Читать книгу THE MAELSTROM & THE GRELL MYSTERY (British Mystery Classics) - Frank Froest - Страница 18

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A half smile of triumph was on Menzies' face as he returned to his seat. "Ling is a judge of character," he said with a contemptuous jerk of the head in the direction of the door. "That chap would sell his father, and mother, and brothers, and sisters to save his own skin. Pah!"

"Handle him easy all the same," exhorted the superintendent. "He's a nasty man to get in a corner. He had a gun on me once in a saloon and if I hadn't been a quick shot with a beer bottle well, I wouldn't be talking to you now. Hello! Good evening, Sir Hilary."

The gaunt figure of the assistant commissioner had entered the room, an open newspaper in his hand. "Good evening. They told me you were here, Menzies. Seen the Evening Comet? They've got a new clue for you. Seems that Greye-Stratton was a defaulting member of the Black Hand. It's true, because its special commissioner has found certain cabalistic marks chalked on the pavement which no one is able to decipher. Here's a photograph. Scotland Yard that's one of you two, I suppose is extremely reticent and would express no opinion when approached on the subject. Two columns."

"So that torn-fool published it," said Foyle, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "He found some boy scout marks about a hundred yards away from the house and came up here full of it. He wasn't quite sure whether it was the Black Hand or the High Binders, but he's certain he's on the track and he left a photograph for you, Menzies."

"Obliged, I'm sure," said the chief inspector shortly.

"How are things shaping?" asked Thornton.

"Moderate, sir, moderate," answered Menzies. "We've just been talking to a gentleman who may be of some use but I'm not dead certain yet." He fished in his pocket and produced some notes. "We've brushed away a lot of the fog at the beginning of the case and we've got something to concentrate on. I never like to be confident, but we've got heaps of suspicion to bring against one or two people and the evidence may come along. It makes it easier in a way that some of them are known crooks."

Thornton was standing in front of the fireplace, his hands behind his back. He jerked his coat-tails to and fro. "I don't follow that altogether. I used to understand that it was easier to run down an amateur than a professional. Surely their experience will help 'em to blind the trail."

"That's partly right," agreed Menzies, "but it cuts both ways. I can judge of my difficulties. Now I'm not clear about a lot of things, but I've got ideas on which I've not reported yet because they may turn out all wrong. The point on which we are clear now is that robbery at least straightforward robbery was not the motive of the murder. Revenge is a possibility. Errol, Greye-Stratton's step-son, hated him like poison and it is clear that the old man dreaded some attempt on his life though that may have been pure monomania with no foundation in fact at all. All the same Errol is the pivot on which we have to work. I, at one time, supposed him the actual murderer. I am not so certain now. Errol by the way, we haven't found what name he passes under yet and his sister are living in London apart from each other and apart from the old man. She is sole heiress. She is quietly married to Stewart Reader Ling Errol's pal. Do you follow me, sir?"

"That's plain and plausible as far as it goes," said Sir Hilary. "It supplies a powerful motive. But, to be frank, it doesn't do much else."

"I don't pretend it does," said Menzies. "It would be mighty thin to put before a jury by itself, as you say. But now we come to Hallett. He hears a quarrel in the fog. A woman pursued by a man rushes up to him and puts a bundle of cheques into his hand. He goes to Greye-Stratton's house and is admitted about the time of the murder and knocked out by a man whose face he never saw. Twice he was brought into contact with a man or possibly two men who must know a great deal about the case. And yet he never saw them."

"I thought you were convinced of his honesty," said Thornton. "I myself believe he's perfectly clear."

"Wait a minute," said Foyle.

"I think so, too," went on Menzies. "But this is significant. Does the man who was in the fog, does the man who was in the house, know that Hallett never saw his features? We get the attempt to silence him first by threats, then by a pistol shot, then by abduction. This part, at any rate, links up some evidence. The Greye- Stratton girl's name is used to lure him to Gwennie Lyne's house. If she wrote the note herself and, mind you, we've no proof she didn't that connects her with Gwennie and the rest. I'm pretty positive in my own mind that she was the woman of the fog and that Hallett knows it and she knows he knows. We carry the linking up closer by one of the burnt notes we found, which warns Gwennie Lyne that Hallett must be silenced at all costs. We guess that's Ling's writing and may be able to prove it. We've got collaboration in some plot whether it's the murder of Greye-Stratton or not partly established at any rate."

"But the cheques," said Thornton. "How do you explain the cheques?"

"I don't. I'll own they're beyond me at the moment. None of our enquiries have thrown any light on that, though we found some burnt stubs which may be the counterfoils in Gwennie's grate. However, that may be one of those things capable of a quite simple explanation at the right moment. Now there's the man we've just been talking to Cincinnati Red. Of course, he's a crook and he wouldn't show up well under crossexamination if we should want to put him in the box. But what he says goes to help my ideas. He points out that Ling and Gwennie have had some big scheme on about which they've been very close. I'll not deny that I may have built up the wrong theory time will show but it's got a framework of facts and I can't see that they fit any other theory."

"How about Miss Greye-Stratton Mrs. Ling?" asked Foyle.

Menzies scratched an eyebrow. "She's difficult," he admitted. "Whether's she's deliberately in the game or not it's hard to say. She's told Hallett something, too, but she seems to have hypnotised him. He's as tight as a nut when it comes to her. I've got hopes that I may make him see reason and then I shall have something to go on from the inside."

"You're going out with Cincinnati?" said the superintendent switching off the discussion. "I know you're prejudiced against guns, but if you are I think I'd put one in my pocket. You want to take care with the mob you're handling."

"I don't know," said Menzies casually. "I'd as likely as not hit the wrong person if I pulled a trigger. I'm taking Royal. He can have one if he likes. He's out looking after Hallett just now. The pair of them are eating somewhere. I daren't leave that young man alone or he'll be trying the amateur detective game again."

"Suit yourself then. Only don't blame me if Ling and his pals lay you out."

"I'll look after that," retorted Menzies.

He disappeared into his own room and changed the ink-stained alpaca jacket of office use for a tweed one. Then he sent a messenger out for Royal. The detective-sergeant and Jimmie Hallett shortly showed up. Menzies took them along to the subdued "con "man, who was smoking his twelfth cigarette and returning curt monosyllables to the attempts of one of his guardians to drag him into conversation.

"Here we are, Cincinnati," announced the chief inspector cheerily. "Think we were never coming? This is a fellow-countryman of yours. Mr. Hallett Mr. Whiffle."

"Whiffen," corrected Cincinnati Red.

"Oh, yes. I beg your pardon. Whiffen it is. To us and to some of the Central Office folk he answers to the name of Cincinnati Red."

A flush mounted Cincinnati Red's handsome face. It was a curious thing that this man, known as a cunning felon in a dozen countries, should resent the tactlessness that introduced him to a fellow-American by a nickname. He bowed austerely.

"We thought of taking a walk down to the Petit

Savoy," went on Menzies. "We might see that pal of jours there."

"Oh, come, I say," remonstrated Cincinnati. "That's going a bit beyond it. If anyone saw me getting around with a couple of police officers where would I be?" He spread his hands in protest.

"It would get you into bad odour with the boys, wouldn't it?" said Menzies. "Kind of hurt your reputation?"

Cincinnati Red was plainly alarmed at the course events were taking. He was not a coward, but he never asked for trouble. To give Ling away was one thing to seek him out barefaced in the company of detectives was quite another. Apart from any danger which Ling himself might threaten it would be advertising himself to the whole of the underworld as a man definitely unfit to be trusted. Although his present prospects were favourable enough there might at any moment arise an occasion for him to co-operate with acquaintances in some fresh nefarious scheme.

"It isn't that," he explained. "If I was seen walking with you it would give the game away."

The chief inspector twisted his fingers in his watchchain. He was as well aware of the course of Cincinnati's thoughts as the "con "man himself. "Comfort yourself, laddie," he remarked. "We aren't quite so fresh as that. Mr. Hallett here will walk with you and Royal and I will look after ourselves. If you meet Ling or anyone else in his mob all you've got to do is to fiddle with the top button of your jacket. Savvy?"

"That's all right," said Cincinnati.

"And just in case of accidents Mr. Hallett's name is Mr. Green Mr. Samuel Green."

"Samuel Green it is. I understand, Mr. Menzies."

Jimmie Hallett found the walk through the West End streets not without interest. Had not the circumstances of the introduction told him that Mr. Whiffen was a crook he would have had difficulty in arriving at that conclusion. Cincinnati Red could be a delightful companion when he chose. It was part of his profession. He had read widely and well, and his study of human nature had been vast. As a student of the newspapers he knew that Jimmie had been the first to raise an alarm after the murder, but not until now had he supposed that Ling had any connection with the crime. He laid himself out to pump Jimmie, but with little success. Hallett was willing enough to talk, but Cincinnati speedily found that he was expected to provide any loose information that might be floating around, instead of obtaining it. He dropped finesse and tried the point-blank method.

"This is a rotten business for anyone from across the water to walk into just when they are expecting to enjoy themselves. I'd just hate to be worried if I were in your place. How'd it come about, anyway? Did you know Greye-Stratton before?"

"It's a long story," parried Jimmie warily. "What about this Ling man? Known him long?"

"Some years," said Cincinnati. "You must net imagine, Mr. Hallett, that because of the circumstances in which we've met I am just a crook. I've had misfortunes. I made a mistake once and I've paid for it. You know what the police are they're the same all over the world. They don't forgive men for rising from their dead selves. I've come to this country to start over again and my hands are clean. Yet here I am pulled into this because I once knew Ling. You saw the offensive manner of the ill-bred vulture Menzies just now. I daren't resent it."

Jimmie had heard the same story before. Police persecution is an unfailing text for the habitual criminal. He scrutinised Mr. Whiffen with smiling incredulity.

"Did you ever meet Ling's wife?" he asked.

"His wife?" ejaculated Cincinnati. "I didn't know he was married."

"I was wondering," said Jimmie. "That's all."

He followed Cincinnati through the swing doors of the Petit Savoy and a waiter glided forward to lead them to a table. Cincinnati brushed him aside and led the way through the throng of diners to a further room. Jimmie Hallett had to seek the support of a chair to steady himself. He heard Cincinnati Red speaking as one far off.

"Hullo, old man. How are you? Shake hands with my friend here Mr. Samuel G. Green from Mobile."

The clean-shaven, keen-eyed man whom Cincinnati had omitted to name was shaking hands with him across the table. But Jimmie paid little attention to him. For by his side, half risen from her chair, wide-eyed and astonished, was Peggy Greye-Stratton.