Читать книгу The Woman from the East - Edgar Wallace - Страница 6

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Tom Camberley paced the arrival platform at Paddington in an uncomfortable frame of mind. He had cursed himself for sending the girl on such an errand and had consigned his partner, who had aroused these suspicions and doubts in his mind, to the devil and his habitation.

When the train drew in, a little of this discomfort vanished.

The girl was in a carriage at the rear of the train, and when he saw her at a distance, he quickened his step. It was not until he was half a dozen paces from her that he saw her face in the light of an overhead electric lamp.

"My God!" he said. "What has happened?"

She was as white as death and swayed when he took her arm so that she nearly fell.

"Take me home," she whispered.

His car was waiting in the station yard, and it was not until the girl was approaching her Bloomsbury lodgings that she could find her voice to tell him of the evening.

"When I recovered consciousness," she said, "I was in the cab. The driver told me that the gateman had brought me out and said that I had fainted, and that the lady thought I had better sit in the open air for a little while until I recovered."

"You don't remember what happened after you fainted?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, it was dreadful, dreadful! I never felt so afraid in my life," she whispered.

"Did you see the Ranee?"

"No, I did not see her. Please God, I will never see her again! She is a dreadful woman."

"But why, why?" asked the perplexed young man. "Why did she do this?" Then, remembering the girl's distress: "You don't know how sorry I am, Miss Mead, that I have exposed you to this outrage. I will see the Ranee myself and demand some explanation. I will—"

He remembered that he was not in a position to demand any explanation, and that it was more likely, if this matter was exposed, that he would be called upon to furnish some account of Dora Mead's mission to the Anglo-Indian Princess.

"Please don't speak about it," said the girl, laying her hand on his arm. "I want to forget it. I was terrified to death, of course, but now it is all over I am inclined to see the humorous side of it."

Her obvious distress belied this cheerful view, but Tom Camberley was silent.

"I don't understand it," said the girl, returning to the subject herself. "It was so amazingly unreal that I feel as if I have had a very bad dream. Here we are," she said suddenly, pointing to a house, and Tom leaned forward and tapped the window, bringing the car to a standstill.

The sidewalks of the street were deserted, and the girl shivered a little as she descended from the car.

"Do you mind waiting a little while," she begged, "while I open the door? My nerves have been upset by this business."

"Isn't your landlady up?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"This is a block of tiny flats," she said. "Mine is on the second floor."

Her hand was shaking so that he had to take the key and open the door for her.

"I insist upon coming up to your room at any rate," he said, "to see that you are all right. You can't imagine how sorry I am that you have had this unhappy experience."

She demurred at first to his suggestion that he should go upstairs with her, but presently agreed, and he followed her up two flights, until they came to the door of the little flat. Again he had to use the key for her.

"I'll wait here while you put your lights on," he said. "Lights are great comforters."

She went inside, and suddenly he heard an exclamation of surprise. Without waiting for an invitation he followed her in. She was in a small sitting-room and was staring helplessly from side to side, as well she might, because the room had evidently been ransacked. The floor was covered with a litter of papers which had evidently been thrown from a small pigeon-holed desk against the wall. The drawers were open and articles of attire were scattered about; pictures were hanging awry as though somebody had been searching behind them.

They looked at one another in silence.

"Somebody's been here," said Tom unnecessarily, then stooped to pick something from the floor. It was a small brass button, bearing on its face an engraved design.

Tom Camberley turned it over and over in his hand. "This crest seems familiar," he said and the girl took the button from his hand.

She looked from the button to her employer.

"It is the crest of the Ranee of Butilata," she said.