Читать книгу The Man Who Knew - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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THE significance of the commissionaire's remark was by no means lost on his hearers. It was indeed strange that the dead man and the individual who found his body should belong to the same club, and more or less live under the same roof. And not the least remarkable feature lay in the fact that Selby Crafton had declared that he had never seen Andrew Millar before.

But, on this point, the officer in charge of the proceedings was silent, though he exchanged a significant glance with his subordinate. Then, with a wave of his hand, he intimated to the witness that the interview was closed.

"I don't think I want to detain you any longer," he said. "Of course, you will have to give evidence at the inquest, which will probably take place tomorrow, but, as to that, you will be notified all in good time."

But no sooner had the man in the resplendent livery departed than the speaker turned eagerly to Lashbrook.

"This is a very strange thing," he said. "I suppose you noticed the amazing coincidence?"

"Yes, sir," Lashbrook replied. "Of course I did. Still, it doesn't get us very much further. You see, the Wanderlust Club is on my beat and I happen to know a certain amount concerning it. Of course, it isn't a swagger establishment likes The Travellers, for instance. But it is very well known and some of its members are by way of being celebrities. Men who travel all over the world, pioneers of civilisation, orchid gatherers, and all that sort of thing. A good many of these are foreigners. I suppose, altogether, that the club must number at least a thousand members, so that you can conceive it is quite possible for two men to use the club regularly and never meet one another."

"Yes, I know all about that, Lashbrook, but I dare say we shall learn a good deal more during the course of to-morrow."

Quite a large gathering filled the Salisbury Hall next morning when the inquest on Andrew Millar opened. It was not one of those international crimes that appeal forcibly to public opinion, but seeing that things were quiet just now, a large number of curious and morbid-minded people came thronging through the doors of the hall, and were waiting eagerly for what was likely to transpire when the coroner opened the proceedings.

At the far end of the long table at which the functionary in question presided was seated a dozen or more reporters with notebooks. These were not all of the male sex, for at least two of them were women, one of whom was young and attractive, dressed neatly in black with a small, close-fitting hat that served to disguise the attractiveness of her face. As Lashbrook stood there in the background, his eye roving from place to place, it seemed to him, in a vague sort of way, that he had seen that lady reporter before. Then the coroner began to speak and Lashbrook became the mere policeman again.

The coroner was one of the pompous, fussy type, with an exaggerated opinion of his own importance, and it seemed to Lashbrook that he was wasting a good deal of time in coming to the main point. Then, at length, the little man paused and looked up at the inspector who was in charge of the proceedings and intimated that he would like the latter to call his witnesses.

"Very good, sir," the inspector said. "Philip Lashbrook."

Philip stood forward. He took the oath and proceeded to give his evidence in chief. It was no more than a bald statement of what had happened in Mansfield street. But the Coroner did not appear to be satisfied.

"Are you sure that is all you have to tell us, constable?" he asked. "Are we to understand that you were called back just as you passed down Orford street by the man who found the body? I mean that you heard and saw nothing whatever until you were hailed by Selby Crafton, and went back until you came to the place where that individual was standing by the corpse."

"I heard and saw nothing, sir," Lashbrook affirmed. "I turned sharply to my right when I reached the spot where Orford street crosses Mansfield street, and I saw nobody. It was late at night and the place was deserted."

"Can you give us the exact time?"

"I can, sir," Lashbrook went on. "As I came to the junction of the cross roads, the clock in the steeple of St. Botolph's chimed the hour of one. That I heard distinctly. It was only a few seconds after that when I heard a shout and went back along the far side of Mansfield street where I found Mr. Crafton by the body of the dead man."

"Yes, but according to your deposition, you decided that the murdered man had only just died. Muscular action was still going on and the body was quite warm. Do you mean to tell us that you did not hear a shot fired?"

"I am quite sure I didn't, sir."

"And yet everything was absolutely silent."

"As silent as the grave, sir. I heard no shot. If there had been one I must have heard it, even if I had been two or three hundred yards away."

The coroner fussed and fumed, in his important way, but nothing more could be elicited from the witness, and he was told, more or less peremptorily, to stand down. He was followed by the police surgeon, whose evidence was purely technical, so that there was no opening for the coroner's astuteness, and he was followed in turn by the commissionaire of the Wanderlust Club, whose business it was to identify the body formally. When he had done this, he turned as if to leave the box, but the coroner had not done with him yet.

"One moment, my man, if you please," he said. "I presume you are well acquainted with the appearance of deceased?"

"Oh, yes, sir," the witness said. "It is my business to know every member by sight. Mr. Millar has been a member of the club ever since I went there nearly twenty years ago."

"And he lived there regularly?"

"Well, on and off, as you might say, sir. He came and went, sometimes being in London for months together and then, perhaps, a year or so abroad. A very quiet, reserved gentleman who kept himself very much to himself. I can't remember ever seeing him go in or out of the club with another member."

"And just as reserved inside, I suppose?"

"Well, as to that, sir, I can't say because mine is more or less an outdoor job. You will have to ask the secretary or one of the waiters as to that matter."

At this point the inspector in charge interposed.

"We are calling the secretary of the club, sir," he explained. "He is the next witness on my list."

A minute later, the secretary of the Wanderlust stopped briskly into the box. It was not much he had to say, except that the dead man was a very old member of the club, and that he had lived there, on and off, for years. He had some sort of idea that the dead man was engaged in Government business, but, as to that, he could not be definite. Mr. Millar was an exceedingly reticent individual and rarely spoke to anybody. He had no callers and no letters, and had never been seen to post one in the pillar box that stood in the hall of the club.

"Then you know nothing about him?" the coroner snapped.

"Nothing whatever, sir. He was elected before my time and, so long as he paid his bills regularly, it was no business of mine to inquire into his movements."

"But you must know something about him. For instance, you know the bank on which he drew his cheques."

"He never drew any cheques, sir. He paid his account regularly every Monday morning in cash. It was his habit, when he returned from one of his wanderings, to hand me over sums of money which, at his request, I placed in the club safe. He came back to England about a month or so ago, and the night he returned he gave me £500 in Treasury notes. Subject to certain deductions, I have that sum of money at the present moment."

The coroner fussed and fumed over his notes, evidently feeling that he had come to something like a dead end. It was quite plain that the last witness could say nothing more and after Crafton had given evidence as to the finding of the body, the proceedings were adjourned for a week and, thereupon, the disappointed spectators began to file out of court. Already, most of the police officers present had vanished, leaving Lashbrook behind.

He hardly knew why he lingered, save that he was interested in a lady reporter, who was now completing her notes and putting up her papers before leaving the hall. She rose presently and as she came closer to Lashbrook, who was watching her every movement, she looked up for a moment, so that he was enabled to get a full sight of that attractive face of hers.

He gave a little whistle of astonishment and then smiled, as if something had suddenly pleased him. As the girl in the small hat was passing him he reached out a hand and touched her lightly on the shoulder. She wheeled round swiftly.

"Surely," he said, "surely I am not mistaken. You must be my old playmate Mary Heaton."