Читать книгу The Shadow of the Dead Hand - Fred M. White - Страница 8

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"What on earth for!" Dwight cried.

"I am afraid you are not quite so subtle as I thought you were," Lantary gibed. "My dear sir, can't you see what I am driving at? If we let the world know that Murdstone is just a common murderer he will at once be on his guard and it will take you all your time to lay hands upon him.

"Whereas, if he is allowed to labour under the delusion that the police regard him as dead and buried, then your task will be infinitely easier. You know now that Murdstone in alive. And another thing. You know that Martin is aware of the fact. Martin is in the conspiracy. And Martin will be certain to get in contact with his pseudo dead master. What I want you to do is to keep all these discoveries of ours a secret and not mention them at the inquest. Then you put one of your scouts to watch Martin, and, if you don't mind, I shall be greatly obliged if you will let me know when Martin gets in actual contact with the man who is supposed to be in his grave. If you make the real facts public you are going out of your way to make difficulties for yourself. And, at the same time, you will prevent me from carrying out the scheme that I have at the back of my mind. Now, think it over a minute or two before you decide one way or the other."

"Yes, I believe you are right," Dwight agreed. "Really, Mr. Lantary, I must compliment you on the way in which you have handled this business. You don't look like a detective, and that rather silly manner of yours must be a valuable asset. Yes, it shall be as you say. I will put one of my men to keep a close watch on Martin, and, directly he discovers anything of importance, I will let you know. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Lantary left the house a little later and, in the course of the afternoon, looked up Kindermere and told him exactly what had happened. There was no reason why he should keep this startling discovery a secret from his friend, all the more especially as Kindermere was indirectly interested in the plot.

"All the same," he said. "I wouldn't mention this to Miss Glynn, if I were you. By the way, how is she? It is rather a curious fact that I used to know her father quite well."

"Oh, did you?" Kindermere cried. "Where was that? How long was it before he died?"

"Well, he didn't die in the ordinary sense of the word," Lantary explained. "I don't know whether she has told you the story or not, but Rupert Glynn was drowned in a yachting accident somewhere off Cannes. That, of course, was before she came to England, at her father's request, to stay with Murdstone. As a matter of fact, Rupert Glynn was little better than a card sharper. He had to leave his regiment in connection with a card scandal, and, of course, resigned from all his clubs. Then he went to the South of France, where he could more or less obliterate himself and, at the same time, find his way into society of a sort, though he ran the risk of being recognised and exposed. But I am quite certain that his daughter is absolutely ignorant of her father's past. You see, one way and another, he made a good deal of money by consorting with young fools bitten with the gambling fever, I was one of them."

"You?" Kindermere cried. "You?"

"Yes, me. That was about three years ago, before I cut my wisdom teeth. I used to fancy myself with the cards, and was under the impression that I was confoundedly unlucky when, all the time, I was being rooked right and left by the set I got into, a set that was headed by Rupert Glynn. But, mind you, he really wasn't a bad sort. There were times when he bitterly regretted his past, and I don't believe he would have embarked upon a swindling career if it hadn't been for the affection that he had for his daughter. You see, he was compelled to make thinks comfortable for her, and the only way he could do it was through the medium of the card-table. At any rate, he saved me from making an utter and complete fool of myself. That was at Monte Carlo. He asked me to dine with him one night, and, after dinner, he told me all about his past and showed me exactly how those scoundrels were robbing me of my money. You see, he and my father were in the same regiment. That was probably the reason why he opened my eyes. At any rate, it was an object lesson to me, and, since then, I have never touched a card, unless it was with my own friends. I know there were times when he didn't know where to turn for money, and I suppose that was why he sent his daughter over to London to stay with Murdstone. What the connection was between those two, I don't know, but I am going to find out. I strongly suspect that they were in some conspiracy together. But, of course, that is merely conjecture."

"It seems to be an extraordinary tangle," Kindermere commented. "At any rate, Alcie Glynn is safe for the present with that eccentric old aunt of mine. She can stay there as long as she likes, because the old lady has taken a fancy to her, and, so far as I can gather, used to be a friend of her mother's. But, be that at it may, she knew Alcie's father well enough, because I heard her say so. She told me that he was the handsomest man in the Red Guards, and, of course, she must know all about the scandal, though even to me, she has not mentioned it, so far. I was having lunch with them to-day, and we were talking things over. Alcie's idea is to get her own living. She wants to go into a shop, or something of that sort. But my aunt won't hear of that. Of course, she might go to her own relations, but she tells me that her mother's marriage gave mortal offence to them, and she is too proud to make the first advance. If I could only do anything—"

"You could," Lantary smiled. "You could marry her."

Kindermere flushed to the roots of his hair.

"That's rather a poor joke," he said. "She's is a very beautiful girl, and undoubtedly she possesses all the courage of her race. But, after what you have told me, I am all the more anxious to do what I can for her. I am not what you call precisely a ladies' man, Peter, but—"

"Yes, you needn't say any more. I can quite see how things are. Love at first sight, and all that sort of thing. But, my dear chap, you will forgive me if I remind you that you are as poor as she is. When that old relative of yours dies—"

"Ah, then it would be quite another matter," Kindermere sighed. "Here am I, getting my living in a way that I am positively ashamed of, rubbing shoulders with the new rich, who are only too anxious to have the heir to an earldom under their roofs and advertising the fact in the newspapers. Women like Mrs. Leverson, for instance. A good dinner and a £20 note. Just enough to keep me in food and clothes and pay for my bed sitting room. And yet, some of these days, I shall have goodness knows how many thousands a year and a castle to live in. But the old gentleman may live another ten years yet, and I couldn't offer myself to any girl in circumstances like these. I have put my pride in my pocket more than once, but Kindale will have none of me. It wasn't my fault that his sister married my father. And, by the way, before I forget it. Do you know that Mrs. Leverson is a friend of Murdstone's? I never met him at her house, but I know that he used to go there pretty frequently and that he did business with Leverson."

"That is interesting," Lantary said. "And all the more so, because Leverson is one of the very new rich. In fact, I have heard some strange stories about him. After what you have told me, I think I will keep an eye upon that son of Israel."

It was three days later before Lantary heard anything from Scotland Yard. Then one of the detective staff called upon him with a certain piece of information.

"Inspector Dwight asked me to come and see you, sir," he said, "with regard to the man Martin. I followed him last night to a house in the neighbourhood of Clapham, and there he stayed for some little time, I wasn't near enough to hear whom he asked for, but it was some man who, I gathered, was lodging in a terrace and, directly Martin gave his name, he was admitted. It was quite late at night, and nearly eleven o'clock before Martin came out of the house and walked across the Common. He was evidently afraid of being followed, because he had his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled down over his eyes. I lost sight of him at a turning in the road, and I was near enough to the house to see another man come out of the house and go in the same direction. I can't exactly tell you why, sir, but this other man gave me the impression of one who had come out to take a little exercise. Sort of furtive, like a man who is hiding from justice and waiting till night to get a breath of fresh air. I can give you the address, and, if you want me any further, of course, sir—"

"No, I think that will do," Lantary said. "You give me the address, and I will make it my business to keep an eye on the house till Martin turns up there again."

Two nights later Lantary strolled up and down outside the terrace near the Common, and, just before ten o'clock, his patience was rewarded by the sight of Martin coming down the road. A distant clock was striking eleven when Martin left the house and, almost immediately was followed by a man who emerged furtively and walked down the road in the direction of the Common. As he came under one of the electric light standards, he was in full sight of Lantary for a moment, but that moment was quite long enough.

Lantary fairly staggered back.

"The dead back from the tomb," he muttered to himself. "Surely I can't be mistaken. What on earth does it all mean? If that man isn't Rupert Glynn, then I can't believe the evidence of my own eyes. Rupert Glynn, drowned in the Mediterranean, and yet at the same time hiding in a tenement house near Clapham Common! The plot thickens."