Читать книгу The Sundial - Fred M. White - Страница 15

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Much at the same moment two men were sitting on the deck of a yacht, drifting idly before a light breeze in the Solent. One was a young, keen-faced fellow, with quick, alert eyes and a restless expression, who was known as Malcolm Grey. He was regarded as a coming man in science, more especially in electricity. Already one or two discoveries of his bade fair to revolutionise hitherto accepted theories, and he was engaged upon a series of investigations which had for their end the promulgation of life and the alleviation of human suffering. Scientific folk were looking forward with interest to the next pronouncement of Malcolm Grey.

His companion was a very different-looking man. He was short and inclined to be stout. The outline of his figure denoted great personal strength. His piercing black eyes had a humorous twinkle. A heavy dark moustache concealed the lines of his mouth. Dr. Tanza was a scientist, also, but his researches were more concerned with humanity, and particularly with the cause and prevention of crime. Tanza had devoted most of his life to this important subject, and, though some of his theories had been laughed at once, some of the best men in Europe were coming round to his way of thinking. Certainly he had been marvellously successful on two or three occasions and had operated upon the brains of criminals with the most amazing effect. As to the rest, he used his yacht and his great wealth for the sole purpose of developing his hobby. It was a small matter to him to travel half-way round the world to interview a wretched creature who had invented something atrocious in the way of fresh and startling crime. For the moment he appeared to be taking his leisure, though his friend knew that he had something on his mind.

"And now," said Grey, "tell me why you brought me down here. You know how busy I am and how precious my moments are. What have you in view?"

Tanza lighted a fresh cigarette and sipped his after-luncheon coffee with a ruminating air.

"I want your assistance," he said. "I think it will be worth your while. It isn't every day that I come across a criminal problem that interests me, but I think I have found one in the case of the mysterious death of Mrs. Charlock's French maid. Charlock is a man difficult to approach and resents interference of any kind. As it happens, you are acquainted with him, which makes our task easier. Between ourselves, I mean to get to the bottom of that affair, because I feel certain that here is a new phase of crime."

"Why do you think so?" Grey asked. "I read the account of the inquest and I didn't notice anything out of the common. I don't see how a woman of her class could have enemies in her household. She was a self-contained foreigner, mainly interested in saving money, and she seems to have kept apart from the rest of the domestics. The rest of the servants are English and appear to be of a humdrum, respectable type. As far as I can see, her death happened naturally. The woman was fooling about by the fountain, slipped on the marble and stunned herself against the sundial. That would account for the bruise on her forehead. She was unconscious when she fell into the water and consequently was drowned. The thing is simple."

"That is because you haven't studied the subject," Tanza said placidly. "I flatter myself that I have an unerring instinct for this class of thing, and that is why I feel sure that we have dropped upon something new in the way of crime. You have forgotten that the doctor who made the post-mortem testified that there was little or no water in the lungs, which is rather against your drowning theory. Besides, one of the witnesses said that the woman's clothing was slightly singed. And, in addition to this, what could the Frenchwoman want in the garden at that early hour in the morning? Charlock swore that she was in the house just before daybreak, and soon after it was light he himself found her lying in the fountain. Depend upon it, she went to keep an assignation and met her death that way."

"What, in broad daylight?" Grey asked.

"That," Tanza said, with the air of a connoisseur, "is just where I am puzzled. It must have been nearly broad daylight, at any rate, when the woman left the house, and the sundial was in full view of the front windows. We've a precious clever rascal to deal with, I know. I have gone into all the records of new and ingenious crimes, and in all my experience I can find nothing to fit this case. That is why I called you in. The murderer is up-to-date and uses all the modern appliances which are not as yet known to the police. A good many of them may still be outside the ken of the average scientist. And the more my mind dwells upon the matter the more sure I am that science has been invoked by our miscreant. As you are well versed in all the latest discoveries, I asked you to spend a few days with me and make an examination of the scene of the trouble."

"Shouldn't we be rather intruding?" Grey protested. "Charlock is a very queer sort of man."

"I know that. In writing to him for his permission to test certain of my theories I mentioned that I was a friend of yours and that I should bring you along. I received a characteristic reply to the effect that I had best mind my own business, but that so long as you answered for my bona fides no objection would be made. So we are going off this afternoon, and here is the boat coming to fetch us. I don't expect a very warm reception."

John Charlock was walking about the grounds when his visitors arrived. Despite his sternness he looked miserable. For the time being he could not work. He felt that he would be able to do little or nothing until he had disposed of his expensive household. He had another plan, too, in his mind, but for the moment it was not ripe for execution. He extended a more or less cordial welcome to Grey, but his manner to Tanza was chilly. If the latter noticed it, he did not disclose the fact.

"This is very good of you, my dear sir," he said. "I hope you will not think I am here out of mere curiosity, for I am quite convinced that the death of your wife's maid was no ordinary occurrence. Having devoted most of my life to the study of crime, my experience tells me——"

"I have heard of you, of course," Charlock said civilly enough. "And, if such is your opinion, it is entitled to every respect. If I can do anything to help you I will. But I am certain that you are mistaken."

"We shall see," Tanza said drily. "In the first place, will you be good enough to show us the famous sundial where the accident took place, and perhaps you can tell me whether the poor woman's dress was singed? Was it round the skirt, for instance?"

"Personally, I could see no trace of it," Charlock said. "There was a certain fraying of the cloth round one of the wrists, and a swelling of the hand, as if the fingers had been recently charred. But, then, my wife tells me that Hortense inadvertently put her right hand on a pair of almost red-hot curling tongs a day or two ago, which gives the incident a very prosaic complexion. I think you can dismiss the singeing idea altogether."

For the moment the doctor looked disconcerted. But he had no intention of discarding his theory. He dropped behind, discussing the matter with Charlock, while Grey went forward to the part of the garden where the sundial was situated. He stood there admiring the beautiful carving of the marble and thinking how appropriate were the surroundings. The fountain was playing again. The sundial was like a gleaming statue in the sun. The Latin inscription on the top glistened in brass letters. There appeared to be nothing to connect the sundial with the cruel and cold-blooded murder. And, though Tanza talked scientifically about his theories, he did not appear to be making much progress.

"You are wrong," Charlock said. "I am sure the whole thing was no more than an unfortunate accident. I don't care what the doctor says. However, I sha'n't be here after to-morrow, but you are at liberty to come whenever you please and make what investigations you like. And now, if you will excuse me, I will get back to the house. You will pardon me if I don't ask you to come in."

Charlock turned away none too graciously, and the Italian doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"It is as well we are alone," he said. "I shall yet convince our friend that I am right. All the same, I am bound to confess that we look like having our trouble for our pains. Now, I suppose you don't see anything suspicious, anything which is hidden from unscientific eyes?"

"As a matter of fact, I can," Grey said quietly. "Only I waited till our friend was gone. Look here!"

He stooped and picked up a small object, which he slipped upon his thumb. Tanza lifted his brows interrogatively.

"Oh, it's a clue," Grey smiled. "What is it? Why, it is a finger torn from an india-rubber glove!"