Читать книгу The Blue Daffodil - Fred M. White - Страница 8

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LORD GLENDAY was naturally indignant as millionaires are apt to be when things go wrong or they suffer some loss which is no fault of their own. And such a misfortune had overtaken Alan, first Baron Glenday, when expert thieves broke into his fine place in Sussex, and helped themselves to most of his artistic treasures. The mere fact that they were insured up to their full value did little to restore his lordship's equanimity.

"Over a month ago, and not one single practical move on the part of the police," he told Sir Giles Fairchild in the latter's sanctum in Scotland Yard. "I gave your people a full list and description and you have not even advertised them. A premium on dishonest pawnbrokers, I call it."

"We have our reasons," Sir Giles replied. "And we are not entirely without a clue to act upon. For the present we prefer to leave the public in ignorance of what is missing. We have reason to think that one of the treasures is in certain hands. That we can get, but if we do, the rest will never be heard of again. Please yourself, Glenday—get the one article back and lose the rest, or leave us a little more time, and in all probability recover everything."

Scotland Yard commissioners are not to be bluffed, and his lordship wisely recognised the fact. He made a dignified exit as Medway entered the room.

"Worrying you again, sir?" Medway asked.

"Something like that," Sir Giles agreed. "But he has set me thinking. I have here a list of Glenday's missing art treasures. Amongst them is a gold and enamel cup set in brilliants and monogrammed. It has just occurred to me that there is a hunt being made for another gold cup which the man you were telling me about claimed."

"Oh, yes," Medway cried. "The man called Tanberg, who says that a similar article was left in the possession of Mr. Garnstone prior to his murder. You think it might be the same? Very odd that you should have mentioned it sir."

"What! Do you think so, too?"

"Well, I won't go as far as that, sir. But one never knows when some important clue may turn up. So I put one of my best men to shadow Mr. Tanberg. The fellow seems to know all sorts and conditions of people. Dines in Mayfair and is a guest at some of the very best houses. But knows some very shady characters as well. The refugee type amongst others. Doesn't appear to have a banking account, but pays everybody. Lives in a fine service flat and has plenty of money to spend. But who he is, and where he really comes from, nobody knows."

"Worth watching, you think?"

"I certainly do, sir. It looks to me as if he has the cheek to claim property belonging to other people. Meaning that he seeks to prove the ownership of some precious article which he knows was in Garnstone's possession at the time of his death. And yet when he heard that Garnstone was no more he was as cool as ice about it. A bit queer, that, seeing that he was in the company of Garnstone within two hours of his death."

"And you dare not cross-examine him," Sir Giles said chaffingly. "But what about Garnstone, and that secret visit to some place in the East End, and the car which you were told he hated. Any car, that is. Don't you think it possible that Garnstone was up to some shady business connected with his legitimate business? A man in his position would make an ideal 'fence'. Known and trusted by everybody from crowned heads downwards, handling gems of price as if they were so many pebbles. And I have heard it said that he was a veritable miser, grudging the spending of every penny. Outside his lady secretary, and that traveller of his he cared for nothing. At any rate such is the result of my fishing inquiries."

"There may be something in what you say, sir. At any rate, I won't rule it out as a possible solution. If Garnstone was a fence, then he was a precious grasping one. One can imagine him incurring the bitter enmity of some deluded burglar who came to him hoping for hundreds and getting tens. There are half a dozen burglars in London who would murder a man for less than that. The Lefton gang, for instance."

"I have not put them out of the picture," Sir Giles said, with a grim smile. "Now another question. Have you heard anything respecting the garage to which Garnstone's car was taken on the night of the accident?"

"Not a word, sir. Curious thing, isn't it. Every known garage within a mile of the spot where the smash happened has been visited without result. And nobody has come forward to inquire as to the ownership of the car."

"Um. Looks to me like a hidden garage somewhere. A place where the car was kept by persons in Garnstone's pay. Criminals he had a hold on. You don't suppose that Captain Brentford or the secretary are in the secret?"

"Not for a moment sir. If you had seen the lady on the night of murder, as I did, then you would have ruled her out without the slightest hesitation. The captain the same. Anyhow, we have plenty to go on with as it is. I am going to find that garage if it takes me a month. Somehow I think the end of the long thread is somewhere there."

"Well, good hunting," Sir Giles said as he rose. "If you fail, then we shall own defeat."

"We are not going to be defeated, sir," Medway said through closed teeth. "I haven't finished with that car business. It is just possible that the two-seater has already been changed out of recognition, but what about the maker's name on the engine? I might find this though it is like looking for a ruby dropped on the Pebble Ridge. Garnstone must have bought it sometime, somewhere. Perhaps I can find some trace of a receipt amongst that mass of papers in his big desk. I will see if the beautiful secretary can help me."

Medway gave orders for a more extensive search with special attention to the movements of the Lefton gang, whose activities always interested him. Within 24 hours came a report from White chapel way that the elder Lefton had been seen the night before leaving his house in a car that almost distinctly tallied with the missing two-seater.

"Only the number is different, sir," said the constable, who came in with the information. "Another officer and myself followed in another car, but lost our man at Ealing. I feel pretty sure that we were on the track of the right car."

"Well, it can't be helped," Medway said, philosophically. "But now that you know, keep a close eye on Lefton's place. I had better detail a couple of men to keep watch."

It was all very baffling and disappointing. Directly anything like a thread appeared above ground it vanished like a mole in a meadow. Nor was there anything to throw light on the mysterious car amongst Garnstone's papers. Moreover, Vera was inclined to resent Medway's veiled hints as to certain activities of the dead man. So far as she was concerned, he had been more like a father to her than anything else.

"But wasn't he very mean?" Medway asked.

"As far as money was concerned—yes," Vera conceded. "But we all have our little weaknesses. Mr. Garnstone hoped to retire before long and devote himself to floriculture, which was a passion with him. It is a most expensive hobby, so that he wanted a large fortune to maintain his hot-houses. That was why he was so close about money."

"But why did he profess to hate motors, when he had one himself, and knew how to drive it, even in London traffic?"

Vera shook her head hopelessly.

"Ah, that is beyond me altogether," she said. "Until you and the others were so definite I should have been certain there was a mistake somewhere. Again, why did Mr. Garnstone assure me that he was not going out that night when all along he was going to keep an appointment with that awful man?"

"Meaning Tanberg," Medway suggested. "But why do you speak of him in such terms?"

Vera pulled herself up quickly. She had not intended to say quite so much—at least not at present.

"We have met before," she said. "Our meeting has nothing to do with the present case, and I wish to forget the matter. Please do not further question me."

More mystery, thought Medway to himself, as he left the flat, little knowing that Vera had a mystery—and a distressing one at that, to worry her. And it would until Ronnie came along to take her out to tea as promised. She was waiting for him now, having cleared up the correspondence for the day.

Brentford arrived presently, having put aside all painful thoughts, as he always did when giving Vera pleasure. But he was struck immediately by the strained look on that lovely face, and the drawn lines about the scarlet mouth.

"Why, what is the matter, darling?" he asked. "You look as if you had seen a ghost."

"Ronnie, the most dreadful thing has happened. I only found it out half an hour ago. On the roof looking to the conservatory. Nobody has been up there but me since the crime. I can't think how I came to miss it. But, Ronnie, the Blue Daffodil has vanished—pot and all. How on earth was it stolen?—and why?"