Читать книгу THE MAELSTROM & THE GRELL MYSTERY (British Mystery Classics) - Frank Froest - Страница 13

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With the satisfied feeling of a man who knew he had earned his salary, Weir Menzies betook himself homewards. As he boarded the Tooting electric car at the corner of Westminster Bridge he automatically shut out from his mind all thought of Greye-Stratton. He had ceased to be Weir Menzies, chief inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department. He was Weir Menzies, Esq., of Magersfontein Road, Upper Tooting, who, like other gentlemen of business, left his business worries behind him at the office.

He ate his dinner, while Mrs. Menzies, a motherly little woman who never asked questions, retailed the latest domestic gossip. He added his own quota. He was afraid that Browns, the new butcher in the High Street, was not doing too well. As he pushed his chair back and lit a cigar, Mrs. Menzies seized the opportunity to tell of a calamity.

"Bruin's been in mischief. He dug a big hole under that Captain Hayward rose today."

This news roused Menzies. He kicked off his slippers and began relacing his boots. "That da shed dog. I'll bet he's ruined it. We'll have to chain him up. Ring the bell and ask Nellie for a candle, will you, dear?"

Candle in hand, he led the way to the garden, muttering discontentedly as he cast its glow on the damage. He raised his voice. "Bruin, here, Bruin," and a heavy bobtailed sheep dog came lumbering over the lawn. Weir Menzies regarded him sternly and pointed an accusing finger at the hole. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded. "You wicked, wicked dog." Bruin sprawled with downcast head, his whole attitude one of penitence and shame. "Where's the whip?" asked Menzies. "Go fetch it."

Reluctantly, with slow step like a boy sent by his school-master for a cane, Bruin recrossed the lawn, returning in a few seconds with a dog whip between his teeth. He cowered while Menzies administered a couple of light blows blows so light that they were rather symbolic of disgrace than actual punishment. His master slipped the whip into his pocket. "Now go and see that the house is safe."

The dog, now that retribution was over, slipped away. Detectives, for all their profession, are no more immune from burglary than ordinary mortals, but Menzies had little fear of his house being looted while Bruin was abroad. To and fro over the house he trotted, pushing open doors pr whining till they were opened by the maid, and inspecting windows and fastenings with an intelligence almost uncanny. By the time he had finished his inspection Menzies was in his own room. The dog trotted in, sat on his haunches, and made a low crooning noise in his throat.

"All correct, eh?" said Menzies. "Good dog. Go to bed."

He himself was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Yet it seemed to him that he had not been asleep five minutes when the deep boom of the dog's bark and an insistent ringing of the bell aroused him. He looked at his watch as he slipped out of bed. It was four o'clock. He had slept seven hours.

He shivered as he shuffled downstairs in his slippers and opened the door. "Why, it's you, Congreve," he exclaimed. "What the devil is the matter? Come in."

Detective-Sergeant Congreve (graded first-class at headquarters) was too wise a man to say anything at an open door with a taxi-driver within earshot. He followed his chief into the dining-room and Menzies switched on the light. "The lady's come back," he interrogated.

"No, sir. I wouldn't have worried you for that. It's Hallett. He's gone, too."

Menzies muttered a little comminatory service in a low voice, because Mrs. Menzies was probably awake. "That's awkward," he said at last. "I ought to have him kept under observation, but I guessed I could rely on the hotel people to let us know. I didn't want to have to arrest him for putting any more of our men on the sick list, but I wish I'd taken a chance now. He'd have been safer for us and safer for himself under lock and key. What's the point?"

"He came back yesterday afternoon, went to his room, found a note waiting him, and went out without saying anything. He has not come back. The hotel people rang me up an hour ago and I went round there. I found the note." He shook an envelope on to the table and a shower of torn fragments dropped. "I didn't wait to put it together. I came straight on here."

The chief inspector became unpleasantly conscious that his pyjamas were an inadequate protection against the bite of the cold. "I suppose this means that I've got to turn out," he grumbled. "I seem to get all the jobs where there's no rest. It's enough to make a man turn it up and take a cottage in the country. Have a go at that note, Congreve, like a good chap, while I go and get some clothes on."

By the time he was dressed Congreve had the note ready for him.

"It looks as if the girl had got him," he commented as he passed the copy over to the chief inspector. "Anyway, there's an address."

Menzies laid the copy down on the table. '' That's something," he agreed cautiously. "But it looks to me as though we're right up against it, old man: Somebody'll have to stand from under when the thud comes. What do you make of it?"

"Empty house, likely," said Congreve laconically. "They've shut Hallett's mouth. If you're right about Errol, Ling & Co., sir, they'll not stand on ceremony.

They're up to their necks already. We'll find a dead man in Ludford Road. They won't let Hallett do any talking."

He spoke in the matter-of-fact way in which a surgeon might contemplate the result of a dangerous operation not with the shudder with which the average man would speak of a cold-blooded murder. The case with which they were dealing concerned men who he believed would be desperate now that one life had been sacrificed in their efforts to cover their trail.

"I don't know," said Menzies thoughtfully. "They might go to extremes if they were forced, but they won't make the pace too hot. We've got nothing concrete against 'em yet nothing even to suggest that one of them was near Linstone Terrace Gardens when the old man was killed. You bet they'll have alibis all right, all right. If we could lay our fingers on 'em this minute they'd brazen it out."

"You see," he went on, "unless we prove these other people accessories there is only one person whose neck is in jeopardy. That's the actual murderer. He probably wouldn't object to save himself by another murder. But the others are not going to that length if they can help it. They intend, I imagine, to try and bottle him up till Smith is discharged and the whole boiling of them make a clean get-away."

"But," objected Congreve, "Royal's evidence alone will convict the man."

"Maybe they don't understand that," retorted Menzies. "Anyway we won't worry yet. I'm going on to Ludford Road. I shall want you to go back and swear out a search-warrant in case it's wanted. Also have that note properly done up and photographed. You might get a paper merchant to examine a piece of the paper. There's just a chance we might find out when it was bought and who bought it. You can get an allnight tramcar at the end of the road. Leave the taxi for me. I'll have to change again."

An hour later a plump, ruddy-faced man, smoking a clay pipe, and with his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets, slouched along Ludford Road. The loosened shoulders, the shambling gait, the unpolished down-atheels boots (one of them laced with string), all told of the practical vagrant. Yet Weir Menzies had not disguised himself in the sense that disguise would be understood by those whose knowledge of Scotland Yard is derived from books and newspapers.

His face was untouched by grease-paint, he wore no wig nor false beard. He was just Weir Menzies as he might have been if fortune had made him a tramp. Yet he bore little superficial resemblance to the Weir Menzies, Esq., churchwarden of All Saints, Upper Tooting, or the Mr. Weir Menzies, chief inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department. His hair had been rubbed up until it looked as if it had not seen brush or comb for a month, and was surmounted by a battered

Trilby hat. He had rubbed his hands on a doormat and then on his face to prevent any suspicion of unnatural cleanliness. His neat moustache had been combed out till it hung down ragged and bristly. His clothes were shabby and no two garments matched. They might have been given him at different times by charitable householders.

There was nothing which could go astray and betray that he had assumed a character. Indeed, any accident to clothes or person would but increase the disreputability of his looks.

Twice he shuffled up and down the street, the second time meeting a policeman, who paused and without saying anything watched him out of sight. The two met again a quarter of an hour later and this time the constable was not so forbearing. He turned his bull's-eye full on the tramp and surveyed him up and down. It was at the back of his mind that he might have a charge "loitering with intent to commit a felony."

"What's the game, Isaacstein? What are you hanging around for?" he demanded. And because he had been trained not to take risks, his hand gripped the greasy collar of the nondescript and administered a slight warning shake.

One hundred and eighty pounds of trained policeman took the pavement with a thud. He sat up ruefully and with wrath. One does not expect a rickety, middle-aged tramp to have a working knowledge of ju-jitsu. And it astonished him still more that his assailant remained instead of taking advantage of the opportunity and making a dash for freedom.

"All right," he growled and advanced cautiously.

"Don't make a fool of yourself, my man," said the tramp authoritatively. "I'm C. I. Walk on quietly to the corner and I'll show you my warrant card."

The constable hesitated. He was young and this was beyond his experience. But the authority of the voice shook him and he obeyed the order. Within five minutes he learned how near he had been to committing a bad mistake.

"I'm sorry, sir," he apologised. "I didn't know."

"That's all right," said Menzies. "Of course you didn't. I'm not blaming you. Now you hang on to this corner for half an hour. I'll be responsible to your superiors. Just stand here and keep your eyes and ears open in case I should want you."

He had straightened up during the conversation, but now he became again the shambling hobo. A clock somewhere had just chimed six, and he judged that there might be a chance to commence operations. He moved furtively up to the door of number one hundred and forty and rang the bell. Twice he had to repeat the summons before there was any movement within. Then a window was flung up above and a woman's voice demanded the business of the intruder.

Menzies' answer was to press the bell again. He had no very definite plan in his mind. His was merely a reconnoitring expedition. He wanted the door opened and had no intention of carrying on a conversation with the lady upstairs, whoever she was, at the top of his voice. He was shielded from her sight by the porch and he did not offer to step out.

The window closed with a bang and there were sounds of someone moving. Presently the door opened, and the pleasant-faced woman who had met Hallett confronted the detective.

"'Ave you got a bite you could spare a pore man, lidy," he whined. "I've been walkin' all night an' nothin' 'as passed my lips since yesterday."

The pleasant-faced lady frowned. She had a dogged chin and a wide mouth and was quite obviously not the sort of person to be played with. "I've got nothing for you," she snapped, perhaps with excusable viciousness for one who had been dragged out of bed by a beggar. She flung the door to forcefully. Menzies' foot, however, was a shade the quicker as he thrust it in the opening.

"Why, Gwennie," he said smilingly, in his natural voice; "this is a nice welcome for an old friend. "Don't you remember me? I'm Weir Menzies."

She gave a quick exclamation and pulled the door back. Her face did not for a moment bear any very noticeable expression of delight at the reunion. That, however, was only for a second. The next instant she had thrust out her hand with a bright smile.

"Why, so it is. Who'd have thought of seeing you here and in a rig like that. Come right in, Mr. Menzies. I am glad to see you."

"After you, Gwennie," said Menzies politely but firmly. "Lead the way. Never mind the door. I'll shut it."