Читать книгу The Turn of the Tide - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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Rust walked into the library, the lights of which were turned on now, and found Gilmour seated there smoking a cigarette, and more or less busy over what appeared to be a mass of accounts which lay on the big leather-bound table before him. There was no great friendship between the two men, though they were both in the same office, for Gilmour regarded Rust as a mere amateur and dilettante whose presence in Great Bower Street was a mere episode, and from Rust's point of view Gilmour was a money-making machine whose horizon was bounded by commercial opportunism. But they were guests under the same roof now, and it behoved Rust to be polite.

Still, Gilmour showed a very presentable appearance as he sat there in his immaculate evening dress, neat and well-groomed, as if he had just turned out of his chambers on his way to dine somewhere. He would have passed anywhere from the sleek well-brushed head to the patent leather pumps on his feet. He was warm and comfortable now, and it was almost impossible to connect him with the shivering hunted creature who had crept breathlessly into the library not more than half an hour ago.

"Hullo, Gilmour," Rust cried, "still hard at it. Scorning delights and leading laborious nights, as the poet would have said had he only thought of it. Never saw such a chap to work since my old father died. You missed a clinking good dinner, anyway."

"Somebody must work," Gilmour replied with the thin ghost of a sneer on his lips. "We can't all be mere probationers like you. Fact is, I was detained at the last moment and got here after you had all gone in to dinner. I got here by the train that reaches Cray at 8.30, and walked on with my pumps in my pocket like any other clerk enjoying his employer's bounty. So whilst you were dining I thought I would do a little work. Don't let me keep you from the feast of reason and the flow of soul, Rust. Such fleeting joys were over for me years ago."

"You talk like an old man," Rust retorted. "As a matter of fact, I came here to fetch you. The ladies have retired to the drawing-room, and the old port is on the festive board. Croot won't be happy till you come and sample it."

"You put it so nicely that I should be churlish to refuse," Gilmour said. "Lead the way, will you."

As Gilmour rose the door of the library opened and a footman entered, followed by a stranger who carried a hard felt hat in his hand. He was rather tall and powerful-looking, with a pair of keen black eyes, and his heavy chin was only partially concealed by the beard that covered it. He shot a glance at Rust and his companion, and the former had a queer feeling that the man with the beard was committing his features to memory. Gilmour did not seem to notice the stranger at all, or if he did assumed not to do so, for he strolled leisurely in the direction of the hall with a blank vacuousness on his face. But the hand that held the cigarette he was smoking was none too steady, if Rust had only been looking.

"Looks like a policeman," he laughed. "Come to arrest Croot on a charge of forgery, no doubt. The old story of the City man who is leading the double life, quite after the manner of the best detective stories. You are in it too, probably."

"Do you expect me to confess?" Gilmour asked with what was a poor attempt at gaiety. He was the type of man who always joked with a truculent air. "I should prefer to fight it out, Rust."

Geoffrey was quite sure of it. One glance at the thrust-out jaw and hard combative eyes of the other was sufficient to show that much. In a vague sort of way he wondered why it was that Gilmour always appeared to be living on the defensive. Was there something in his past that he was eager to conceal?

In the dining-room an eager and attentive group had gathered around Professor Phillipson, who was talking learnedly on the subject of crime. He was more or less attached to the Home Office in a capacity of adviser in certain matters, and apparently Croot was drawing him out. He stood, a commanding figure, with his back to the big carved fire-place, and somebody had turned on the pair of electric brackets on either side of the great carved grate.

"With all due deference, Mr. Croot," he was saying as Rust and his companion entered the room, "with all respect I submit that the limits of criminal ingenuity are not yet plumbed. As an example, take the latest form of burglar-proof safes and strong rooms so called. No sooner is one of these placed on the market than the trained thief comes along and demonstrates its futility. It is precisely the story of armour plate and the new projectile that can pierce it over again. Your modern super-criminal is no mere ruffian who resorts to force and violence, but a man of education, highly skilled and trained in the ways of his craft. He is the member of an established profession. Some of them have had public school and university educations. I once knew a man who served a seven years' apprenticeship to lithography and engraving in order to qualify as a bank-note forger. He made quite a fortune, and died in the odour of sanctity, so to speak. He was never convicted."

"Quite a new opening for our boys," Croot laughed. "Forgery and murder as a fine art. The quiet putting away of stubborn octogenarians who obstinately stand in the way of the waiting generation and all that sort of thing. But happily medical science is too advanced to permit of that, at any rate."

"So the world of optimists imagine," the professor said dryly, "but it is not so. To begin with, there are many poisons known to science that leave no sort of trace behind, but happily these are seldom within the reach of the homicidal criminal. Still, there are other ways. I have one of them under my observation at the present moment, a very cold-blooded affair."

"This is confoundedly interesting," the general said. "Do you mean an attempted murder?"

"No, I am alluding to an accomplished fact," the professor replied grimly. "A conspiracy to get a troublesome person out of the way. A man is picked up dead miles away from his own house. He has apparently been in the—"

The speaker stopped abruptly and bit his lip. He was like a man who has been talking to himself and suddenly wakes to realize when almost too late that he is the centre of a curious audience.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," he muttered, "but my professional zeal carries me too far. I had forgotten for the moment that the matter in question is at present entirely between me and the Home Office. I am afraid that I cannot tell you any more."

The professor puffed at his cigar again, and an awkward silence followed. Rust took up the thread.

"Haven't you forgotten something also, sir?" he asked, turning to Croot. "I mean your visitor in the library."

"Bless my soul, so I have," Croot cried. "Please excuse me, I will be back in a few minutes. If I am detained by some troublesome business, please join the ladies."

With this Croot strolled off leisurely in the direction of the library as if he had no single care in the world. There was a genial smile on his face as he confronted Inspector Lock and offered a gold cigarette case to the intruder.

"Not just at present, sir, if you don't mind," Lock said. "I have to apologize for coming here at this time of night, especially as I understand that you have friends to dinner."

"My daughter's birthday," Croot explained casually. "Quite an informal affair with nobody but old friends present. I assure you that I am quite at your service, Mr. Lock."

"Well, sir, it is like this," Lock proceeded. "As a general merchant yourself you must be aware that there has been quite a wholesale amount of plundering going on in connexion with the overseas carrying trade. Thousands of pounds' worth of goods are stolen every night from barges and lighters on the river. The river-police are at their wits' ends to cope with the trouble. The general direction of the new scheme has been placed in my hands."

"I am exceedingly glad to hear it," Croot said heartily. "It is high time that something was done. As a dealer in practically everything that comes from overseas I have been a great sufferer from these depredations. But no doubt you have heard that. I have complained often enough. Not that I lose much from the mere L.S.D. point of view, because I'm always heavily insured. But the insurance rates are getting alarmingly high, and there is the worry of not being able to make delivery. If you really have got on the track of these clever scoundrels I shall be delighted. I am quite convinced of the fact that they are not ordinary thieves. Their intelligence department is marvellous, and they go unerringly to the most valuable plunder and, what is more, know exactly where to find it. But perhaps you have discovered—"

"I think I have, sir," Lock interrupted. "I believe that the man who has worked the whole plan of campaign and who is in a position to supply almost priceless information is a man in your own employ, and but for a bit of bad luck we should have captured him red-handed an hour or two ago."

Croot jumped from his chair, and his cigar fell to the floor.

"God bless my soul," he cried. "Mr. Lock, you are not seriously asking me to believe that. Why, most of my people have been with me for years. Absolutely trustworthy."

"What about Mr. Gilmour, sir?" Lock asked.

Lock launched his bomb quietly enough, but there was no mistaking the gravity of his manner. It was almost as if he were making an accusation against Croot himself. The latter threw back his head and laughed as if something had amused him heartily.

"My dear sir," he said. "This is really funny. My manager and confidential second-in-command. Why, if Gilmour wanted money by the thousand at a time he has only to help himself to mine, and I should never find out. I am taking it very easy these times, and he has the control of everything. Besides, he knows that before long the business will be his. And Gilmour is no fool."

"He has been with you a long time?" Lock asked unmoved.

"Five years on this side, and more than that in Canada, where I came from to take over from Verity's when they retired, or rather the business retired from them. As a matter of fact, Gilmour was born somewhere in America, the Argentine, I believe, and he is the best servant I ever had. But stop a minute. You recognized him about a couple of hours ago on the Thames engaged in some underhand work and recognized him for my manager?"

"I didn't, Mr. Croot, but a man called Avory who was on the barge which was being raided did. He told me after the raid failed and the thieves got away that he recognized Gilmour as a man who was once in the Navy, and who had been in some sort of command in the ship where Avory was boatswain's mate. I was fortunate enough to find out where Gilmour is lodging, and went there to look for him, and was informed that he was dining out to-night."

"And so you came down to Cray to warn me and perhaps find out if my man was really dining from home as he gave his landlady to believe. He is in the house at the present moment. He was detained at the office too late to get here in time for the early stages of the meal, but he arrived by the train that reaches Cray from Charing Cross at 8.30, and is now in the dining-room."

Croot dropped all this out quite casually and without the slightest suggestion of triumph. It was much as if he were humouring some persistent child. He could see that Lock had lost a deal of his confidence, and that for the first time he seemed not so sure of his ground. But he was not yet entirely convinced.

"Don't you think you have made a mistake?" Croot insinuated.

"Very possibly, sir," Lock admitted cautiously. "But after having said so much I should like to make your mind quite easy on the matter. You see what I mean, sir?"

"Oh, I quite see what you mean," Croot laughed. "Your feelings do you credit. But let me assure you that so far as anything you have said goes I am quite easy in my mind. In the circumstances the best thing to do is to see Mr. Gilmour and examine him for yourself. Tell him frankly what this man Avory said, and give him the chance to clear himself in such a way as to avoid any sort of gossip or scandal. You will find him very reasonable."

"That would perhaps be the best way," Lock agreed. "Of course, Avory might have been led away by a chance likeness, and if that is so, why then we need say no more."

"Perhaps, but I don't think that Mr. Gilmour will be inclined to let the thing drop quite so casually as that," Croot interrupted. "He ought, at any rate, to have the chance of hearing what you have just told me. I'll ring for him if you don't mind."

Gilmour came a minute or two later, cool and self-possessed and entirely devoid of his usual aggressive assertiveness. He seemed quite at home there, and easy in his beautifully-cut clothes.

"I think you sent for me, sir," he murmured with no more than a casual glance at Lock. "May I ask what—"

"I think it is up to you to explain, inspector," Croot said.

Lock repeated his story again in tabloid form, whilst Gilmour listened with a smile on his face. He conveyed the impression of a child listening to some boring lecture from some despised master. Then he laughed quite good-naturedly.

"Quite amusing," he said. "So this faithful watchdog on board the barge claims to have recognized me for somebody who was once his superior officer in His Majesty's Navy. Incidentally, I may say that I never was in any navy. For all practical purposes I am a man without a country, being the son of an Englishman born in Los Angeles who married a Canadian woman. I spent most of my life in Canada, where Mr. Croot met me. Did this—er—Avory tell you what was my other alias when in the service?"

"I don't think he did," Lock admitted. "But you have quite convinced me that he has made a mistake. No doubt he has seen you in Great Bower Street and confused you with somebody he knew years ago. The mere fact that you were dining here—"

"But I wasn't," Gilmour carefully corrected. "I changed at the office and came on later, being detained at work till too late to reach here in time for the dinner. I arrived by the train from Charing Cross that reaches Cray at 8.30. I presume you found out my address and saw my housekeeper—"

"I got your address and the number of your flat from the telephone directory," Lock explained. "Avory gave me your name as Gilmour employed by Mr. Croot. He said he had known that you were in business in Great Bower Street for some time. It was your housekeeper who thought you might be down here."

Gilmour smiled to himself. He could see quite plainly how the officer had laid his trap to catch him.

"Oh, well," he said. "These chance likenesses are frequently the cause of trouble. But finally to dispel any further doubt in the matter, look at this."

From his waistcoat pocket Gilmour produced a slip of blue cardboard which he handed to Lock. It was a half of a first-class return ticket between Charing Cross and Cray, taken out that day.

"There you are," he said. "My ticket purchased at the booking office about 7.45 this evening by myself. The first half you can no doubt inspect at Cray station. And perhaps after that you may regard the alibi as proved, Mr. Lock."

"Quite," Lock said shortly. "There is obviously a mistake somewhere. I am sorry to trouble you, but I had to make inquiries. I wish you good night, gentlemen."