Читать книгу The King Diamond - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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THERE was no atmosphere of suspicion or trouble in the calm serenity of Ravenswood. The great house seemed to sleep in the sunshine, the lawns and rose gardens and the great elms behind appeared to be just as they had been any time in the last five hundred years, and, inside that fine old Elizabethan mansion, it was as if nothing had been touched since the days of the Restoration. The same old pictures, the same old furniture, and the same suggestion of refinement and mellowness. For Sir Samuel had been wise enough to take over Ravenswood exactly as it stood, and touched nothing. It was to this small corner of an earthly paradise that he welcomed his guests on the following Saturday afternoon. It was quite a small party—Lady Margaret Severn and her daughter, two prominent city magnates who do not concern the story at all, together with Sir Hercules and his secretary, and last but not least, Stella Ravenhill.

It seemed strange to Stella to stand once more in the great hall with its lantern roof, and the walls adorned with portraits of her own ancestors, but that was not a feeling that she was disposed to encourage. It was emphatically no time for sentimental reminiscences, because she knew only too well that, in all probability, Ravenswood was about to see most of the most remarkable happenings that had ever taken place in its long and eventful history. It was the custom there, as it always had been, to take tea in the great hall during the warmer months, and there Stella was seated with Lady Margaret at the moment when Sir Hercules, accompanied by his secretary, arrived.

She had seen him more than once before, but she had never studied that great gaunt figure with the interest that lighted up her eyes as he came shambling into the hall, and, not ungraciously, paid his respects to his hostess.

"This is quite an honour, Sir Hercules," Lady Margaret said in her pleasant way. "I was always told that you never went anywhere. And yet you might not do better than spend a few days relaxing in such a glorious house as Ravenswood."

"Oh, yes," Sir Hercules agreed. "My friend Sir Samuel assured me that I should not be asked to play the sedulous ape in society surroundings. Not that I don't know a good deal about apes, because they are one of my special studies."

This was by way of humour, and Lady Margaret smiled accordingly. She indicated Stella, who sat by her side.

"I don't think you have met Miss Ravenhill," she said.

Sir Hercules regarded Stella as if she had been some specimen that had hitherto eluded his attention.

"Oh, that is the young woman who used to live here, is it?" he asked. "A friend of my secretary's, unless I am mistaken. How do you do? One of these modern young women, aren't you? Business and all that kind of thing. Queer tribe altogether. Doing a man's work and keeping him out of a job. When I have the time to spare I am going to study what those foolish papers call the sex-war problem. Stop the modern trend if I can, because woman was only made for one purpose."

"And what is that," Lady Margaret asked demurely.

"Look after the house and have children," came the unexpected reply. "Those ancestors of ours weren't such great fools as people take them for. I suppose that is what you would call a rude remark. You take my advice, young woman—throw over your ledgers and get married to some decent young fellow as soon as you can. And put some more clothes on."

With that he turned his back upon Stella and ignored her entirely until the light meal was finished. All the time Lionel had been standing fuming in the background waiting his chance to detach Stella from the rest and lure her into the grounds. He managed to achieve this elementary diplomacy after a time, and breathed more freely when he found himself in the garden with Stella smiling by his side.

"Well, what do you think of the old brute?" he asked. "Nice old gentleman, isn't he?"

"Yes, I suppose that is what you call the eccentricity of genius," Stella laughed. "But let us forget all about him. I don't suppose he will look at me again. I suppose he really is as clever as everybody says. But his manners are certainly not engaging. And yet he strikes me as being simple enough as far as worldliness is concerned. Not at all the type of man who would go out robbing hen roosts."

"I suppose that is a polite way of speaking of diamond mines," Bly suggested. "I see you are still thinking of what I told you when we were having luncheon a day or two ago."

"Of course I am," Stella said. "That is not the sort of thing one would forget especially as I am so interested through my employer. But perhaps you are wrong."

"I wasn't," Bly said. "I am more convinced than ever. Now, within the last eight-and-forty hours I have had more striking proof. I ought not to tell you, but I have said so much that I cannot very well draw back now. I told you that Sir Hercules had no money. I told you he had exhausted all his credit, and that of his friends. When I saw you last he had been threatened with a distraint for a year's rent. And now that rent is paid, not with a cheque, as is the custom, but in notes, which Sir Hercules sent himself to the landlord's agent. He doesn't know that I am aware of the fact because when the receipt came he threw the letter on one side, and I had to open it. There was a letter enclosed with the receipt duly acknowledging £300 in Bank of England notes. Of course, it probably never occurred to Sir Hercules that the fact that it had been paid in notes would be mentioned, or possibly he forgot the matter entirely. He is like that. Most clever and brilliant, but apt, as outstanding criminals often are, to be careless with regard to details. I am not suggesting that he is an outstanding criminal, but it struck me as rather strange that he should have paid his rent himself in that fashion instead of leaving it to me as usual. And that is not the only thing. The day before yesterday there were some heavy accounts to pay, and I was sent with the money to wipe out the debt. Again in notes—running into four figures. Sir Hercules took them out of a safe in his room and more or less chucked them at my head. I am quite sure that there was at least four times that amount under the elastic band. But it was not for me to say anything, so I handed them back without comment. I don't like it, Stella, I don't like it a bit. There is something very wrong going on here, and if I could get another job to-morrow I should jump at it. Then there is another thing. Why did Sir Samuel Oscar ask Slaney to come down here? I can understand him asking you, and, through you, me. But Sir Hercules is not exactly a social ornament and when he gets excited his conversation is apt to be slightly Rabelasian. I mean, he is not adapted for the drawing-room at all. Socially speaking, he is a Yahoo. Then why was he asked down here? Do you suppose that Sir Samuel smelt a rat? I mean, does he suspect something in connection with Slaney and the loss of those diamonds?"

It was a direct question and Stella was utterly at a loss to know how to answer it. Because she knew perfectly well what was in the back of her employer's mind when he extended his hospitality to the great scientist.

It was impossible that she should mention anything of this to Lionel, and, just for a moment or two, she was silent. Then she saw the way.

"I couldn't tell you," she said. "You must see that for yourself, Lionel. When I flatter myself that I am in Sir Samuel's confidence, I couldn't go so far as to say that he tells me everything. Nobody ever does tell other people everything. What a strange world it would be if husbands and wives told each other all their thoughts. It is just possible that Sir Samuel has something in his mind, just as you have something in yours. But even if he told me what it was, I couldn't pass it on to you."

"Oh, that is quite right old lady," Bly agreed cheerfully. "I am not trying to pump you, and even if I were, I am sure that you would not tell any tales out of school. What I want you to feel is that there is something wrong going on here and I am very uneasy about it. And I am quite sure that Sir Samuel has got his own ideas on the subject. However, we won't say anything more about it. Let's have a turn across the park for half an hour before I go back and attend to the old man's correspondence. He has an enormous post-bag, a great deal of it rubbish, but I have to go through it most evenings to see if there is anything in the bushel of chaff that calls for attention."

"I never saw anybody quite like him," Stella said. "At one moment he might be little more than a child, especially with those blue eyes and wonderful teeth of his. And then he changes. It is only a glance or an alteration of expression, but there is something about him that frightens me. I am quite sure he would stick at nothing to gain his own ends."

"You are right there," Bly agreed. "You see, he lives for one thing alone, and that is the regeneration of the dark races. He is quite convinced that, in the course of time, the whole world will be inhabited by whites—there will not be any Chinese or Japs even. A few months ago he began to speak as if he regarded himself as another Messiah, ordained to bring about that wonderful change. I am not quite sure that he doesn't think so still. And then, though he is mild enough when he is working out his problems, he has the most extraordinary outbursts of Berserk rage. Coming down in the train, for instance, he flew out at me like a madman because I had forgotten to bring his newspapers with me. I thought he was going to strike me when I told him I hadn't got the Times. And the first thing he did when he got to the house was to ask for it. Of course, by pure bad luck. Sir Samuel doesn't take the Times. It all meant nothing, but it was very uncomfortable for me, and all the more so because—oh well, never mind. Let us talk about something else. I must be back in the house in half an hour. Let us hope that there won't be any outbursts to-morrow, and then I shall be able to call the day my own."

For some little time the two were immersed in their own affairs, and then, very reluctantly, Bly dragged himself back to the house again. He went alone, because Stella wanted to ramble about the woods that surrounded the park, and renew her acquaintance with many romantic spots which were full of the happy memories of her childhood. It was getting towards 7 o'clock when, at length, she turned her face to the house, passing through a large spinney with a swing gate at either end, and a grass path running down the middle. It was here, as she very well remembered, that she had shot her first pheasant, and she lingered for an instant where the track bent sharply to the right under the very tree where she had stood when she brought her bird down.

And then she had something in the nature of a shock. Just ahead of her she could make out the long, thin figure of Sir Hercules Slaney. He was not alone either, for facing him was a big, black man, almost grotesquely attired in a full morning suit, including the conventional silk hat. It was not so much the dress of the man as its absurdity in those sylvan surroundings that so held Stella's attention. There was very little comedy here, as she was not long in discovering. The two men were quarrelling violently in a dialect that conveyed nothing to Stella, though their heated voices carried far. She saw the black man raise his fist in a threatening manner, and, almost instantly, Sir Hercules was upon him. It was strange to see the elderly scientist with his almost fragile figure handle the big native as if he had been little more than a child. Sir Hercules lifted him off his feet and swung him crashing into a heap of undergrowth, where he lay without attempting to move. After that, Slaney walked on, just as if he had merely removed some crawling reptile from his path, giving it no further thought. Not in the least wanting to be discovered, Stella turned in her tracks and made her way back to the house by another route.

The whole thing was so strange and unexpected that it seemed almost like the fragment of a dream. There was no opportunity to mention the matter to Bly till dinner was past and done with and a move from the table was made. Just at that moment the butler came into the dining-room and with every sign of agitation whispered something in his master's ear.

"Impossible, Jenkins," Sir Samuel said. "Who brought this extraordinary story? Where is he?"

"It's Rawson, the head keeper, sir," Jenkins went on. "He found the man in the Leg of Mutton spinney quite dead. What am I to do about it, sir?"

Sir Samuel ignored the speaker for a moment.

"Here's a pretty story," he said, turning round and addressing his guests in general. "Jenkins says that a nigger has been found dead in the Leg of Mutton spinney."

"Oh," Stella cried, carried away on the impulse of the moment. "Why, before dinner I saw—"

She checked herself and stopped. It would be just as well, it occurred to her, to say nothing for the moment. She was congratulating herself on the fact that nobody had heard her speak when she caught Sir Hercules' eye upon her. Just for a flash, the look on his face was positively murderous in its baffled rage. And then, as instantaneously as if it had been a flash of summer lightning, his whole aspect changed and the mild blue eye and the flashing white teeth might have belonged to an innocent boy.

It was Sir Hercules himself who broke the silence. He spoke smoothly and evenly and as if Sir Samuel had announced something of the most trivial importance.

"Is there anything so wonderful about that, Sir Samuel?" he asked blandly. "I mean, is there anything so wonderful in the fact that a coloured man should be in the neighbourhood?"

"Perhaps not," Oscar agreed. "But when it comes to a dead nigger lying in one of my plantations, then I think you must agree that the thing does assume a sensational aspect. All the more especially as you are my guest."

"Yes, I see what you mean," Slaney said with a smile that showed his flashing teeth. "All sorts of natives come and see me. Even when I am in London I am not free from them, and nearly always they have some sort of a grievance. As a matter of fact, I must have seen the man you are speaking of. I was wandering about the park after my secretary came in to look after the letters and, sure enough, I found myself being followed by one of those fellows. He must have actually tracked me down from London. And, of course, he had a grievance. When I told him to be gone, he became very insolent, and I had to punish him. I threw him into a bed of brushwood and left him there. I only hope I didn't seriously hurt him. Did he appear to be hurt?"

Sir Hercules turned swiftly to the butler as he put the question. All this time Stella was watching him closely. She knew in her heart of hearts that if she had not given Sir Hercules a certain lead when that cry broke from her lips he would never have volunteered that information he had given to his host.

"That is the strange part about it, sir," Jenkins responded. "Rawson says he does not appear to be hurt in the least. There are no marks of violence on the body and no signs of a blow. Just as if the man had lain down and died there."

"Well, I don't see why we should worry about it," Sir Hercules said coolly. "Here, Bly, perhaps you had better take this matter in hand. It is just possible that we might know where the man came from and who he is. See if there are any papers in his possession. I suppose that the keeper had sense enough to send for the nearest doctor."

"I did that, sir," Jenkins said. "I sent Rawson for the doctor at once. We brought the body in and it is now lying in a room over the garage. Dr. Masefield is there now."

Bly, who had not said a word during the strange conversation, rose to his feet and followed Jenkins out. In a sort of empty loft over the garage under the strong rays of the electric light he found the local general practitioner bending over the dead body which lay on a pile of sacking. Bly hailed the doctor cheerfully, for they were old friends, and, indeed, in the bygone days, had been at school together.

"I have just been hearing all about it, Masefield," Bly said. "What do you make of the business?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I can't make anything of it at all," Masefield replied. "Look here, do you know anything about this chap? You have been mixing with niggers during the last few years and that wonderful old chief of yours knows all the African races inside out. And this chap is African beyond the shadow of a doubt. Kafir, I should say, and probably he followed your learned boss down here."

"I should think there is not the slightest doubt about that," Bly agreed. "In fact, Sir Hercules as good as said so. The man accosted him only an hour or two ago and, according to Sir Hercules, was inclined to be insolent. So the old man tossed him aside as if he had been a baby, and thought no more about it. Oh, you can smile, my boy, but though Sir Hercules is quite sixty and looks like a lath, he has the physical strength of half a dozen men. What's that? No, I have never seen the man before, and Sir Hercules says the same thing."

As Bly spoke he bent down to examine the body. Then his whole aspect changed.

"By Jove, I am wrong," he said. "I have seen this chap before. A day or two ago I met him outside Devonshire Mansions, where he approached me. He wanted to see Sir Hercules, and I persuaded him not to. He went off, very dissatisfied, and I didn't give the matter another thought. But this is the fellow right enough. I recognise him by his clothes. Quite the Bond-street get-up. And yet there is something lacking. I suppose that is his topper over there. Yes, that's all right. Soames, of Bond-street—quite the best people. And the patent leathers are correct enough. But the coat is one of those ready-to-wear ones. Not at all bad style, but certainly never came from Savile Row. Here you are, look at the tab, Israels and Co., the Strand. That chap no doubt arrived in London a day or two ago, and lost no time in rigging himself out in all that splendour. Probably he was in a hurry. All this doesn't help us much, Masefield. The question is, what did the man die of?"

"Well, there you have me guessing," the doctor admitted. "There is no sign of violence anywhere. Just a few scratches here and there, but, beyond that no evidence of violence. And you will notice that the scratches though fairly deep on the back of the right hand, are bloodless. I mean that no blood has flowed at all. No bones are broken, there is nothing to suggest a blow, and I am sure there is nothing wrong internally. What beats me is the amazing rigidity of the body. According to the evidence of your chief that man must have been alive up to a couple of hours ago, which means that rigor mortis can have barely set in. And yet the corpse is as stiff as if it had just been taken out of a refrigerator. I never saw anything quite like it before. I may be altogether wrong, but it looks to me like a case of poisoning. I don't mean a poison that is known to the British Pharmacopoeia. There are many poisons of which we know nothing. Native drugs and all that sort of thing. But I can't say anything until I can get in touch with London. There will have to be an inquest following a post mortem, after which I propose to send certain portions of the body to Spilsbury or one of those swells. Altogether a most mysterious case. However, I will get in touch with the coroner and try and arrange for an inquest to take place here some time in the course of Monday."

"Then you think there has been foul play here?"

But Masefield would not commit himself so far.

"I don't say that," he replied. "But there are certain circumstances here that call for investigation."

"I shouldn't wonder if you are right," Bly said. "I have heard a good deal of those mysterious poisons from time to time, though I never saw an actual case. Still, I know that such things do exist, and perhaps when I come to talk the matter over with Sir Hercules he may be able to tell me more."

Bly was about to turn away when his attention was attracted to the fact that the dead man had his right hand tightly clasped, whilst the left was open. In view of the rigidity of the body, this struck him as strange, and he called Masefield's attention to it. The latter took the rigid digits in his own.

"Yes, it is rather strange." he said. "By Jove, I believe he has got something in the palm of his hand."

With that, he manipulated the stiff fingers until they yielded, and something that resembled a tiny pebble fell out on the floor. Masefield gave a grimace of disappointment.

But not so Bly. He pounced upon the stone and held it between thumb and forefinger to the light.

"This is a diamond," he said. "And quite a good one, too. Now, I wonder, Masefield, if you will do me a favour. I would not ask unless I had urgent reasons for doing so. Would you very much object if I asked you to keep this little discovery of mine a secret. You can tell the police if you like, but I think you will be interfering with the course of justice if you allow this find to come out at the inquest. What do you say?"