Читать книгу Big Foot - Edgar Wallace - Страница 6

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"YOU know Mr. Elson?"

Jim Ferraby knew Mr. Stephen Elson well enough to be satisfied in his mind that he did not wish to know him better.

He had been the principal (if reluctant) witness in the case of the State against Luke Mark Sullivan, and Elson had taken that light-fingered tramp's acquittal as a personal affront.

Jim was prejudiced against Elson for many reasons, not least of which was that gentleman's insolent admiration of Elfa Leigh. It was insolent from Jim's point of view, and, he hoped, from Elfa's. Not that she meant anything in his life. She was merely the girl on the other side of the landing; she had a beautiful soft voice and grey eyes set wide apart, and the colouring that is only seen in the advertisements of complexion soaps. But Jim Ferraby took a detached interest in her (as he told himself). She was just a very charming, very cultured, and, to tell the truth, rather beautiful young woman, and he admired her in an aloof, perfectly friendly and philosophical way.

But she was a lady, and therefore socially the equal of anybody in Mr. Cardew's drawing-room. And Jim Ferraby didn't like the easy familiarity of Stephen Elson. That he was invited at all was a surprise, almost a cause for indignation, to Jim Ferraby. His host might not be a great detective, but he was sensitive to certain impressions, and he took the first opportunity of drawing the young man aside.

"I had quite forgotten that you had met Elson," he said. "It is very embarrassing, but the truth is, it was Hannah's suggestion that he should be invited. In fact, every time that man has been to this house it has been Hannah's suggestion. She pointed out to me that we had not asked him to dine in a year, and I thought this would be an excellent opportunity. I don't think I could endure him tete-a-tete!"

Jim laughed. "I am not at all embarrassed," he said, "though he was infernally rude to me after the case. What was he, and how did he come to settle in England?"

Cardew shook his head. "That is one of the little matters for investigation which I shall take up some day," he said. "I know nothing about him except that he's very rich." He looked across the drawing room to where the broad-shouldered American was engaged in a frolicsome conversation with the girl. "They get on well together," he said irritatingly; "I suppose because they're both from the same country—"

"Miss Leigh is not an American?" said Jim in surprise.

Cardew nodded. "Yes, she is an American girl: I thought you knew. Her father, who was unfortunately killed during the war, was an official of the American Treasury, and I believe spent a great deal of his time in this country, where Miss Leigh was educated. I never met him—the father, I mean—but he occupied quite a good position. In fact, she was recommended to me by the American Ambassador."

Jim was watching her all the time Cardew was speaking. He did not know that one of her colouring could look so exquisite in black, or that so plain a gown could enhance her beauty. "I never dreamt she was American," was all he could say.

If he had been so ignorant, his bete noir could lay claim to having detected Elfa's nationality.

"New England, I guess?" said Mr. Elson. "Queer thing I didn't know you were good Yankee the first time we got together."

"Vermont," said Elfa, by no means overjoyed at meeting a fellow-countryman.

He was red-faced, coarse-featured, and about him was the perpetual aroma of whisky and stale cigar smoke. His cheeks were puffed and his nose bulbous. "I'm from the Middle West myself," he said complacently. "Do you know St. Paul? It's a pretty good little burg. Say, Miss Leigh, what's that lawyer doing here?" He nodded over towards Jim, and his voice was loud enough for that young man to overhear the question. He would have given a great deal to have heard the rejoinder.

"Mr. Ferraby is supposed to be one of the cleverest lawyers in the Public Prosecutor's office," she said quietly.

She explained the mysteries of this department, which combines the functions of Federal, State and District Attorney.

"Is that so?" said the other thoughtfully. "Well, he may be a crackajack prosecutor out of court, but when he gets before a judge, I can tell you that fellow is just nothing!"

"Are you an old friend of Mr. Cardew's?" asked Elfa, anxious to turn the talk to more agreeable channels.

Elson scratched his none-too-well-shaven chin.

"Why, he's a neighbour of mine. Pretty good lawyer, eh?"

He was watching her through half-closed lids.

"Mr. Cardew isn't in practice now," she answered, and he laughed noisily.

"He's strong for that sleuth stuff, eh?" he chuckled. "I've never known a grown man to get that way."

His admiring eyes did not leave her face, and in her discomfort she looked appealingly across the room to where Jim stood, and, recognizing the signal of distress, he came across and rescued her.

It was obvious both to the girl and to Jim Ferraby that Mr. Cardew was ill at ease. So much so that he seemed to have forgotten the excuse of Jim's visit, and never once referred to Hannah. From time to time he looked at his watch and glanced anxiously, almost fearfully, towards the door; and when at last Hannah Shaw appeared, more stiff, more black, more forbidding than ever, and stated brusquely that dinner was ready, the lawyer almost dropped his glasses in his apprehension, "Will you hold dinner," he begged, "for a few minutes? The fact is, Hannah, I've invited a friend of ours—the superintendent—to come along."

She bridled, but said nothing.

"I met him today: he was very civil," Mr. Cardew hastened to excuse himself for his daring, "and really I don't see why we should be bad friends. I don't know why I'm telling you all this..."

He floundered into a morass of unintelligibility. It would have been pathetic if it were not amusing, this spectacle of the tyranny wielded over the master of Barley Stack. To Jim it was no new experience, for he had seen something of the sort on his previous visit. But Elfa could only stare in amazement as the woman stalked out of the room, disapproval in every line of her figure.

Cardew rubbed his chin uneasily. "I'm afraid Hannah doesn't like our friend...and really, It's very disturbing, most disturbing." He looked pleadingly at Ferraby as though imploring some moral support.

"Few housekeepers like to see their plans changed," said Jim soothingly.

Five uncomfortable minutes passed, and then Hannah reappeared. "How long are we to wait, Mr. Cardew?" she rasped.

"We'll go in immediately, Hannah," said Cardew, with a quick glance at his watch, and something of relief in his face. "I don't think our friend can be coming."

The girl sat next to Ferraby at the round table, with a vacant chair at her side, which should have been occupied by Superintendent Minter. "Poor Mr. Cardew!" she murmured under her breath.

Jim grinned, but a glance at the face of the woman, seated immediately opposite him, arrested his amusement. She was glaring at the girl with a malignity which for the moment took his breath. And then, as the soup plates were being removed, came the tardy guest.

Sooper was never strong for clothes. Jim had the impression that the ill-fitting dress-suit he wore must have been bequeathed to him by a long-dead relative, or possibly purchased from a waiter when it was long past restaurant use.

"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen," murmured the guest, looking round the company through his half-closed eyes. "Never take dinner at night as a rule, and only remembered your kind invite just as I was going to bed. Good evening, Miss Shaw."

Hannah's eyes slowly rose and met his.

"Good evening, Superintendent," she said icily.

"Nice weather we've been having—the warmest weather I can remember for this time of the year."

It was the first time Elfa had seen the redoubtable Sooper, and she felt a quick instinct of friendliness towards the grim old man in his worn and shabby dress-suit. The shirt he wore was frayed at the opening. There were two large iron-mould stains in the most conspicuous part of the breast; the tie about his collar had worked round half-way to his ear, but he carried himself like an aristocrat.

"I think he is splendid...is that the superintendent?" she said under her breath, when, later; Sooper's attention was diverted to his host.

"Yes: the King Pippin of all sleuths—in Europe, anyway. Listen...he's kidding."

"Not often I go out to parties," Sooper was drawling. "Seems I'm too unsociable to invite. Never can tell one knife from another, an' mostly use the wrong beer glass. That's where we poor policemen get wrong—no manners. Stands to reason, if I went after one of those swell mobs an' got myself dolled up for s'ciety, they'd know me first time. I was sayin' to my sergeant only this afternoon, 'there ain't enough swell amateurs in this game: what we want are fellers that can wear evenin' dress without lookin' as if they were in fancy dress'."

Mr. Cardew looked at his guest suspiciously. "The police have their proper functions," he said primly. "The only contentious point between us, Superintendent, is that certain cases require—er—a greater refinement of—er—intellect and a more intensive appreciation of psychology."

"Sure they do." Elson dropped his elbows on the table and leant forward, nodding mechanically. "That's what you fellers miss..."

Suddenly he stopped. He had caught Hannah's eyes, and in them Jim Ferraby read an urgent warning.

"That psychology's certainly good," agreed Sooper almost humbly, "an' that's just what we want. Every young officer ought to get soaked in it. Next to anthro—you know—the word, Mr. Cardew."

"Anthropology," said Mr. Cardew graciously.

"That's rum: next to that, psychology's the grandest ornament to a man's intelligence. Next comes good eyesight. I'm a bit short-sighted for readin', but I can see a million miles. Never have the blinds drawn, Mr. Cardew?"

The bow windows of the dining-room were uncovered except for diaphanous casement curtains that draped the lower halves. The half-light dusk lay on the lawn outside, and the tall sycamores at the end of the garden showed black outlines against the deep blue of the sky. The rhododendron bushes nearer the house made a shadowy blot.

"No," said Cardew, in surprise. "Why? We're not under observation—the public road is nearly a quarter of a mile away."

"Just wondered," apologized Sooper. "I don't know much about swell houses: live in a cottage myself, an' always pull the blinds when I eat—keeps the meal private. How many gardeners might you have here?" he asked.

"Four or five—I forget," said Cardew, and Sooper was impressed.

"That's a lot to find sleepin' room for," he said.

"They don't sleep here: my head gardener has a cottage near the road. Going back to the subject of the police—"

But Sooper was not inclined to go back to the subject of the police. Rather was he anxious to add to his knowledge of Mr. Cardew's domestic economy. "Why, I thought you had to keep gardeners or odd men around at nights to water the flowers an' trap moles?"

Gordon Cardew was obviously bored. "No; my gardeners leave at seven o'clock. I certainly would not allow them to prowl around—what is wrong, Superintendent?"

Sooper had risen and was walking to the door. Suddenly there was a click, and all the lights went out. "Stand back from the table against the wall, all of you!" His harsh voice was vibrant with authority. "I turned the lights out—there's somebody in the shadow of those bushes and he's got a gun!"