a queer, strained voice. "What's the danger?"

Allerman brought the car to a standstill outside the nail-studded gate.

"What's the danger?" asked Lorna again.

"Asking questions," replied Allerman.