Читать книгу THE MAELSTROM & THE GRELL MYSTERY (British Mystery Classics) - Frank Froest - Страница 16

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The only man who appeared at all hurried or excited was the constable. He had gained not only the number of the cab in which Gwennie and her companion had driven away, but the name of the driver and the location of his garage. He was visibly proud of his success, though perhaps a little disappointed that Menzies should accept it as a matter of course. Still there was the thrill not often encountered in street duty of feeling that he was at work side by side with one of the bestknown Scotland Yard detectives. It was none the less felt, although he had little idea of what was happening or what had happened.

His palpable excitement was in contrast to the imperturbable attitude of the detectives to whom the routine was familiar. They waited while Menzies swiftly scribbled a message to headquarters.

A definite stage had been reached in the investigation. The motive and identity of the murderer of the old man were still in doubt, but no longer was there any necessity for questing a trail. The law holds every person innocent until proved guilty, but common sense has at times to reverse the rule. No experienced police officer of any nationality would hesitate for a moment in forming an opinion even had the facts against Gwennie Lyne been much slighter than they were. Her mere reputation as an organiser of criminal coups was enough.

It might be difficult to bring home any proof of complicity in the murder, but there was now a legitimate reason for holding her (once she was caught) in the abduction of Hallett or even as a returned deportee. A suspect under lock and key has few opportunities of clouding a line of investigation. Menzies felt the elation of one who had viewed his quarry and could now run it down in the open. Once she and her friends were under arrest it would be easier to piece together the links connecting them with the murder.

He finished his despatch and folded and blotted it methodically. "Take that along to the station and have it wired off to the Yard at once," he ordered.

So he sent a warning that within an hour or less would reach each one of the six hundred odd detectives of London, to say nothing of the watchers of the ports. Not a single man of those six hundred going about his ordinary business but would shortly carry a photograph of Gwennie and be alert for any hint of her whereabouts. It was to that relentless, unceasing vigilance that Menzies pinned his faith rather than to the wearying task of following her up through the cabman who had driven her away. The cabman would only be able to say where he put her down, and she would have had ample time to cover her tracks.

"Did you get that search-warrant, Congreve? Right you are. You'd better start running over the house. I'll get some clothes and come back. What do you think about things, Mr. Hallett? Would you like to come along with me?"

Jimmie's lips were firm-pressed. "What are you doing about the girl?" he said. "She may be in danger. Isn't there something I can do?"

"You can't do anything but, keep cool," said Menzies. "It's no good over-running ourselves. That young lady's a lot more capable of taking care of herself than you seem to think. We're getting on as fast as we can. Something might turn up in searching the house that will give us a fresh start, seeing that Gwennie hustled out of it in such a hurry."

Even if Jimmie had been still resolved to chip in on a lone hand, he recognised that he was helpless. He could not act by himself. He had no organisation to back him and no means of following up the girl unless he stood in with the detectives. He nodded in token of his acquiescence in Menzies' dispositions and the latter led him to the taxi-cab outside.

They whirled away to Magersfontein Road, where Hallett gladly availed himself of an offer to eradicate most of the traces of the night's adventure. The chief inspector was waiting for him by the time he had finished a bath and a shave and made an energetic attack on his clothes with a brush. He also had changed. Flushed and cheerful, he looked more the churchwarden than ever by contrast with his late appearance.

"No need to hurry. Congreve won't have finished yet awhile and a bit of breakfast won't do any harm. Let me introduce Mrs. Menzies. And here's Bruin. Shake hands with Mr. Hallett, Bruin." He fondled the dog for a moment. "He's a rascal. Tried to spoil my garden yesterday, didn't you you wicked old sinner. Come and have a look at my patch, Mr. Hallett. It's not big, but I do fairly well with my roses."

"I never talk business when I'm at home and never think of it if I can help it. I do all my worrying on duty. Some men let a case get on their nerves. It never does any good," he said when they were seated at the table.

The steady search of Mrs. Lyne's house was still progressing when they returned to Ludford Road. A number of fresh detectives had arrived to help Congreve, and they found Heldon Foyle stretched lazily out in one of the horsehair chairs in the sitting-room. He rose and shook hands with Jimmie.

"How are you, Mr. Hallett?... I got your report, Menzies. Nothing much doing, so I thought I'd drop down and have a look at things." He drew the chief inspector a little aside. "I didn't think you would have let Gwennie get one in on you. She complicates things. The Commissioner isn't pleased."

"It's against me, sir, and that's a fact," agreed the other ruefully. He made no attempt at excuse.

"It can't be helped, old man," said Foyle more sympathetically now that he had delivered his official reproof. "I'd have fallen into it just the same way. Come upstairs. Excuse us a moment, Mr. Hallett."

He led the way upstairs to a locked room and tapped softly at the door. It was opened very slowly, just wide enough to admit him. "Burnt paper," he explained laconically. "Come in slowly. Don't make a draught."

The chief inspector obeyed. There were a couple of men within the bedroom, which reeked of oil from a cheap stove on the washstand. The window was tight closed and the chimney was blocked up. In the grate were the blackened fragments of a mass of burnt papers. The big bed, too, was a chaos of burnt papers which had broken under the efforts of the two men to move them intact.

The superintendent and the chief inspector halted by the door. With infinite delicacy one of the constables lifted a sheet of burnt paper from the grate and placed it in a kitchen sieve. This he held over a steaming kettle on the oil stove while his companion with a transparent sheet of paper on which gum had been thinly spread in his hand, waited anxiously. The burnt paper softened rapidly and the gummed sheet was dropped upon it.

"That's the last, sir," commented one of the operators. "The rest is too broken up to be handled." He indicated the grate with a gesture.

The chief inspector moved to the bed and took a seat upon it. Heldon Foyle lit a cigar.

"There are two or three cheque-book counterfoils not quite destroyed," went on the man, and picking them off the coverlet handed them to Menzies.

"Very well," said Foyle. "Mr. Menzies and I will go through these things now. You can come to photograph them later on."

As the experts vanished, Menzies gingerly turned over the charred leaves of the cheque counterfoils. "Gwennie made the most of her time," he observed, "but she seems to have been too much rushed to make a complete job of it. These are on the same bank as Greye- Stratton's."

"Same cheques?" asked Foyle.

"Hallett may be able to tell us that. What are these other documents?"

It is a peculiarity of burnt paper that it often shows up quite clearly any writing that was upon it before it was consumed. Menzies wrinkled his brows as he studied the pasted-down portions that had been rescued. Some pieces were almost complete; some had broken and twisted under the process of restoration so that it was a matter of difficulty to follow the eccentricities of the writing which, in some cases, stood out dirty grey, in others brilliant black, and still again pale black.

"Listen to this," said Menzies. He read slowly : "' We are all right for the time being and if ' there's a piece missing there ' can be handled we shall be all hunky. Couldn't you square one of the bulls. You know some of them and it might be worth a shot, as it would simplify things. It's no good tackling M. But a couple of hundred with some of the others ought to go a long way. You can dig the money out and ' something else gone. ' Hallett is most dangerous just now. He absolutely must be settled if we are to pull off the game. That's up to you, as I'll have to keep below the water line."

"'Better not write to me, but if you can get wind to Cincinnati pass me a word. Don't trust C. too much.' The rest of the letter's gone," finished Menzies.

The superintendent sucked his cigar thoughtfully. "That's Cincinnati Red," he commented. "You'll want to rope him in. He's been in London for three months or more."

"I'll have that seen to at once," said Menzies. "The rest of the letters can wait a little."

Foyle stretched out his hand for the blackened epistle. "Pity the rest of it's gone. The chap who wrote this thinks a lot of you, Menzies. He thinks you're above graft. I wonder if Gwennie has been trying to buy up any of our men."

"The letter's probably been written this last day or two. There's been no time yet. I'll pass the word that whoever is tackled is to bite."

"There might be a chance," said Foyle. "And I'll tell you what, Menzies. I'll bet you a thousand pounds to a penny that the gentleman who's so anxious to keep his head under the water line is Stewart Reader Ling."

"No takers, sir," said Menzies smilingly.