Читать книгу The Complete Detective Sgt. Elk Series (6 Novels in One Edition) - Edgar Wallace - Страница 9

Table of Contents

He was a slender, distinguished man, and dressed in black, which is the colour of Spain.

Seeing him, on windy days, when bleak, icy air-streams poured down from the circling Sierras, and made life in Madrid insupportable, one might have marked him down as a Spaniard. His black felt hat and his velvet-lined cappa with its high collar would show him to be such from a distance, while nearer at hand his olive complexion, his delicateiy aquiline nose, and slightly upturned black moustache, would confirm the distant impression. He had come to Burgos from Madrid by an express, and had travelled all night, and yet he was the trimmest and most alert of the crowd which thronged the Calle de Vitoria, a crowd made up of peasants, tourists, and soldiers.

He made a slow progress, for the crowd grew thicker in the vicinity of the Casa del Cordón, where the loyal countryfolk waited patiently for a glimpse of their young king.

The stranger stood for a little while looking up at the expressionless windows of the Casa, innocent of curtain, but strangely clean. He speculated on the value of life — of royal life.

“If I were to kill the king,” he mused, “Europe would dissolve into one big shudder. If, being dead, I came forward offering to restore him to life for fifty million francs the money would be instantly forthcoming on the proof of my ability. Yet were I to go now to the king’s minister saying—’It is easy for me to kill the king, but if you will give me the money you would spend on his obsequies, I will stay my hand,’ I should be kicked out, arrested, and possibly confined as a lunatic.”

He nodded his head slowly, and as he turned away he took a little notebook from his pocket, and inscribed—” The greatest of miracles is self-restraint.” Then he rolled a cigarette and walked slowly back to the Cafe Suizo in the Espolon.

A cleanshaven priest, with a thin, intellectual face, was stirring his coffee at one of the tables, and since this was the least occupied the stranger made for it. He raised his hat to the priest and sat down.

“I apologise for intruding myself, father,” he said, “but the other tables—”

The priest smiled and raised a protesting hand.

“The table is at your disposition, my son,” he said.

He was about the same age as the stranger, but he spoke with the assurance of years. His voice was modulated, his accent refined, his presence that of a gentleman.

“A Jesuit,” thought the stranger, and regarded him with politely veiled curiosity. Jesuits had a fascination for him. They were clever, and they were good; but principally they were a mysterious force that rode triumphant over the prejudice of the world and the hatred in the Church.

“If I were not an adventurer,” he said aloud, and with an air of simplicity, “I should be a Jesuit.”

The priest smiled again, looking at him with calm interest.

“My son,” he said, “if I were not a Jesuit priest, I should be suspicious of your well-simulated frankness.”

Here would have come a deadlock to a man of lesser parts than the stranger, but he was a very adaptable man. None the less, he was surprised into a laugh which showed his white teeth.

“In Spain,” he said, “no gambit to conversation is known. I might have spoken of the weather, of the crowd, of the king — I chose to voice my faults.”

The priest shook his head, still smiling.

“It is of no importance,” he said quietly; “ — you are a Russian, of course?”

The stranger stared at him blankly. These Jesuits — strange stories had been told about them. A body with a secret organisation, spread over the world — it had been said that they were hand-in-hand with the police.

“I knew you were a Russian; I lived for some time in St. Petersburg. Besides, you are only Spanish to your feet,” the Jesuit looked down at the stranger’s boots,—” they are not Spanish; they are much too short.”

The stranger laughed again. After all, this was a confirmation of his views of Jesuits.

“You, my father,” he accused in his turn, “are a teacher; a professor at the College of Madrid: a professor of languages.” He stopped and looked up to the awning that spread above him, seeking inspiration. “A professor of Greek,” he said slowly.

“Arabic,” corrected the other; “ — but that deduction isn’t clever, because the Jesuits at Madrid are all engaged in scholastic work.”

“But I knew you came from Madrid.”

“Because we both came by the same train,” said the calm priest, “and for the same purpose.”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed.

“For what purpose, father?” he asked.

“To witness the eclipse,” said the priest. A few minutes later the stranger watched the black-robed figure with the broad-rimmed hat disappearing in the crowd with a little feeling of irritation.

He drank the remainder of his café en tasse, paid the waiter, and stepping out into the stream, was swept up the hill to where a number of English people were gathered, with one eye upon their watches and another upon the livid shadow that lay upon the western sky.

He found a place on the slope of the hill tolerably clear of sightseers, and spread a handkerchief carefully on the bare baked earth and sat down. He had invested a penny in a strip of smoked glass, and through this he peered critically at the sun. The hour of contact was at hand, and he could see the thin rim of the obstruction cover the edge of the glaring ball.

“Say, this will do; it’s not so crowded.”

The stranger buried his chin in the high collar of his cappa, pulled down his felt hat over his eyes, and from beneath its brim gazed eagerly at the newcomers.

One was short and stout and breathed stertorously, having recently climbed the hill. His face was a heavy oval, with deep creases running from nostril to jaw. The other, the speaker, was a tall, lean man, with an eagle cast of countenance. He wore, somewhat carelessly, a brown overcoat and a derby. Both were unmistakably American tourists, who had stopped off at Burgos to see the eclipse.

“Phew!” exclaimed the fat man. “I don’t know which was worse, the climb or the crowd. I hate crowds,” he grumbled. “You lose things,”

“Have you lost anything?” asked the other. His own hand went unconsciously to his breast pocket. The stranger saw this out of the corner of his eye — inside breast pocket on the left, he noted.

“You shouldn’t carry valuables in a place like this,” the man continued, “that is to say, not money.”

“How about letters, eh, Baggin? Letters — and plans? They are sometimes worth money to the right party.”

His companion frowned. “Nothing that I carry is worth money,” he returned shortly. “I flatter myself that not a man in the world, no, not even you, Grayson,” there was a slight sneer in his voice, “could make head or tail of my memoranda. And yet, there it is, the entire proposition, written down, in black and white. But it’s all in code, and I carry the code in my head.”

“I’m sincerely glad to hear it,” replied the other. He looked about him nervously. “I have a feeling that we oughtn’t to have come here.”

“You make me tired,” said Baggin wearily.

“We oughtn’t be seen together,” persisted the other. “All sorts of people are here. Men from the city, perhaps. Suppose I should be recognised — my picture was in all the papers.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Baggin roughly. “And for Heaven’s sake, don’t peer around in that silly fashion. Let me give you an epigram of Poltavo’s. ‘It is the observer who is always observed.’ Rather neat, eh?”

“I wish he were in with us on this thing.”

“I don’t,” retorted Baggin. “So that’s settled. He’s done his work, and that’s the end of him.”

“I doubt it,” returned the other thoughtfully.

“And, frankly, if the matter comes up again, I shall vote to admit him.”

“Well, wait till it does come up,” growled Baggin. “And don’t talk shop in a crowd like this.

Do you know what Poltavo says? ‘Men babble away their secrets, and whisper away their lives.’” There was a long pause, and the stranger knew that one of the Americans was making dumb-show signals of warning. They were nodding at him, he felt sure, so he bowed and asked politely:

“At what hour is the eclipse?”

“No savvy,” said the fat man, “no hablo Espagnol.”

The stranger shrugged his shoulders, and turned again to the contemplation of the plain below.

“He doesn’t speak English,” said the fat man, “none of these beggars do.”

His friend made no reply, but after a silence of a few minutes he said quietly and in English:

“Look at that balloon.”

But the stranger was not to be trapped by a simple trick like that, and continued his stolid regard of the landscape; besides he had seen the balloons parked on the outskirts of the town, and knew that intrepid scientists would make the ascent to gather data.

He took another look at the sun. The disc was and blue, and the little clouds that flecked the sky were iridescent. Crowds still poured up the hill, and the slope was now covered with people. He had to stand up, and in doing so, he found himself side by side with the fat man. A strange light was coming to the world; there were triple shadows on the ground, and the stout man shifted uneasily.

“Don’t like this, Baggin,” he said fretfully, “it’s hateful — never did like these wonders of the sky, they make me nervous. It’s awful. Look out there, out west behind you. It’s black, black — it’s like the end of the world!”

“Cut it out!” said his unimaginative companion.

Then of a sudden the black shadow in the west leaped across the sky, and the world went grey-black. Where the sun had been was a hoop of fire, a bubbling, boiling circle of golden light, and the circling horizon was a dado of bright yellow. It was as though the sun had set at its zenith, and the sunset glows were shown, east, west, north, and south.

“My God, this is awful!”

The stout man covered his face with one hand and clung tightly with the other to Baggin. He was oblivious to everything, save a gripping fear of the unknown that clawed at his heart. Baggin himself paled, and set his jaw grimly.

For the moment he was blind and deaf to the hustling, murmuring crowd about him; he only knew that he stood in the darkness at high noon, and that something was happening which he could not compress within the limits of his understanding.

Three minutes the eclipse lasted; then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.

A blazing, blinding wave of light flooded the world, and the stars that had studded the sky went out.

“Yes — yes, I know I’m a fool.” Grayson’s face was bathed in perspiration. “It’s — it’s my temperament. But never again! It’s an experience.” He shook his head, as his trembling legs carried him down the hillside.

“You’re all right,” said Baggin reassuringly.

“I’ll admit that it was a bit spooky.” He tapped his pocket mechanically, and stopped dead.

“Gone!” he gasped, and dived into his pocket.

“My memorandum book!” Suddenly he grasped his companion and shook him savagely.

“It was you, damn you! I felt you pawing over me in the dark.”

Grayson looked at him goodnaturedly. “Don’t be an ass, Baggin,” he said. “What would I do with your code when I had it? God knows I don’t want the responsibility of this business!”

Baggin released him sullenly.

“I — I beg pardon, Grayson. But I did feel hands upon me in the darkness, and thought at the time it was you. I daresay it was that accursed Spaniard.”

He looked about him eagerly. The crowd was dispersing in all directions. The stranger was not to be seen.

“Thank Heaven, the thing was in cipher. He won’t be able to make anything of it, anyway. He probably thought it was a fat wallet full of money, and will be desperately disappointed.” He laughed mirthlessly. Plainly he was greatly disturbed. Grayson observed him with a malicious satisfaction.

“You shouldn’t carry valuables around in a place like this,” he remarked gravely.

The two men descended the hill and made their way to their hotel.

The stranger went into the cathedral, and took from the pocket of his mantle a small memorandum book.

“‘Men babble away their secrets, and whisper away their lives,’” he murmured with a smile.

“Never was my friend Baggin more apropos.” He set to work upon the cipher. It was very quiet in the cathedral.

That evening, at ten o’clock, the trim serving-maid tapped lightly at the sittingroom door of the two American gentlemen, and tendered Baggin, who answered it, a card.

“Tell him to come up,” he said in a surly voice.

He flipped the bit of pasteboard across to his friend. “Poltavo! What the devil is he doing in this part of the world? No good, I’ll be bound.”

A sudden idea shot across his mind and struck him pale. He stood in the middle of the room, his head down, his brows drawn blackly together. A red light flickered in his eyes. Grayson, lounging easily in a deep leather chair, regarded him with something of the contempt the lazy man always entertains for the active one. The beginning of a secret dislike formed vaguely in his brain. His thoughts flew to Poltavo, a bright contrast. “I wish he would bring me news of Doris,” he muttered. A wistful look crept into his face.

There was a discreet double knock at the door, it fell open, and Count Poltavo was revealed framed picturesquely in the archway.

He wore a black felt hat and a velvet-lined cappa which fell about him in long graceful folds. A small dark moustache adorned his upper lip. He removed it, and the hat, gravely, and stood bareheaded before them, a slender, distinguished figure.

“Good-evening, gentlemen.”

He spoke in a soft, well-modulated voice, which held a hint of laughter. “Mr. Baggin, permit me to restore something of yours which I — er — found upon the hill.” He held out the memorandum book, smiling.

Baggin sprang at him with an oath.

The count, still smiling, flung out his other hand, with a motion of defence, and the candlelight gleamed brightly upon a small dagger of Spanish workmanship. “‘Ware!” he cried softly. “That point, I fancy, is sharp.”

Baggin fell back a pace, his face twitching with rage.

“You would knife me, an unarmed man!” he cried furiously. “You low foreign cur!”

The count took a quick step toward him. His eyes sparkled. “I must ask you to retract that,” he said. There was a dangerous note in his tones like the thin edge of a blade.

Grayson started to his feet. “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” he cried. “Are you gone stark mad, to quarrel over such a trifle? Baggin, stop glaring like a caged beast. Sit down. The count has returned your book, which doubtless you dropped upon the hill. And did you not boast that its contents were undecipherable?,”

Baggin took the book. “I may have been over-hasty,” he acknowledged grudgingly, suspicion still in his eye. “But your disguise—”

“Was necessary, my friend, and I accept your apology. Say nothing more of it.” The count unfastened the clasp at his throat, stuck the dagger into the panel of the door, and hung his hat and mantle upon it. The moustache he held up between thumb and forefinger with a grimace.

“How do you like me with mustachios, Mr. Grayson? They fell off three times to-day.” The man whom most of London supposed to be dead laughed heartily.

“They change the entire cast of your countenance,” he remarked candidly. “They make you look like a rascal.”

“That is true,” admitted the count. “I have observe’ the same. They bring out the evil streak in my nature. I used to wear them, five years ago, in London,” he continued pensively, “and then I shaved for — ah — aesthetic reasons. Mr. T. B. Smith does not fancy mustachios. He thought they gave me the look of a nihilist — or perhaps a Russian spy. Apropos,” he nodded to Grayson, “he has charge of your case. He is a clever man, my friend.” He sighed gently.

Grayson looked at him sombrely. “I wish I were out of this job,” he muttered, “and back in America with DoYis. You saw her?”he demanded eagerly.

The count nodded, with a significant glance toward Baggin. The latter caught the look, and suspicion flamed again in his eye.

“May I ask you a plain question?” he said harshly.

“Surely!”

“How much of this business do you know?”

The count permitted himself a smile. “Since this afternoon,” he answered softly, “I know — all.”

Baggin’s face grew black with rage. “Thief! I knew it!” He stuttered in the intensity of his passion.

The count surveyed him dispassionately.

“Wrath in, reason out,” he murmured. Grayson intervened again. “For my part,” he declared, “I am heartily glad of it. Poltavo is one of us now, and can tell us what he thinks of the scheme. I have always wished for his opinion.”

Baggin rose abruptly, and strode about the room. Plainly the man was in a great, almost uncontrollable passion. The veins on his temples stood out in knots, and his hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically. Presently he turned, mastering himself with a strong effort, and held out his hand.

“I agree,” he said in a constrained voice. “You are one of us, count.” The two shook hands and resumed their chairs.

“And now,” said Grayson, “tell us what you think of the scheme?”

The count hesitated for a minute. “Good,” he said at length, “and bad! Admirable in the general plan, but absurd in some of the details.”

“The general plan was mine,” said Baggin gruffly.

“And the absurd details were probably mine,” admitted Grayson with cheerfulness.

“May I give you some suggestions?” asked the count politely.

“Go ahead!” returned Baggin.

“This afternoon — after I had deciphered your notes — it took me precisely two . hours by the cathedral chimes to work out the key — I ventured to revise them, and also to devise a different plan of retirement for the committee. You would care to know it?” He looked deferentially at Baggin, whose bent brows relaxed.

“Draw up your chair to the table,” he said in reply. “We’ll overhaul the entire proposition. There will be difficulties If you could invest an equal share of money—”

“I thought of that,” answered the count simply.

“And I fancy I can — how you say — raise the required amount. May I speak for a moment to Mr. Grayson — on a very personal matter?”

He drew the older man aside, and conversed with him briefly, in low tones.

Surprise, incredulity, displeasure chased each other across Grayson’s countenance in rapid succession. “Very well,” he said finally, somewhat brusquely. “You have my consent — until I see Doris.”

They returned to the table. “I will be security for Count Poltavo,” he declared to Baggin, “for half-a-million pounds.”