Читать книгу A Front of Brass - Fred M. White - Страница 8

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Hubert forgot his troubles in this new sensation.

"Stop a moment," he said. "Let me clearly understand the matter. The telegram is a forgery?"

"In a manner of speaking yes, sir. Somebody contrived to obtain possession of the proper form and the proper envelope. When this was done it would not be a very difficult matter to forge the date stamp. I dare say I should have allowed the whole thing to pass but for that mistake in dating the telegram the wrong day."

"And how do you propose that that happened?"

"Well, it's only a theory, sir, but I fancy that I can explain that matter easily enough. The date stamp was forged in one piece. I mean it wasn't a die that could be changed. Something happened to put off the sending of the telegram, for a day, and there was no time to have another die cut. Therefore the person who is at the bottom of this queer business had to chance it. He took the risk of the mistake passing, and in nine cases out of ten it would have done so. When I came up to London with the telegram I knew that there was something queer about it, and I was quite prepared for the post office to repudiate the whole thing, which they did. No message like that was handed in at East Strand yesterday."

"And that is as far as you have puzzled it out up to now, I suppose?"

"Quite right, sir. I thought that I would come and let you know. If you are returning to Ledge Point this evening I'll tell you what my theory is."

Grant was, however, by no means certain as to that point, and Inspector Manley took his departure fairly well pleased with his own astuteness. He had hardly left the office before Philip Scarsdale came in. He looked anxious and uneasy.

"I got your telegram," he said. "I came up as quickly as possible. I heard all sorts of rumours as I came along. The popular theory is that Spencer committed suicide because he could not face his creditors. Is that really so?"

"Paul Spencer did not commit suicide, anyway," said Hubert. "The man was murdered. I saw the thing with my own eyes. I didn't see the murderer, of course, or he would have been in the hands of the police before now."

Scarsdale intimated that he should like to hear the story. He listened coldly and critically enough. There was something in his manner that irritated Grant.

"Do you imagine that I am not telling the truth?" he asked.

"What I think does not matter in the least," Scarsdale retorted. "It is what the coroner and Jury will say when they come to view the body. Some people might insinuate that you got Spencer out of the way so that you could put all the blame on him."

The hot blood rushed to Grant's face.

"Are you one of those people?" he asked pointedly. "Years ago when you stood under the shadow of disgrace for a time one man believed in you. He stood up for you when the woman who is now your wife turned from you. Appearances were pretty black, but that one man never wavered. And when the whole vile conspiracy was exposed—"

"I beg your pardon," Scarsdale cried. "I ought not to have allowed you to remind me of that, Hubert. Still, when a man looks like losing everything, he is apt to forget his friends. Tell me in as many words whether we are ruined or not?"

"More than that," Hubert replied. "We are disgraced. For all I know to the contrary, there may be a warrant out for my arrest at the present moment. And yet I can honestly swear that I am as innocent of wrong-doing as yourself. Raybold will tell you so. Spencer managed all the money side of the business; there never seemed any lack of capital. Mind you, I am not excusing myself. I ought to have insisted upon a sight of the books. And here was I not dreaming of a thing that was well known to Cardella and Morton."

"You mean Morton, the member of Parliament? He is going to dine with Sir Bruce Leverton to-night, and we are driving him over. He has never been there before, and Sir Bruce wanted to see him in connection with some political work. He always struck me as being—"

"I know he did," Grant said grimly. "But he isn't. That silly stupid way of his is assumed. If you watch him carefully to-night you will see."

"I shan't," Scarsdale said wearily. "I shan't go. I shall send my wife instead, and get her to introduce Morton to Sir Bruce. As you can imagine, this has been a blow for me. I suppose that there will be nothing saved out of the wreck?"

"On the contrary," Grant explained, "there is a good deal to be found. If I had had time to work at East Quogga concession I could have saved the situation. But Cardella and his satellite, Morton, are far too clever for that. Their game is to break us up at once, and bring the old house down with a crash. They have a man ready to apply for a warrant against me, and they may have made the application already. By the time I had explained my position and procured bail, the mischief will have been done. Those two rascals will have got the Quogga concession into their hands, and secure a fortune."

"You mean that if you can be free for a day or two—"

"Precisely. If you can help me here I fancy I can see my way clear."

"Then I will. I'll call on Wainwright on my way home, and tell him to be ready for you in case you are on the look out for a hiding place. I am taking it for granted that there is nothing left of Spencer's fortune. You have looked into his safe?"

Grant started. The question had given him an idea. He had quite forgotten all about the safe at Ledge Point. The keys of the library had been handed over to Jenner, who had instructions not to part with them except at the request of the police. And in all probability the police had not needed them. Spencer's safe was actually open, or at least the key was in the door. Here was a splendid chance to help May Leverton. At any hazard the must be free of her trouble. And the safe at Ledge Point might disclose something of real practical value.

"That is very good of you," Grant said. "I'll telephone my landlady to pack a bag for me, and leave it at Charing Cross Station to be called for. You shall take it down as far as Wainwright's place near Fairford, and leave it there for me. I have a little scheme in my mind, the details of which are not quite clear yet, but I dare say I shall puzzle it out before dark. What time do you dine at Leverton's to-night?"

"Half-past eight. Lady Leverton is nothing if not fashionable."

Philip Scarsdale went on his way presently leaving Hubert to his own troubled thoughts. An hour later he was called to the telephone. He recognised Scarsdale's voice.

"I'm calling you up from the Junior National," he said. "Morton has just gone out with a man called Jenkins. I happened to hear a word of two of their conversation. They are going to Bow-street to take out a warrant against you. I'm telephoning Wainwright."

The message ceased, and Hubert reached for his hat and coat. He called a taxicab presently, and got out at Charing Cross. Thence he took a bus to Victoria, and travelled down to Clapham Junction. Here he left the station, and started to walk to Grange Park, where he could get a local that would land him four miles from Ledge Point.

He managed to creep into the grounds at length. The early April night was closing in, though it was only a little past six. It was a dull evening, with a cold wind from the east. Making his way with great caution, Hubert reached the terrace at length. He had the satisfaction of seeing that the catch of the library window was pushed back. A moment later he had dashed across the terrace, and was in the room.

The door was locked. Jenner had evidently remembered his instructions. So far, so good. The keys were in the safe, and Grant pulled back the door. There was only one package in the safe so far as Grant could see—a square neat package, with Lady Leverton's name on it. Without the slightest hesitation, Hubert slipped it in his pocket. His one idea was to make his way to Fairford to the residence of the man who was awaiting him. As he turned to go a telegram on the mantelpiece attracted his attention. It was addressed to himself. No doubt Jenner had put it there for safety.

He tore the flap open carefully, so that he could stick it down again. The message was from May asking for the package in the safe at once. It was a matter of life and death that it should be delivered at Grant Lea that same night.

An hour later Grant burst in upon his friend Wainwright. He wanted to know if his bag had come; he wanted to use the telephone without delay. His manner was eager and excited, but there was something of the air of the conqueror about him.

"That's all right," he said, presently. "I've managed to get the better of Morton for the time being at any rate. And now I should like to see my room, and have my dinner clothes."

"But you don't want dress clothes to-night," Wainwright protested.

"Oh, yes, I do," Grant exclaimed. "I'm dining out this evening. It will be a pleasant surprise for some of them later on. I am going to do myself the honour and pleasure of joining Sir Bruce Leverton's dinner party this evening."

"You must be mad," Wainwright protested.