Читать книгу The Three Oak Mystery - Edgar Wallace - Страница 9

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"HAD anybody the keys to this safe besides Mr. Mandle?" he asked Timms, when he had recovered from the mild shock of the discovery.

"Yes, sir, Miss Molly had keys," said the valet. "I don't think there was anything in the safe of value. Miss Molly used it to keep her account books and her cash for household expenses."

"Nothing else?"

Timms hesitated.

"I believe there was some jewellery there, sir. One of the maids told me once she had seen Miss Molly looking at it, and that Mr. Mandle had been very angry with her. Mr. Mandle never kept any very large sums of money in the house. When he wanted money I used to go into Godalming to the bank, generally on a Friday."

For ten minutes Socrates paced the lawn, his hands behind him, his chin on his breast; and Lexington, stunned and bewildered by this new turn of events, sat watching him, his unlit pipe in his hand.

"What are we going to do now, Soc?" he asked at last when Soc brought his restless pacings to a halt.

"We're going to have breakfast now," said Socrates Smith brightly. "I've had just as much mystery for the morning as my system will stand."

His breakfast was a hearty one. Lexington scarcely ate a morsel.

"It's the girl that's worrying you," said Socrates, sipping his coffee and looking across the rim at his brother. "You're a darned old sentimentalist, Lex."

"She can't be mixed up in this affair, she can't," protested Lexington. "Do you imagine that a girl like that, with a face—"

"I've known some wonderfully beautiful criminals in my time, Lex," said Soc thoughtfully.

Lex glared at his brother.

"She's no criminal!"

"I'm not saying she is, so you can take that murderous look off your face and remember that violence of any kind is repugnant to me. You look as if, with the slightest encouragement, you'd hit me."

"But, Soc, old boy, it's impossible! Absolutely impossible!" said the other vigorously. "How could she carry a man?—why it's ridiculous."

"How could anybody carry him, for the matter of that, supposing that he didn't want to go?" said Socrates. "At any rate, the mystery of the signal is cleared up."

"Cleared up?"

"Of course; it was Jetheroe signalling to Miss Molly."

"Then you don't believe—?"

"I certainly don't believe that he hadn't seen her for days. I am equally certain that he saw her yesterday, because those shoes she was wearing were the shoes she wore when we arrived."

Lexington gasped.

"Are you sure?" he said incredulously.

"Absolutely," nodded Soc. "I particularly remember the queer yellow buckles."

Lexington was silent, and the other went on.

"Yes, she was at Jetheroe's house last night, for what reason I cannot pretend to explain. She went in response to his signal."

Suddenly a smile dawned in his brother's eyes.

"You're an owl, Soc," he said. "How could he signal her when her room is on the other side of the house?"

This was a blow to Soc's theory.

"That's true," he said thoughtfully. "But why should she have been in her room? She may have been in the garden waiting for that signal."

"She wouldn't have seen it," said Lexington. "You can't see the White House except from the far end of the lawn or from one of these upper windows."

"That upsets one of my hypotheses," admitted the old man. "You're quite right, Lexington, there's the making of a detective in you, though it is a most obvious fact that you discovered. She certainly could not have seen that signal. Now who the devil was Jetheroe dot-dashing to?"

"To Mandle?" suggested Lex, but his brother shook his head.

"I hardly think so. No, that doesn't somehow fit in with my theories. Here comes our inspector, and we have got to explain Miss Molly Templeton's absence."

Lexington frowned.

"Couldn't we say she left for London last night?"

Soc shook his head.

"Does it occur to you," he said quietly, "that Miss Templeton may also be a victim?"

"Good God!" Lexington jumped to his feet, his face white. "You don't seriously suggest that, Soc, do you?"

"It is a possibility which we cannot afford to dismiss. We shall have to tell the inspector all we know."

Twenty-seven years of police service had made Inspector Mallett proof against surprise. He listened to the story of Molly's disappearance without comment until Socrates had finished.

"It's extraordinary," he said. "I've already sent a message into Hindhead and Haslemere, and we will have all the men we can spare to search the country. Then that shoe you found—"

"Was Miss Templeton's. Miss Templeton is Mandle's step-daughter."

Apparently the inspector did not resent Soc's mild deception, and went off to question Mr. Jetheroe.

"Now for the finger-print," said Socrates, and wrote a hurried letter to Scotland Yard enclosing a leaf torn from his book. "Timms can take this up to London," he said. "Of course, it may be a wholly fruitless enquiry, but one cannot afford to take risks."

"Do you think that Jetheroe is known to the police?" asked Lexington.

"He may be," replied his brother.

He looked at his watch and, to his surprise, it was only a little before nine. What a lot had been crowded into the space of two and a half hours!

"There's nothing to do but wait till the inspector comes back," he told Lexington, and here they had not long to wait.

Inspector Mallett's little car came puffing and blowing up the drive and the inspector jumped out.

"Jetheroe knows nothing," he said, "although his evidence will be important at fixing the hour at which the crime occurred."

"You mean the shot he heard?" asked Soc, and the inspector nodded.

"Has anybody been over to Stone, inspector?"

"No, I haven't had a man to spare yet. I think it wouldn't be a bad idea to go over straight away and tell him myself. Will you come?"

"Can you find room for us all in that car?" asked the sceptical Soc, and the inspector, who was not a little proud of his tiny machine, snorted scornfully, and told a fairy story of having accommodated some seven policemen on the occasion of a burglary which had been committed in the neighbourhood some months before.

"Bob will be terribly upset," said Socrates.

"These fellows were life friends, and he won't be a bad bloodhound to put on the trail, for old Bob is the cleverest sleuth I know."

"It is curious Mr. Stone getting religious," said Mallett with a grin.

"Has he got it bad?" asked Lex drily.

"Well, you never know with Mr. Stone," said Mallett, skilfully negotiating a big stone that was in the road. "He takes things up and drops them. He hasn't much interest in life, you know, he's a bachelor."

Socrates remembered the sneer of John Mandle about Bob's desire for publicity, but said nothing.

"He's going to address a revival meeting," said the inspector. "His name is printed on bills which are posted all over Godalming. A very jolly gentleman to get religion, isn't he?"

"You can be jolly and pious," said Socrates sententiously.

They swept up a long avenue of pines and came in view of Prince's Place, a much more pretentious building than the modest house which John Mandle had occupied.

"He is a bachelor," said the inspector again, and that was apparently the formula by which he explained not only the eccentricities of his acquaintances but also their opulence.

"I wonder if he is an early riser," said Socrates as he pressed the bell.

Apparently Mr. Bob Stone was as dilatory in his rising as his friends. A staid footman said that Mr. Stone had not yet rung for his shaving water.

"I must see him at once," said Socrates. "Show me the way to his room."

The man hesitated a moment.

"You are a great friend of Mr. Stone's, are you, sir? because he doesn't like being disturbed;" and then his eyes fell upon the inspector.

"Good morning, Mr. Mallett. I suppose it's all right this gentleman going up? You know Mr. Stone is very particular, he doesn't like strangers to come into the house even."

So he was afraid, too, thought Socrates.

"It's all right, Jackson," said Mallett. "These gentlemen are friends of Mr. Stone."

The man led the way up the broad flight of stairs and along a wide corridor. At the end was a door.

"This is Mr. Stone's room," said the man, and knocked.

There was no reply, and he turned the handle. The door was locked. He knocked again and looked round anxiously at Socrates.

"Is there any other way into the room?" asked Socrates quickly.

"There's a way in through the bathroom here, sir," he pointed to a smaller door on the right.

This was unlocked and so was the door giving into Bob Stone's bedroom, and Socrates, with a sense of apprehension, turned the handle and walked into the apartment. Then he stopped and stared, for Bob Stone, dressed only in his pyjamas, lay on the bed, a handkerchief tied tightly about his mouth, his hands and his feet knotted firmly together, helpless and glaring!