Читать книгу The Casual Murderer and other stories - Footner Hulbert - Страница 10
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ОглавлениеMme. Storey asked Aline: “Do you think you can draw me an exact diagram of the view from the window of your prison?”
“I think so,” said Aline. “I spent most of the day yesterday peeping out.”
We furnished her with pencil and paper.
She acquitted herself very well. There, in a few strokes, the tops of the trees were indicated, with water at the foot of the hill, and the curiously-shaped island off shore; far in the distance the opposite shore.
Mme. Storey smoked, and for a considerable time studied the little sketch through half-closed eyes.
“That distant shore,” she said, “was it a flat shore not very far away, or high ground at a considerable distance?”
“High ground; five miles or more away,” Aline answered unhesitatingly.
“Good!” said Mme. Storey. “Then this body of water can be no other but Long Island Sound. We know that it was within an hour’s drive of Yonkers. ... Bella, take a taxi to the largest stationers in town, and buy a copy of each section of the ordnance map that deals with the shores of the Sound near New York. They show you a diagram, and from it you pick out by number the sections you want.”
In twenty minutes or so I was back with the desired large-scale maps.
Mme. Storey spread them out on her big table. “First, the bare island with the hump in the middle,” she said. “That ought not to be hard to find. At the distance indicated, this island must have been a mile or so long.”
“Fully that,” said Aline.
“Here’s David’s Island, off New Rochelle,” said Mme. Storey. “That can’t be it, because Aline would have seen the close-packed roofs of the town between. We must go further out. Here’s Burchall’s Island, that’s more than a mile long and, according to the map, bare of trees. Now look at the contour lines: twenty feet, forty feet there in the middle. That’s the hump, and that’s your island.”
“Now let’s go back to the farther shore. You have broken the line twice, Aline. What does that mean?”
“Well, as near as I can explain it,” said Aline, “there was an island in the middle; or a point with a bay on each side.”
“The map bears you out,” said Mme. Storey. “Here’s Mann’s Point with Natassett Bay on one side, and Ringstead Harbour on the other.... Observe that, as you looked from the window, Mann’s Point appears directly over the hump on Hershell’s Island. ... A ruler, Bella.... Let us draw a line from Mann’s Point through the hump on the island and on through the mainland. Where that line strikes the first sharp rise, will be found the elegant little house with the retaining wall at the back. Now for the contour lines again. Here’s the sharp rise. About a mile and a quarter from the Sound shore. The house where Aline was confined is on the spot where I have my pencil point.... What’s this open space alongside?” She looked up at us with a smile. “The Ahkanasi Golf Club. We are getting warm, my dears.”
Aline was staring wide-eyed at my mistress like a child at a magician. I, of course, was accustomed to these proofs of Mme. Storey’s acumen.
Mme. Storey had taken a cigarette, and was thinking hard. “I want Crider,” she said.
“He is still trailing Rawlings,” I reminded her.
“A waste of time,” said Mme. Storey. “We will never get anything out of Rawlings by direct measures. Let us try to take him on the flank. The first time Crider calls up tell him to come in. He must have plenty of help, too. Get in touch with Sampson, Canby and Everitt. Let the young brother continue to watch Rawlings’ movements.”
The buzzer which announces the entrance of someone from the hall sounded, and I went into my room to see who it was. Fortunately I have been trained by Mme. Storey always to close a door behind me. I got a nasty turn. It was Rawlings, sleek and elegant as a black leopard, a carnation in his buttonhole, and on his face that unchanging, hateful smile. The man knew that the mere sight of him caused something within me to turn over with horror, and he enjoyed it.
“Have I the good fortune to find Mme. Storey disengaged?” he purred.
I had the wit to say “Yes,” without any hesitation. “Be good enough to wait a minute.”
Mme. Storey saw by my face who it was, without my saying anything. Her eye lighted up with the joy of conflict. “How apropos!” she drawled. To Aline she said: “I have a visitor, my dear. Will you please wait in the middle room? The door is to be left open a crack behind the curtain, and you are to listen.”
The girl disappeared within the middle room as quietly as a shadow. I went to the window, and, as I expected, saw Crider across the street. I made him a sign that he was wanted. He could be trusted not to show himself indiscreetly. Meanwhile, Mme. Storey had shuffled the maps together, and dropped them in a drawer.
“Show him in,” she said.
I followed him into the room.
Mr. Rawlings came forward, beaming sardonically. “My dear lady,” he said, “I trust I am not intruding.”
“Not in the least,” said Mme. Storey. “As it happened, I was thinking about you that very minute.”
Their smiling glances were like crossed rapiers.
“How charming of you!” he said. “And what were you thinking?”
“Ah, you’re a very romantic figure, you know,” said Mme. Storey. “Appearing out of nowhere with half a million a year and tempting a poor woman with as much as she wants to ask for.”
“You are laughing at me!” said Mr. Rawlings reproachfully. “If I could only persuade you that I was in earnest!”
He had not seated himself, and those strange eyes of his, like orbs of onyx, were travelling keenly about the room. He had the excuse, of course, that he was looking at all the beautiful things it contained, but I noticed that his glance flickered suspiciously at the curtained doorway in the rear.
“Ah! you have a genuine Della Robbia!” he cried, hastening to the mantelpiece, and gazing rapturously at the plaque which hung above. “And I thought I knew every one in America.”
Mme. Storey joined him, “A gift from a grateful client,” she said. “I could never afford anything like that.”
They discussed the work of art in the terms of connoisseurs.
“And a Ghirlandajo!” cried Mr. Rawlings, moving on, “and an original Gobelin! Marvellous! What a rare and exquisite taste!”
Meanwhile, he was edging nearer and nearer to the doorway. My heart beat apprehensively.
“I, too, have enthusiasms,” he said. “Sometime I hope to have the pleasure of showing you my treasures.”
He reached the doorway.
“That portiere is a fifteenth-century Flemish piece, isn’t it?”
“Early sixteenth,” said Mme. Storey.
“Well, it’s beautiful! ... Brr! Don’t you feel a draught?” He peeped behind the curtain. “Why, the door is open. May I?”
Without waiting for any answer, he put his hand on the knob. Before he pulled it to him, he took a look in. I stood up with a sort of gasp. I didn’t know what would happen then. But the composed attitude of my mistress arrested me. She was looking positively amused.
When Rawlings turned around, extraordinary as was his self-control, the sardonic grin was a little tight over his teeth. As if something in the inner room had unexpectedly stung him. It was gone in a minute.
“Ah, what a charming face!” he said instantly. “I’m afraid I frightened her.”
Mme. Storey exhaled a puff of smoke. “Perhaps she was eavesdropping,” she drawled.
I think my mistress went him one better.
They returned towards the front of the room.
“You know why I am here,” said Mr. Rawlings. “Am I to be permitted to share in your work?”
Mme. Storey pressed out the light in her cigarette. “Unfortunately, there has been no opportunity,” she said. “All the work I am doing now is disgustingly well paid. There was the beginning of a case, but ...”
“Well?” he asked eagerly.
“It petered out.”
“Do tell me about it.”
“Oh, a very ordinary sort of case,” said Mme. Storey. “Bella picked up a young man who was at the point of despair because his girl had disappeared.”
“You found her?”
“No, she came back.”
“Where had she been?”
“She told a wild tale of being carried off in a black limousine, and being kept prisoner for a week.”
“Should it not be investigated?” he asked with an air of concern.
“Fancy!” laughed Mme. Storey. “Waited upon like a captive princess; interviewed by a mysterious personage behind a door, and then set free! Preposterous!”
“Then you think this was just invented as a cover for more discreditable adventures?”
Mme. Storey shrugged. “She is anxious to return to her young man, now, and he wants her. I think it had much better be dropped.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
It was impossible to tell from his face if Mme. Storey had deceived him. Probably not; because he was a man who disbelieved on principle. It was a fascinating duel to watch. To-day I think the advantage lay with my mistress.
“I say,” he said, “is it by any chance the girl in there?”
“Yes,” said Mme. Storey; “she’s waiting for her young man.”
“Really! What dramas this room must witness!”
“Comedies also,” remarked Mme. Storey.
As he was going out of the door, he said with his most winning manner: “Have you satisfied yourself that I am acting in good faith towards you?”
“I am satisfied,” said Mme. Storey.
“Then do call off your bloodhound,” he said, laughing. “Not that I mind. I have nothing to conceal. But it disturbs the ladies of my acquaintance. Perhaps their consciences are not always quite easy.”
He got no change out of Madame Storey, of course. “I have called him off,” she said coolly. “He’s somewhere about the building. Would you like to shake hands with him?”
“No,” said Rawlings, “but do give him this, with my compliments, and say that I commend his assiduity.”
“This” was a twenty-dollar gold piece. Mme. Storey made me a sign to take it. When I gave it to Crider later, he flipped it in the air with a laugh, and said he’d buy his girl a new hat with it.
Thus, amidst the airiest persiflage, with gleaming smiles, and low bows, Mr. Rawlings took his leave.
Mme. Storey called to Aline. The girl came in with an awe-struck air.
“That was he!” she said. “How did he happen to be here! ... That voice from behind the door in just the same way. I nearly fainted. I cannot be mistaken. That was he!”
“You saw him,” said Mme. Storey.
Aline closed her eyes. “Heavens! what an evil face!”
“Not your father, eh?”
“No, thank God! Not the slightest resemblance. ... But I have seen him before, some place. I can’t remember....”
“I could tell you,” said Mme. Storey, “but I want you to remember.”
Aline said slowly: “It was at Ancaster. I paid no particular attention to him. He was the rich man the village was talking about; stopping at the hotel.”
“Good!” said Mme. Storey. “There are two links to add to our chain, Bella. Our clever friend o’erreached himself a little. I’m afraid he won’t come back again.”
I need not dwell on the reunion of the lovers that afternoon. You can picture it for yourself. The young man came into my office, worn and dispirited. I said nothing, but led him to the door of Mme. Storey’s room, and opened it. Inside, the black head and the chestnut one were bent over the maps on Mme. Storey’s desk. I shall never forget the sound of the cry that burst from his heart:
“Aline!”
He rushed into the room. I turned my back, and went to my desk. In an instant Mme. Storey had joined me, closing the door after her. She was more moved than she cared to show.
“Bella, we are neglecting our business horribly,” she said. “Let us see if we can’t pick up the threads of the Caybourn case while we wait for news from Crider.”
But when I brought her the portfolio containing the papers in that case, her gaze had strayed away to the closed door.
“Ah, the dears! the dears!” she murmured.
