Читать книгу The Shadow of the Dead Hand - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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"Are you altogether serious?" Dwight asked.

"My dear chappie," Lantary drawled. "Even I have my serious moments, and I want you to believe that this is one of them. I am no friend of Mr. Murdstone's, but I have my own reasons for a certain, shall we say feminine curiosity regarding the career of the late Felix Murdstone. It is nothing whatever to do with this case, but I do happen to know that Murdstone has no relations that is, in the sense that he is one of those aloof persons who seemed to come into the world without anybody being responsible for his being. Call him a self-made man if you like, who didn't want the world to know that he came out of—well—the gutter, and say, for the sake of argument, that his name wasn't Murdstone at all. But, really, this has nothing to do with the case. Who his enemies may be, or why he has come to this end, I don't know more than you do, but I am aware of the fact that you will have the greatest difficulty in establishing the fact that the unfortunate Murdstone had any next-of-kin at all. And that is that."

Dwight did not deign any reply. He and his colleague were hunting round the room for clues, but the end of half an hour failed to produce anything of the slightest moment. Nor, so far as the two inspectors could find, were there any finger-marks whatever besides those of the deceased himself.

"Well, I think that is about all we can do for the present," Dwight said, finally. "I am going to lock up this room and put the official seal on the door. There is no occasion to call in the police surgeon to-night. He can do no good, and I should think the deceased has been dead for a couple of hours, at least."

"But there will be an inquest, won't there?" Lantary asked.

"Of course. And, I presume, a post mortem, too, though, as to that matter, it will be for the doctor to say."

"Would you mind my being present?" Lantary asked. "I mean, at the post mortem; or, at any rate, would you mind if I came along to-morrow morning when the doctor is here? Of course, I can't say that I can do any good, but I do think that I have spotted a little thing that may have a very important bearing on this case."

"And what may that be?" Dwight demanded.

"Ah, that, my dear fellow," Lantary smiled, "is little Willie's secret. You may allow me to come or not, just as you please, but if you don't you may come to regret it."

Dwight shrugged his shoulders impatiently.

"Oh, well," he said. "It doesn't matter one way or the other. If you like to make an appointment with the police surgeon over the telephone, I cannot see any possible objection."

With that, Lantary sauntered, almost casually, from the room, and went along to the little conservatory at the back of the dining-room, where he had left Kindermere and his companion. He knew perfectly well that they would not be disturbed and that no servant had gone near them. The household would be gathered together downstairs talking over this grim and unexpected tragedy to the exclusion of everything else. And in this Lantary was perfectly correct, for there, in the conservatory, the others were more or less impatiently waiting for him to return.

"Ah, here you are," he said. "Just as I anticipated. Now, Miss Glynn, you can't possibly stay in this house to-night. There is nobody here but the servants, and I am afraid you would have a rough time of it even if you did remain. Besides, there is nothing to stop you. I suggest that you go up to your bedroom and rummage about until you can find some sort of outdoor costume, and, after that, between us we will find you some sort of shelter."

"That I have already arranged," Kindermere explained. "It's frightfully late, of course, but that rather erratic aunt of mine goes to bed at all sorts of times—"

"By Jove!—the very thing!" Lantary cried. "You are talking of Lady Eva Manfred, of course!"

"Yes—that's right," Kindermere said. "I have just been telling Miss Glynn all about her. She won't mind in the least if I knock her up and ask her to take Miss Glynn in for a few days—or a few weeks for that matter."

"It's very good of you," Alcie said gratefully. "But are you quite sure that Lady Eva will not mind my—"

"She is the dearest old soul in the world," Lantary interrupted. "Eccentric to a degree, of course, and a member of all the queer societies on the face of the earth. But she has got a heart of gold. Why, she will be positively grateful to get a chance like this. Now, you nip off upstairs and see if you can't find some sort of change of kit while I run out and get hold of a taxi. You need not trouble about the servants—they are all down in the basement discussing this tragedy like a lot of ghouls round a body. And they won't care whether you are in the house or not."

Ten minutes later Alcie was down again, dressed for the street. Moreover, she carried a big suitcase in her hand.

"I managed to find my wardrobe," she said. "It was hidden away in the sort of cubby hole on the landing where I sleep. And now I am ready to go with you anywhere."

It was, perhaps, the best part of an hour later that Alcie found herself seated in the drawing-room of one of the big flats in Portland-gardens, telling her strange story to a little, bright-eyed woman with grey hair, and the face of an amiable hawk, who was seated opposite her, half-hidden in the folds of a gay kimono.

"What an extraordinary story!" Lady Eva Manfred exclaimed, when the dramatic events of the evening were told. "You poor, dear child! Ah!—it only seems the other day that your father was the handsomest officer in the Red Guards. And so popular, too. My dear, you are going to stay here just as long as you like. And don't you think you will be the least trouble, because you won't. And now I am going to put you to bed. You must be worn out after all this excitement. Roy, you can go as soon as you like, and take Mr. Lantary with you. Oh, yes, you can come round to lunch to-morrow, if you like, but not too early, if you don't mind."

Lantary saw Kindermere as far as his bed-sitting-room in Flight-street, and then walked thoughtfully home to his rooms. By this time dawn was beginning to show in the east, so that the little man with the eyeglass concluded philosophically enough that it was a waste of time to go to bed, particularly as he had a heavy day before him. He had his own peculiar reasons for taking more than a passing interest in the Marrion-square affair, and, indeed, it occupied him to the exclusion of everything else as he sat smoking one cigarette after another, until it was time for his bath and breakfast. Then he changed into a lounge suit, and, once he had broken his fast, he got on the telephone with the intention of calling up the police surgeon, Dr. May.

At the third attempt he was successful.

"That you, May?" he asked. "Good! This is Lantary calling. Remember me, don't you? Over that Redhill affair. Yes, of course you do. Have you heard anything from Scotland Yard yet with regard to trouble last night in Marrion-square?"

"Oh, yes," the voice at the other end of the wire said. "You mean Murdstone. Inspector Carson has been round this morning to tell me all about it. Also he told me he got most of his information from you. But Scotland Yard doesn't seem to be very fond of you. What have you been doing to them?"

"Oh, mere professional jealousy," Lantary said airily. "Of course, I am only an amateur at the game, and not one of those wonderful beings who know more than all Scotland Yard put together. You know, the sort of chaps you read of in books. My line is the society game. Blackmail and family troubles, black sheep that go astray, and, really, I am not bad at that sort of thing. And I was in Marrion-square last night almost purely on chance. Not altogether chance, you understand, but it was just a toss up whether I went or not. And now I am glad I did, as you and Scotland Yard will find out before the day is over."

"But what's all this about?" the voice asked.

"Oh, yes, I was almost forgetting that. You are going to make an examination of the body this morning, aren't you?"

"Yes. I have arranged that for 11 o'clock."

"Good, then I am coming along. Mind you, that was a promise Dwight made to me last night. Any post-mortem?"

"Well, that I can't say yet, but I should think not. There is no great occasion for that sort of thing when a man has been so obviously murdered."

"But an inquest, of course."

"Oh, undoubtedly. Not to-day, or even to-morrow, maybe, but why are you so anxious with regard to the inquest?"

Lantary made some inconsequent reply and promptly rang off. At the hour appointed he found himself inside the library at Marrion-square, together with Dr. May and Inspector Dwight, and taking apparently the most languid interest in the proceedings. It was not until the doctor had finished his examination that he spoke.

"Are you going to make a postmortem?" he asked.

"No occasion for that whatever," the doctor replied. "The man died of a stab administered by some person unknown, and that is about all that the inquest will prove."

"I hope so," Lantary said softly as he rubbed his hands together. "I sincerely hope so. In the best interests of justice, I should be sorry if anything startling transpired. Now, look here, Inspector, how many people have identified that body?"

"The butler, Martin, and two of the footmen," Dwight explained. "You were quite right as to the relatives. I have been trying all the morning to trace them, and have utterly failed. Mr. Murdstone had an office in the City, and neither of his clerks nor his manager can tell me anything about his antecedents."

"Just as I expected," Lantary murmured. "And now for my little surprise. You say that the body has been identified."

"Haven't I just told you so?" Dwight snapped.

"Yes, I know you did. But you told me wrong. Because the man lying there on the carpet isn't Murdstone at all."