Читать книгу The Price of Silence - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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There was nothing in the expression on Oakes' face to show that he had just heard a piece of astounding intelligence. He knew intimately most of the leading characters in the American underworld, so that the name of Bronson was no strange one to him, though in the course of his nefarious transactions he had never come in contact with the one man who was perhaps, the king of them all. For Bronson was in a class of his own, he had had practically no confederates, and only a very limited circle, indeed, knew him by sight. And, moreover, the police had never managed to lay him by the heels, and indeed they had been glad enough when he had turned his back upon the land of his adoption, and returned to the East a few years ago. And here he was now, big, triumphant and successful, with a more or less established position in English society and Oakes chuckled at the mere thought. He knew that there were certain people in London who whispered things under their breath and hinted that the big oil king was no better than he should be, but nobody knew anything definite, and the mere weight of money had carried the man who called himself Pryor almost to the top of the social tree.

"Well, that is worth knowing," Oakes murmured. "Of course, I know all about him, though we never met. But, all the same, I don't quite see how we are going to benefit by the knowledge."

"Oh, don't you?" Primery smiled. "You leave that to me. And as soon as you get an opportunity, send Pryor across with some excuse, so that I can have a few words of conversation with him. I have got a scheme in the back of my mind, which I can work all on my own, and unless I am greatly mistaken, we shall pull off a big coup before we turn our backs upon Heron's Nest to-night. Now then, off you go, and don't waste any more time. I calculate we have got an hour and a half before the mob arrives for the dance, and in that time it seems to me that I shall be busy. Allons."

Oakes strolled across the drawing-room to the spot where Pryor was standing and holding forth in his large, flamboyant way. He managed to detach his host from the little group that he had gathered around him and skilfully piloted him across the room to the chair where Primery was seated.

"I don't want to detain you more than a minute or two," Primery said. "But I wanted to ask you a question. These engravings here. I see they are mostly American scenery. Now, as an American myself, I am interested in that sort of thing. I wonder if you could tell me where the portfolio came from?"

"I haven't the least idea," Pryor said. "As a matter of fact, I bought this, lock, stock and barrel, with everything just as it stands. Sorry I can't help you."

"Oh, it doesn't in the least matter," Primery smiled, with a pleasant expression upon that strangely handsome face of his, and a candidness that disguised a mind as evil and black as night. "You see, being a writer, certain things appeal to me. I have very few pleasures, Mr. Pryor, and when I am in pain—"

"It must be the devil," Pryor said, not unkindly. "I should have thought you would have found these sort of entertainments rather trying. Still, so long as you are here, you do just as you like. And if you want to be quiet for an hour or two, I can give you the run of my own private library."

"Now, that's very good of you," Primery said. "And indeed it is just what I was going to suggest. As a rule, I like to see the young people enjoying themselves, but when my neuritis comes on, as it does at any moment, then I must be alone. You see, I can always find something to think about. And a sheet of paper and a pen is absolute medicine to me. A cigar, too, I find to be a most excellent and soothing narcotic."

"Oh, that's all right," Pryor said in his most breezy fashion. "You come along with me, my friend, and I will find you a spot where you can have all you want and be as quiet as you please. Nobody ever goes into my den without my sanction, and even to-night when the house is full of guests, it will be empty. Come along, and I will make you comfortable."

"That is more than good of you," Primery said gratefully. "As a matter of fact, I may not want it at all. But, on the other hand, it may be necessary for me to be entirely alone. Those pains come and go in the most extraordinary way, and if this is one of my lucky evenings, then I shan't want to trouble you at all."

All the same, Primery lost no time in availing himself of his host's offer. He crawled painfully along a lofty corridor until Pryor turned at length into a sort of library on the side of the house with three windows that looked out on to the terrace. The crimson silk curtains were drawn now, and the cords which held them back in the day time lay on the carpet. The whole place was lined with books, and in the centre of the room was a Louis Seize table on which a mass of correspondence lay. There was no lack of stationery and all that sort of thing, so that Pryor indicated it with a comprehensive wave of his big hands."

"There you are," he said. "Notepaper of all sizes, both plain and embossed. If you want to make any notes, everything is ready to your hand. And if you want a drink, you have only to touch that brass knob by the side of the fireplace and help yourself. And here is a box of cigars."

"This is indeed hospitality," Primery smiled. "I shall be as happy as a sand-boy in here, though I hope I shan't want to use the room because I came here to-night to enjoy myself. If you don't mind, I think I will help myself to one of those cigars. Ah, Coronas, I see—my favourite smoke. I hate to trouble you, but have you such a thing as a cigar-cutter?"

Pryor put his hand into his trouser pocket and at the end of a thin gold chain produced a bunch of keys. Amongst these was a cigar clip and Primery's quick eye did not fail to detect also what he recognised as the small compact key of a safe. Moreover, he could see a safe let into the wall on the side of the room opposite the fireplace, and his quick mind jumped to the conclusion that the key and the safe were more than closely connected. Not that he said a word about this discovery as he nipped off the end of his Corona and placed a match to it.

"I am indeed in clover here," he said. "Do those long windows happen to open on the terrace?"

"Certainly they do," Pryor explained. "All the windows in the living-rooms do. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know," Primery said casually. "I am a restless sort of being, and rather prone to wandering about at night, especially when my pains trouble me. So that if they come on presently I may take it into my head to pull the curtains back and take a stroll on the terrace. I suppose you don't mind?"

Pryor shrugged his shoulders, it was all the same to him, he explained, and so long as his guests were satisfied, then he was perfectly happy.

"You don't mind if I leave you now?" he asked. "You are free to wander about the house wherever you like, and you may rely upon the fact that you won't be disturbed. And now, if there is nothing else I can do for you—"

A minute or two later, and Primery was alone. He glanced at the big French clock on the mantelpiece and saw that it still wanted a few minutes to ten o'clock. Within the next half-hour the guests for the dance would be arriving, and there was much to do in the meantime. Meanwhile, most of the men who had come over for the dinner were amusing themselves in the billiard-room, and the ladies of the party were upstairs putting themselves into elaborate toilets. With those quick ears of his, Primery listened intently, but not a sound broke the silence. He crept softly across the room and opened the door, so that if anybody came along the corridor, he would detect the footstep instantly. Not that it mattered much, because the critical moment was some way off yet, and the danger zone was still unentered.

Then he sat down to the big table, and wrote a short note in handwriting that he took some pains to disguise; indeed, he made two copies of it before he was satisfied, and then, placing the missive in an envelope, addressed it, and dropped it carefully into his breast pocket. With the cigar still between his teeth, he hobbled across the room and pushed back one of the silken curtains. A moment later the window was open, and he stepped gently on to the terrace outside, but not until he had picked up two of the long cords that held the curtains in place and had wound them into a neat coil and slipped them into his tail-coat pocket.

There was not a soul to be seen outside as he stepped along the terrace noiselessly as a cat and made his way, by the light of a thin slip of a moon, to the far end of the terrace and down a flight of steps, at the end of which he could see a small summer-house, built of stone and open on three sides to the elements. There was nothing here, besides a table and a couple of chairs, but it evidently served the purpose that Primery had in his mind, for he smiled softly to himself as he concealed his coils of silken rope under the table and then, as silently as he had come, made his way back to the library again. Nobody had been there in his absence, a fact of which he was certain, because the door was open just the three inches that he had drawn it back before he had emerged on to the terrace. Then he drew the curtains once more, and, taking a book from one of the shelves, sat down in a big armchair and began to read as if he had no other object in the world.

He glanced at the clock again, and saw that it was now close on eleven. He could hear the sound of motors coming and going outside, and presently the distant strain of music from the band and the scrape and swish of feet on the ball-room floor. And then, and not till then, he threw his book on one side and went along the corridor in the direction of the ballroom.

It was a brilliant scene enough, with its wonderful light and colouring, but it interested Primery not at all. He crept out in the vestibule, and, selecting a long, dark overcoat from one of the pegs there, softly opened the front door, and crept out into the night. One backward glance assured him that he had not been seen.