Читать книгу The Green Archer - Edgar Wallace - Страница 16

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JULIUS was met by his employer the next morning with a cryptic greeting. Mr. Bellamy was never his brightest in the early hours, and he usually worked off his spleen by a shower of fault-finding.

"Don't let my dogs see you," said Abe. "You'd make less than a square meal for them."

Julius was interested in spite of his unease. There were no dogs in the castle, for Abe was not a lover of pets. His employer explained. "I've bought a couple of police dogs," he said, "and they'll go on duty in the hall and corridor from tonight on. If you take my advice, you'll stay in your room until I'm up."

Later, Julius saw the dogs—dour, unfriendly, and wolf-like. In their strange new home they were unapproachable except by Abe himself. He was absolutely fearless, and the animals seemed to recognise immediately and to acknowledge his mastership.

"Handle 'em," said Abe. "Don't be afraid. Touch 'em."

Julius put forth a nervous hand at the nearest beast, and jumped back in a fright as the dog snapped at him.

Julius jumped back in a fright as the dog snapped at him.

"You're scared, and he knows you're scared. Come here, you!" He snapped his finger, and the dog lurched forward, wagging his tail, and sat down, his intelligent head lifted to the big man's face.

"The man who sold 'em to me said I wouldn't master 'em in a month. He's a fool. That house has been rented," he said, going off at a tangent. "What do you call it?"

"Do you mean Lady's Manor?" asked Julius in surprise.

The old man nodded.

"They beat me to it by five minutes. I was on the 'phone to the agent this morning and he told me he'd hired it. Do you know anything about that?"

"No, sir; this is the first I've heard. Who is the newcomer?"

Abe Bellamy shook his head.

"I don't know and I don't care," he said. "Why couldn't they go somewhere else?"

Later in the afternoon Julius accompanied him across the broad, tree-studded path on a tour of inspection.

"I guess that's the place," said Bellamy, pointing with his stick to a squat, grey house, the roof and chimneys of which showed over the high wall which surrounded the park. "I've seen the house before, but I never thought of buying it. Is that a door in the wall?"

"It looks like one," said Julius. "There was probably a connection between the castle and Lady's Manor. It was what they call a dower-house."

The door proved to be an ancient, iron-studded structure that evidently had not been used for years. Its ironwork was rusted, and the surface was half covered with ivy. The fact that it would mean a day's work to open the door did not satisfy the old man.

"Have a mason in from the village and fill up that doorway," he said. "I'll not risk prying people wandering about my land. See to that, Savini."

Julius made a note, and that same afternoon two workmen came from the village and began clearing away the ivy and the weeds preparatory to bricking up the doorway; and when Valerie Howett, viewing the rank garden of her new home, heard the click of steel against stone, she guessed what was happening on the other side of the dilapidated gate.

In many ways Lady's Manor had been a surprise. A more careful scrutiny had revealed the fact that very little interior repair was necessary. The walls of every room were panelled, the ceilings were raftered and needed no more than a coat of whitewash. One of the inlaid floors was badly in need of repair, but to her joy Valerie found that it was possible to move into the place almost at once, and this was a step which she decided to take.

The obedient Mr. Howett agreed, and before the cleaners were out of the house, or the wash on the ceiling dry, huge furniture lorries passed in procession through the quiet lanes of Berkshire and backed into the drive of Lady's Manor.

From his bedroom window Abe Bellamy one morning saw smoke rising above the trees in the direction of the house and grunted. He was up earlier in these days, because the servants showed a pardonable reluctance to entering the living part of the castle until the watchful police dogs were leashed. These guardians of the night ranged the castle at large, and Julius once heard the soft patter of their feet in the night and shivered. And the presence of dogs had been effective, for since their arrival there had been no sign of the Green Archer.

Mr. Bellamy caught a glimpse of a headline in the Daily Globe:

POLICE DOGS GUARD THE CHICAGO

MILLIONAIRE FROM A GHOSTLY ARCHER

and growled angrily. But he had resigned himself to this undesirable publicity; and although he bore a grudge against Spike Holland, he did not feel called upon to wage a vendetta against the reporter, though in the past he had ruined newspaper men for less. And on top of this, Spike Holland had the audacity to appear at the lodge of the castle and demand admission. This was the day following his return from Belgium.

"Tell him," snapped Abe Bellamy over the telephone, "that if he comes anywhere near I'll set my dogs on him."

"He says he has some information about Creager, the man who was murdered the other day."

"I don't want to know it," roared Bellamy, and slammed down the telephone.

A little while later, going into the grounds on one of his restless excursions, he stood stock still, momentarily paralysed with wrath and astonishment. The red-haired reporter was walking calmly across the green, a cigar in the corner of his mouth, his hands in his pockets. One of these he removed to wave a cheerful greeting to the dumbfounded millionaire.

"How did you get here?"

"Over the wall," said Spike brightly.

Abe Bellamy's red face went a shade darker.

"You can go over the wall again," he said harshly. "You've no right here, you scum. Get!"

"See here, Mr. Bellamy. There's no sense in making a fuss. I'm here, and you might as well listen to me."

"Listen nothing. Get out!"

The old man came toward the reporter, and there was no doubt as to his intentions.

"I think you'd better listen," said Spike quietly and not budging an inch. "The police have found a copy of a letter that Creager wrote to you about a man called Z., and they are mighty anxious to know the year it was written in and who was the man."

Instantly Bellamy's attitude changed.

"A letter?" he said incredulously. "Written to me? Did the fool—did he keep copies of his letters?"

Spike nodded.

"They found hundreds of copies in his bureau. I guess it was a practice of his."

Abe Bellamy thought awhile. Then:

"Come inside," he said gruffly, and Spike followed him, triumphant.