Читать книгу The Man Who Knew - Fred M. White - Страница 8

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"WELL, it may sound a bit like cheek on my part," Philip said. "But I want you to arrange so that I can be put on to this job, because I have an idea in the back of my head which may lead to important results."

"I can't promise to give you a free hand to the exclusion of everybody else," Klein said. "But I can arrange for you to be taken over by the Yard and allowed to follow up your own line. There will be one or two others working in another direction, but that is no reason why you should interfere with each other's work. However, what is the general idea?"

"Well, I can hardly tell you yet," Philip confessed. "You see, it is only a little theory of mine, and it came into my head the other night as I was talking to Crafton, who is the man, you will remember, responsible for directing my attention to the body. Just a trifle, but as you know perfectly well, these trifles often lead to great results."

"Nobody knows better than I," Klein agreed. "But you are not seriously suggesting that Crafton had anything to do with the murder of Andrew Millar, are you?"

"No," Phil responded. "It is a bit of a coincidence that they both belonged to the same club, though it is more than possible that they were not acquainted. The Wanderlust boasts over a thousand members from all parts of the world. So if one of these said he didn't know another by sight, then we should have to take his word for it. Another thing, if Crafton had had a hand in putting Millar out of the way, he would never have stood there by the body and coolly called my attention to the fact that it was lying there. He could have slipped away and none any the wiser. Did you ever know of a case where an assassin shot his victim and waited for the police to come along to identify the corpse?"

Klein nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I am quite with you," he said. "But what about this weapon? I think we are right in assuming that it was with this automatic that Millar was murdered. And, no doubt, everything has been planned out beforehand. The unfortunate, followed by the murderer, who knew exactly where that drain was, and that he would be able to down his man and drop his weapon into a place where it might have lain for years without discovery. I suppose you realise that we have got an exceedingly cunning criminal to deal with. But don't let us get too far ahead. What I want to know is where that automatic was made."

"Ah, that will take us some little time," Phil said. "It was evidently a special weapon, made for a special purpose. Moreover, there is no sign of what I might call its nationality. A strange thing, isn't it, that the makers of such a fine piece of work should be ashamed or unwilling to put their mark upon it? It may be of English manufacture; it may be German, or French. But, somehow or other, I have an idea that I have seen a weapon like it before. Do you remember an occasion, early in 1918 when every man we could scrape together was rushed up to Amiens when the Germans were making their great push. It was a night in late April when we managed to lay a spy by the heels."

"By Jove, I do," Klein said. "A German in British uniform. We only tumbled to it by accident."

"Yes, and what happened? Before we could lay hands upon him the man was dead. I mean to say, he saw exactly what was coming to him and contrived, in some manner, to make away with himself. Just collapsed and died, as we were on our way up the stairs to arrest him in the ruined cottage where he had his quarters. Of course, we found no papers or anything of that sort and no weapon, except an automatic pistol which, now I come to remember it, was very like the one lying on the table there."

"Ah, it all comes back fresh to my mind now," Klein said. "The man contrived to poison himself in some way. And you are right about the pistol he was carrying. It did bear a curious resemblance to the one you found last night. Not that the fact helps us much."

"I am not so sure about that," Phil smiled. "If you will let me have that revolver for a few hours, I think I shall be in a position to trace it to the source of its manufacture. It's just a chance, of course. What do you say?"

"Rather running a risk as far as I am concerned," Klein said. "But still, you can have it, it you like."

"Then I am free to make my investigations."

"Yes, you can bank on that," Klein said. "I will make everything easy for you. So get on with it, and don't give another thought to your superiors in Wine street."

More than satisfied with his afternoon's work, Lashbrook went off presently and, later on in the evening, found himself somewhere in the neighbourhood of Hampstead. He came at length to one of the smaller side streets, where he knocked at the door of a house in the terrace and inquired of the slatternly servant who came to the door for one, Michel Rothbarth.

"Yes," said the slovenly maid. "Mr. Rothbarth is in his room. Would you like to see 'im?"

Phil gave his name and intimated that he had come there on purpose. A minute later, he found himself in a small sitting room, where a man about his own age looked up and regarded him through a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles.

"Why," he exclaimed. "It's Philip Lashbrook. My dear fellow, I haven't seen you for years. I suppose you are still friendly or you wouldn't be here."

"That's right," Phil said. "Seems ages since we were at Bonne together, and on the best of terms. And after that we met more than once in London. Then the war, of which the least said the better. And that's done and past now, and we can meet just as we used to do in the old days."

"But how did you find me out?" Rothbarth asked.

"Oh, I have known for a long time that you were back in London at the old job once more. I was going to look you up but really I haven't had the time."

"And what are you doing now?" Rothbarth asked.

"Well, I am—or was till yesterday—a common or garden policeman," Lashbrook smiled. "And I daresay you will wonder if that fact has anything to do with my visit here tonight. Well, as a matter of fact it has."

Rothbarth looked up in some alarm.

"Nothing wrong, eh?" he asked uneasily.

"Oh, dear no. Not at least, as far as you are concerned. But it occurred to me that you might be in a position to give me certain information. You can speak as plainly as you like, because I have Scotland Yard behind me. Now, I suppose you read something about that murder in Mansfield street?"

"Certainly I did," Rothbarth agreed. "But you are not suggesting that I can help you in that matter, are you?"

"Well in a way, I am. Because I know that you held a commission in the German Army during the war. And, on one occasion, as I ascertained from some prisoners we took, you were jolly near to falling into our hands. Now, Rothbarth, the firm you represent in London has to do with small arms, more or less."

"Quite right. Proceed," Rothbarth said.

"As agents for a manufacturing combine in Germany. Tell me if I am wrong. No, I see I am not. Now, I am going to take you more or less into my confidence. Unless we are greatly mistaken, we have found the weapon with which Andrew Millar was shot. In fact, I have got it in my pocket at the present moment. I have a sort of feeling that it is of German manufacture and, if so, you may be in a position to put me in touch with the makers. Here it is. Have a good look for yourself."

Rothbarth took up the weapon and, almost at once a dawning smile broke out behind his spectacles.

"You have come to what you call the right shop, my boy," he said. "As a matter of fact, I can tell you all about that weapon. It was designed and manufactured in Munich, early in the war, for the use of what I must call our spies. That is why there is no identification mark on it whatever. You see, what we call a spy the other side calls a patriot—it all depends upon the point of view. And you know the risks that attach to war espionage. Well, suppose one of these secret service men fall into the hands of the enemy. If they are clever enough, no papers are found on them, nothing but a revolver, which cannot be identified as made in their own country. But this particular weapon is quite familiar to me. Each of our secret service men carried one when he was on active service."

"Yes, I rather gathered that," Lashbrook said. "But what beats me is how several of your country-men, who were caught behind our lines, managed to do away with themselves just before they were laid by the heels."

Rothbarth smiled again as he took up the revolver, and, pressing a spring just behind the trigger guard, detached the handle. This he turned upside down and out of it fell a small capsule, together with a long slender key.

"Well, what do you make of these?" he asked.

"Nothing of the capsule," Lashbrook said. "But the key looks more or less familiar. Unless I am greatly mistaken, it is a key to a hiding place in some safe deposit."