Читать книгу The Woman from the East - Edgar Wallace - Страница 8

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Tom Camberley went back to his office and rang for Dora Mead.

"I'm leaving the firm," he said.

"Have you quarrelled?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, I've quarrelled all right," said Tom grimly.

"Did he say anything about—?"

He shook his head.

"No, I didn't go very deeply into the question of your unfortunate adventure at Newbury," he said, "and I am as much in the dark today as I was last night. Why on earth did the Ranee treat you so badly?"

He followed the new train of thought musingly.

"I've been wondering too," said the girl. "I was telling Grace Drew and she said that the Ranee was a little mad."

Tom nodded.

"There's something in that, but it isn't a nice thought that the firm has a lunatic for a client."

He laughed.

"However, I shan't be a member of the firm much longer," he said.

He dictated some letters, but he was not in a good mood for business and the rest of the morning was idled away in speculation. Once he walked to the window and looking down into the busy street, saw a car drawn up before the main door. It was a beautiful car and from the angle at which he surveyed it, he saw that the windows were heavily curtained. He was wondering who the owner was when Dora came quickly into the office.

"The Ranee is here," she said, "I wonder if she has come to complain—"

"The Ranee," he repeated quickly, "I should like to see that lady."

He put on his hat, walked out of his office and down the broad stairs to the main entrance. As he reached the pavement the car was moving away. Miss Drew, bare-headed was nodding her farewell to the occupant. Tom had a glimpse of a slight figure in black behind the curtain and then a hand came out to pull up the window. It was a curious hand and Tom looking at it gasped.

He turned to Miss Drew.

"That was the Ranee, Mr. Camberley. Have you ever seen her?" said the girl pleasantly.

"The Ranee, eh?" said Tom. "No, I have never seen her. I thought she was a young woman?"

"I think she is," said Miss Drew. "She is rather a trying woman. But what makes you think she is not young?"

"I saw her hand," said Tom, "and if that was the hand of a young English woman then I am a Dutchman."

The girl raised her eyebrows.

"I've never noticed her hands," she said. "What was curious about it?"

Tom did not reply immediately.

"Have you ever seen a native's fingernails?" he asked.

"I don't remember," said the girl.

"Well, have a good look at the next native's you see. You will find a blue half-moon on each nail and there was a blue half-moon on the nails of the hand that came to the window. I know that the girl who married the Rajah of Butilata has lived in India for some years but I'll swear that she had not lived there long enough to display that characteristic of the native."

He left the girl standing in the street looking after the disappearing car.

Many things happened in the next six hours to make the day an eventful one for Tom Camberley. He received from his partner a formal offer of a very handsome sum on condition that the partnership was terminated then and there. At first he was for refusing this and then, acting on impulse he took a sheet of paper, wrote an acceptance and sent it by hand to Martin Covent's office. He was impatient to be done with the business. There was something unwholesome in it all. A formal audit of the books would take weeks and those would be weeks charged with impatience and annoyance. And the sum was a large one, larger in fact than he expected to get as his share. He walked into Dora office and found her alone.

"Miss Mead," he said, "I'm going to make a suggestion to you and I wonder if you'll be offended."

She laughed up at him.

"I shall be very much offended if you ask me to go to Newbury again," she said.

"Nothing so interesting as that." said he. "I was going to suggest that you came and dined with me tonight," and then at her quick glance of distrust (or was it merely embarrassment?) he added quickly "I should hate you to bring a chaperone but if you like you can. I want to tell you something of what has happened today. I am leaving the firm."

"Leaving the firm?" she said in such frank dismay that a pleasant little glow went through him. "Oh no, Mr. Camberley, you don't mean that!"

"I'll tell you all about it. Will you dine with me?"

She nodded.

They dined modestly and well at the Trocadero and Tom told all that had happened that day.

"Curiously enough," he said, "the dissolution of our partnership is less interesting to me than my discovery this morning."

"Your discovery?"

He nodded.

"You remember I went dawn to the street intending to have a word with the Ranee of Butilata. The car was just moving off as I arrived and I could only catch a glimpse of the lady inside. But just as the window came abreast of me I saw a hand come out to grip the strap which raised the window. And it was not the hand of a refined English woman or even of a woman who was not refined."

"What do you mean?" asked the girl.

"It was the hand of a native," said Tom emphatically, "and I should say a native of between 40 and 50. The hands were gnarled and veined and very distinctly I saw upon the finger-nails the little blue half-moon which betrays the Easterner."

"But I thought the Ranee was—"

"An English girl?" nodded Tom. "Yes. I thought so too. Now I've got an idea that there's some queer work going on and that the so-called Ranee of Butilata is not the Ranee at all."

"What is your theory?" she asked curiously.

"My theory," said Tom, "is that the Ranee of Butilata is not in England. She is probably dead, Somebody is impersonating her for his or her own purpose. This afternoon I got her account and it is a curious one. She arrived in England two years ago and opened an account with us for six thousand pounds. I have very carefully checked the incoming and out-going money and it is clear to me that six thousand pounds was expended on the house at Newbury and its furnishing. In fact, the lady only had a balance of a few pounds when, after the account had been opened some six months, the second payment was made to her credit. Since then, however, she has been receiving money from India pretty regularly and has now a very respectable balance."

"But it's impossible that she can be anything but English," said Dora shaking her head. "Miss Drew has often told me she has spoken to her and that her English is perfect."

"But she has never seen her face?"

"No," said the girl, after a moment's thought, "I believe the Ranee is always veiled."

"You are sure she always spoke good English," insisted Tom with a puzzled frown. "I wish I could speak to Miss Drew."

"Why not call on her?" asked the girl. "She has a little flat in Southampton Street."

Tom looked at his watch.

"Nine o'clock," he said. "I doubt whether she would be home."

"She always spends her evenings at home," said Dora. "She has often told me how dull she found time in London. I think she is studying accountancy in her spare time."

Tom hesitated.

"Do you know the address?"

"Yes," said the girl. "Kings Croft Mansions, No. 123."

"We'll go," said Tom, and called the waiter.

They took a taxi to Kings Croft Mansions and found that they were a big block of very small flats obviously occupied by professional people. No. 123 was on the fifth floor but happily there was a lift. There were in fact two lifts as the lift-man explained when they asked if Miss Drew was in.

"I don't know sir," he replied. "Sometimes she comes up this way and sometimes through the other entrance, and it's very difficult to know whether she is in or out. She hasn't been up this way for a long time."

They rang the bell at 123 and there was no response. Tom knocked but there was no reply. Accidentally he pushed the flap of the letter-box and uttered an exclamation.

"Why, the box is full of letters!" he said. "She has either a big correspondence or else she hasn't been here for days."

The mat beneath his feet felt uneven and he pulled it up. There were three on four newspapers all the same but of different dates and he took them out.

"Five days' newspapers," he said thoughtfully. "That's queer."

He went along the passage to the other lift.

"No sir," said the liftman, "I haven't seen Miss Drew for several days. She hasn't been home and sometimes she's away for weeks at a time. In fact, sir," he said, "Miss Drew very seldom stays here."

Then, realizing that he was betraying the confidence of one of the tenants of the house, he added hastily:

"She's got a little cottage down in Kent, sir, and I suppose she spends her time there in the pleasant weather."

Tom parted from the girl and went home that night more puzzled than ever.

The night for him was a sleepless one. He was up at five in the morning working in his study and at seven o'clock was in the street. The mystery of Miss Drew was almost as great as the mystery of the Ranee of Butilata. The solution baffled him and he had thought of a dozen without finding one which was convincing. His feet strayed in the direction of Southampton Street and he was within sight of the building when a mud-stained motor-car passed him like a flash and pulled up before the flats. The door opened and a girl jumped out. There was no need to ask who she was. It was Grace Drew. She wore a long black travelling cloak and her face was veiled but he knew her.

She turned to the driver of the car and said something. Without another word the car moved on.

"Excuse me."

Grace Drew was in the hall when Camberley's hand fell on her arm. She turned with a little cry.

"Mr. Camberley," she stammered.

"I'm sorry to bother you at this hour of the morning," said Tom good-humouredly, "but I called to see you last night."

"I wasn't in, of course," she said hurriedly. "I've got a little cottage down in Kent. One of my friends there was sending this car up to town and suggested that I should use it."

"You're a lucky girl to have such friends," said Tom. He could see through the veil that the girl's face was white.

"Perhaps I'd better postpone my inquiries," he said, "until later in the day."

"Thank you," she replied.

He was turning away, lifting his hat, when she came after him.

"Mr. Camberley," she said, "I've no doubt you think it is very extraordinary that I should drive to this place in a motor-car."

She spoke quickly and he could sense her agitation.

"I suppose you think also that this dress," she threw aside the beautiful cloak she was wearing and revealed a costume which even to his inexperienced eye must have cost more than a month's salary, "and all that sort of thing. But perhaps you know...I wanted to keep it a secret...Mr. Covent and I are going to be married."

"I'm awfully glad," said Tom awkwardly, and felt a fool. Though he had stumbled upon an affaire of his partner and the mystery, so far as Miss Drew was concerned, was a mystery no more.

"You won't say a word will you—not for a day or two," she said.

"I will not say a word even in a year or two," smiled Tom and held out his hand. "I congratulate you, or shall I say I congratulate Covent."

He heard her laugh, a queer little laugh he thought.

"Wait and see," she said mockingly and ran up the stairs towards the lift.