Читать книгу THE MAELSTROM & THE GRELL MYSTERY (British Mystery Classics) - Frank Froest - Страница 19

Table of Contents

"You!" she gasped. "You here?"

He, too, was taken aback. For a moment he was incapable of consecutive thought. He had fiercely combated, even to himself, Menzies' theory that she was a willing associate of the people who were being hunted down. But this encounter staggered his faith. If the Scotland Yard man's suspicions were right it was not at all a surprising thing that she should be dining quietly with Ling Ling, her husband and the master brain of the conspiracy. Yet so assiduously had Jimmie accustomed himself to believe that she was rather a victim than an accomplice that her presence came upon him as a shock.

"You know my this lady?" someone said as though mildly interested.

Jimmie pulled himself together. He threw a backward glance at the door. Menzies and Royal had not yet appeared.

"We have met before," he answered with a fine assumption of coolness. "Miss Olney, isn't it? Can I have a word with you?" He beckoned her aside, the eyes of the other two men following them with curiosity. "Is that man Ling?" he whispered.

"Yes," she answered. "What--"

He cut her short. "This is no time for questions.

The police are immediately behind us. They are going to arrest him, and maybe you, too. You must get away at once." He signalled to a waiter. "Is there another way out? Some people are coming in at the front whom we don't want to meet."

A gleam of gold between his fingers transformed the waiter into a quick ally. "If you will step this way, sir this way, madam." He pushed forward half a dozen steps and flung open a door. They descended a couple of steps into a derelict side street, and Ling, who had watched them with a puzzled frown, turned to Cincinnati as they disappeared.

"What in thunder's the game?"

"Blest if I know," said Cincinnati. "Who's your lady friend? She seemed surprised to see my friend." He was fumbling with the buttons of his coat.

Suspicion sat black and lowering on Ling's face. His hand dropped to his jacket pocket and Cincinnati had a little apprehensive thrill as he heard a faint click and the bottom corner of the jacket pocket poked the edge of the table. He longed to look round to see if Menzies had entered the room, but he dared not turn his head. A waiter glided to his side and as he picked up the menu card, and with deliberation, gave his orders, he felt Ling's menacing gaze still upon him. The waiter moved away.

"There's some monkey trick on the board," said Ling in a low voice. "By God, I'll plug if you don't tell me what's on. What are you doing with Hallett? Why did you bring him here? Answer. If you move or turn a hair I'll blow a hole through you, you dog!"

Cincinnati was between the devil and the deep sea with the detectives behind and a desperate man in front. "Easy does it, Stewart," he said soothingly. "Easy does it. I couldn't help myself."

Between clenched teeth Ling spat a vicious oath at him. His eyes shot up and down the crowded aisles of the restaurant, always coming back to Cincinnati Red's face. There was a white scar an inch long above his left eye which now showed crimson, giving him an indescribably sinister appearance. He withdrew his right hand from his pocket, keeping it concealed with a serviette. The serviette lay at last carelessly crumpled in front of him and his hand was under it.

"See that?" he growled menacingly. "There's two men just come in. Pals of yours, I guess. You'd better get your thinking apparatus started, for if those splits offer to come near me it's going to be an almighty bad time for you. You'd try to put it across me, you tin horn! I tell you, if I go out of this place with the cuffs on, you'll go out feet first. Think it out quick, you dirty squealer."

Cincinnati Red was frightened, badly frightened, though his face did not show it, save perhaps that it was whiter than usual. The waiter placed a plate of soup before him and his hand was steady as he lifted the spoon. Ling himself, in spite of his passion, had lowered his tone and not a soul in the room beyond themselves knew that they were within measurable distance of tragedy.

"That back door those others used," he said quickly; "slip out. I'll hold the bulls back."

The serviette stirred impatiently. "Not on your tintype, my son. You don't pass on this hand. You'll stick closer to me than a brother. I'll trust you while my finger's on a gun and the gun on you."

Menzies and Royal had seated themselves three or four tables away. Nothing seemingly was of less interest to them than the two crooks.

"I can't think of anything," protested Cincinnati sullenly.

"How much do they know?" asked Ling sharply.

"They raided Gwennie's shanty this morning. They're after her, but you mainly."

"You seem to know a hell of a lot," commented Ling crisply. "I suppose you've arranged to give 'em the office when they're to pull me. That would have been all right if Hallett hadn't gone off at half cock. Now the surprise packet is going to be mine. I'm going to drink this liqueur and my attention is going to seem to wander off you for a little minute--only seem mind you. There's a menu card down by your hand. You've got a pencil. Now write on that that I suspect nothing that I'm going to take you round now to the spot where the rest of the boys are. Then give it to the waiter to pass to them."

The astuteness of the move appealed to Cincinnati. Ling was playing for time, to avoid immediate arrest. If the detectives thought they would make a bigger haul by postponing matters they would do so. The "con" man had no conscientious scruples about tricking them, but he was uneasy when he thought of the hints which Foyle had given him. If he could have safely betrayed Ling he would. Still, life was, after all, worth clinging to even if a certain proportion of it had to be spent in prison. He followed Ling's instructions docilely and over his shoulder saw Menzies read the card and nod without looking up. Ling drank his liqueur slowly and there was a more complacent expression about his thin lips. Now that he had obtained a respite he seemed in no hurry to go. He regarded the "con "man with a sneer. "You're not fit for this sort of thing, Cincinnati," he said acidly. "You ought to stick to parlour games. A yellow streak doesn't matter there."

The other leaned back in his chair unmoved by the insult. "I'm not silly enough to butt my head against a brick wall," he answered equably. "One of these times we may meet on level terms." His eye dropped meaningly on the serviette.

"Not if I know it," retorted Ling. "I like you better as you are. You'll never be on level terms with me. I wonder what I'll do to you," he went on reflectively. "Did you ever hear how they used to treat witches in the old days in Massachusetts? They used to stick red-hot knitting needles through their tongues. It always seemed to me that wouldn't be a bad punishment for squealers." He pushed back his chair. "Get my coat, waiter. And this gentleman's."

They marched out of the restaurant side by side and a little walk brought them into Shaftesbury Avenue. Cincinnati had every nerve strained watching for an opportunity to escape. But Ling's vigilance never relaxed. "I've got very attached to you this last half hour," he explained in friendly tones. "I wouldn't lose you for anything. I want to hear you pitch a tale when we get time. It'll be a real pleasure to learn how you've been working yourself to help us and how I've been deceived by appearances into dealing with you harshly."

This tribute to his inventive faculties did not seem to afford Cincinnati Red any pronounced gratification. He grunted something unintelligible. Then : "If I were you, Stewart, I'd take a taxi. We'll never throw these splits off walking."

"Well, well," exclaimed Ling in well-assumed surprise. "It's you've got the brains. Fancy thinking of that. Never mind. The walk won't hurt us, and perhaps a little exercise'll do your chums good."

Cincinnati doubted it, but did not repeat his suggestion. He was very cloudy as to what his companion proposed to do. The trick in the restaurant he had supposed to be but a temporary expedient of Ling's in order to get away. Not to give the detectives the slip now they were in the open seemed like playing with fire. He knew Ling as a dare-devil, but for a man whose neck was in jeopardy he was carrying things j auntily.

It was in Bloomsbury that they swerved off the main road into one of those hideous streets of tall boardinghouses with iron-railed areas and forbidding front doors of mid- Victorian era.

"Nearly home, Cincinnati," encouraged Ling. "Now you'll be able to see things move. We'll see if there's any knitting needles in the house afterwards."

They ascended the steps of one of the most gloomy looking of the houses and Ling inserted a key. He carefully closed and bolted the door after him and ordered Cincinnati forward. There was a faint glimmer of light from a gas lamp in the hall.

"The back room will do for us," said Ling. "Get along."

A descent of a couple of steps led into a back sitting-room. Ling pointed with his pistol he was carrying it openly in his hand now. "There's a chair. Sit down. I want you with your back to me. That's right. Now put your arms behind your back and keep still."

Cincinnati Red felt something encircle his wrists and a lashing was dextrously drawn tight. An involuntary cry escaped him. Ling finished the knot and, stepping in front, swung a smashing blow at the bound man's face.

"That's on account," he said fiercely. "If you don't keep still you'll get what's coming to you." He thrust his face, contorted with passion, close to that of the "con "man and Cincinnati shivered. "I can't do all I'd like to," he went on, "but I'll pay the bill in full some other time you bet I will."

He stooped and tied Cincinnati's ankles to the chairlegs as effectively as he had bound his wrists. Then he lifted chair and all and staggered with it into the front room. He placed it by the curtained window and stood for a moment breathless. Cincinnati was no light weight.

"Now listen to me," he said incisively. "I'm going to turn up the lights and draw the curtains back so that your head and shoulders can be seen from the street. Your detective pals will be in sight somewhere and they'll be pleased to see you. I shall be behind the door and don't forget I'll plug you good if you play foxy. You've got to shake your head to them see? Convey to them that everything isn't quite ready. You know how to do it. Lean a bit forward as though you were talking to somebody they can't see. It's up to you to keep 'em stalled off for a quarter of an hour."

He slipped the curtains back and retreated to the doorway, out of the direct line of sight of anyone in the street. Cincinnati cast a casual glance out on the pavement and made a motion with his head as Ling had directed.

He had a vision of Weir Menzies posed precariously on the iron railings four feet away. There was a smashing of glass as the detective leapt and the "con" man heard a vehement oath from Ling, followed by two sharp reports in quick succession.

Menzies tore furiously through one of the broken panes at the window fastenings. Presently he flung up the sash and half leapt, half tumbled within. Congreve stayed without long enough to put a whistle to his lips in swift summons and appeal and then followed his chief.

Cincinnati Red had fainted with a bullet wound in his shoulder.