Читать книгу The Sentence of the Court - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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Gilray nodded and walked as far as the inner consulting-room, where the telephone was placed. He was vaguely asking himself who this Herepath was who wished to speak to him so urgently. The name was oddly familiar, and yet for the moment he could not recall where he had heard it. It seemed in some way to be directly concerned with the stirring events of the past few hours. But then there had been so much to think about and, in any case, what did it really matter? Probably Herepath was no more than a casual patient who would see him to-day and would be gone to-morrow. There were hundreds of such, each regarding his or her own particular case as being of the first importance. And yet Gilray was annoyed because for the moment he could not place the name.

He took off the receiver and made the usual signal that he was there.

"Is that Doctor Everard Gilray?" a voice asked. "Oh, yes, I am Mr. Geoffrey Herepath speaking. We have met before at one or two scientific gatherings. I am an engineer—an electrical engineer."

"I begin to remember," Gilray said with practical professional glibness. "Oh, yes, Mr. Herepath, to be sure. Is there anything I can have the pleasure of doing for you?"

"Yes, you can give me an appointment," the voice at the other end of the line said. "I am sorry to say that I have been burning the candle at both ends, doctor. You see, I am an inventor as well as an engineer, and I prefer to do my own drawings. I dare not trust the secret of the process I have on hand now to anybody else. I once had a valuable set of drawings copied by a dishonest assistant who is now living on his own estate and motoring in a Rolls Royce car.

"There are scores and scores of minute lines on my plans, and I have to sit up half the night over them as I cannot find the time during the day. Lately I have experienced great difficulty in doing the work, and last night my sight failed me altogether. For some little time I could see nothing whatever. I went to my own doctor this morning early and he sent me to you. He took quite a serious view of the case and told me I must not lose a minute. Can you see me to-day?"

"I'll see you to-day with pleasure," Gilray said. "Hold a moment whilst I consult my appointment book...Are you there? Oh, yes, I can manage it. Say half-past one."

The voice at the other end of the 'phone murmured thanks, and the conversation ended. Gilray went back to his consulting-room, still somewhat puzzled. He did not recollect the man Herepath, and yet the name seemed quite familiar to him. He was sure that he had heard it quite lately, sure that he knew the man.

"Upon my word, I believe I have it," Gilray suddenly exclaimed. "Herepath was the name that queer old man down by the Docks spoke of last night. Herepath was the man who fitted up all those boasted burglar alarms in that mysterious house. Evidently a friend of the family. Very odd that I should so soon come in contact again with that queer crowd. Looks rather like fate. Anyway, it should give me a chance of following up my acquaintance with the beautiful Enid Harley. What a face, what a figure, what a voice. And probably rich into the bargain. It's any odds that the old miser is a Croesus. Never was there such a chance for a poor devil situated as I am. I'd willingly marry the girl if she hadn't a penny—if I only dared. But I must—I must—find a wife with money."

The old troubles came swooping down upon him again. True he had found the money to pay out that threatened attachment; he had already spoken to his solicitor on the telephone and despatched the money by special messenger. So far that ghost had been laid. But there were many other ghosts gibbering and mocking him, a veritable crowd of blue devils in the form of azure envelopes, littering his desk. He might manage to put off the great catastrophe for a week or two longer, but the end was inevitable unless some miracle happened, unless, for instance, he could prove to his creditors that he had a rich marriage in prospect.

He must find out all about Enid Harley and her father, and it seemed as if good fortune had tossed the opportunity into his lap in the shape of Herepath.

He had no appointment for an hour or two yet; he was tired of his own melancholy thoughts. To distract his attention he took up a newspaper and began to read mechanically. Apparently the 'Herald' was more enterprising than the 'Messenger,' and had much more to tell than its contemporary had about the mysterious outrage at Van der Knoot's place in Park-lane.

"Strange how everything keeps working in one line," Gilray muttered. "Here we are back to it again. I'm no judge of such things, if I did not see the missing miniatures of the beautiful Misses Hessingdale in the mysterious house by the river last night. Now what possible connection can there be between a millionaire collector who lives in Park-lane and a grasping old miser who has a house in the East End of London? Is Harley the head of a clever gang of international thieves who make a speciality of robbing people of valuable works of art? If so, it did not seem to worry him much when I spotted those priceless miniatures last night. And if he is a thief, what is Enid Harley? But, no—a girl with a face like her's could be nothing but good and pure. I wonder if I shall find any further information here."

As a matter of fact, there were several little points in the case the 'Messenger' man had missed. For instance, the 'Herald' stated that Mr. Van der Knoot's man Walker had been partially blinded by having snuff or pepper dashed into his eyes, and that there was a clue in the shape of a portion of a tie that Walker had torn from the throat of his assailant. The clue was in the possession of the police, and they, of course, had sanguine hopes that it would quickly lead them to the thief. Gilray smiled as he read.

"How, these newspapers help the criminal," he muttered. "Here is the thief, presumably by the very nature of his occupation a close student of the daily press, made a present of the information that the police possess a goodly portion of the tie he was wearing at the time he committed the outrage. Of course, the part of the tie he retained is in the fire by this time."

Gilray's immaculate butler broke in upon his master's meditation with, the information that if he was not engaged, Inspector Gillespie, of Scotland Yard, and another person would like to see him at once. Gilray fairly started. Had he been traced to the Docks last night? Was he about to be dragged into some sensational case? Well, if so, this was only one more straw added to the burden.

"I'll see the Inspector at once," he said. "Show him into the consulting-room."

Inspector Gillespie was sorry to trouble Doctor Gilray, but his business was urgent. Possibly the doctor had heard of the mysterious affair in Park Lane the night before. Perhaps he had read something of it in the papers.

Gilray breathed a little more freely. Evidently this affair had nothing to do with the equally mysterious house at Poplar. A glance at Inspector Gillespie's companion strengthened his impression. The man looked something between a gentleman's servant and a policeman in plain clothes, and he had a bandage over his eyes.

"I have just been reading the story," Gilray said. "Most interesting, I am sure."

"Very puzzling, too, sir," the inspector proceeded to explain. "We have no clue except that of a torn scarf. My companion is Walker. At the moment he told us all he could in his shaken up condition; since then he has been able to recall things a bit and has given us a closer description of the thief. But the poor fellow is badly handicapped by the injury to his eyes. For the moment, at any rate, he is practically blind, and if we did make an arrest couldn't help us much. His own doctor had done what he can, and says his sight will improve with time. But to us time is everything, and you can see how we are hampered by Walker's loss of sight. His medical man suggested that a specialist might expedite a cure. That is why I came to you, sir."

Gilray professed himself, with truth, ready to do anything to help. Apart from the professional side, he was now deeply interested in this business; he seemed to see that here was fate playing into his hands. He put his patient on a couch and removed the bandage from his eyes. He was the brilliant oculist now, and could think of nothing but his work. Nor did it take him long to get to the bottom of the mischief. He worked with a hand as steady as a rock, worked with the delicate instruments and brushes as fine as the point of a needle. Finally he applied some soothing fluid and replaced the bandage.

"There," he said, "that will be all right. You feel better already?"

"Thank you very much, sir, I do indeed," the grateful patient murmured. "The smarting has all gone and my eyes don't run any more. How long shall I be, sir, before——"

"Two days," Gilray said quietly. "The lotion night and morning. Take the bandage off this evening. Eight and forty hours hence you will see as well as ever."

"I should have liked him to have seen this first," the inspector said as he produced a fragment of torn silk from his pocket. "This is a piece of the thief's scarf, doctor. The only clue we possess."

Gilray put out his hand for the thing. As he looked at it he had some difficulty in repressing a cry. For the particular green ground and the queer arrangement of orange dots and splashes on it were quite familiar to him. It was the very pattern of the scarf he had seen bandaged over the eyes of his midnight patient at the house by the dock side.

But for his professional restraint and training he would assuredly have betrayed himself.

"Very interesting," he said coolly, "but rather fragmentary. And now, Inspector, if there is nothing else——"

Gillespie took the hint and departed with Walker in his train. All the rest of the morning patients came and went, and, though Gilray performed his tasks with amazing skill and assurance his mind was far away. He was wondering what all this was to lead to, and how it was destined to bear upon his fortunes. He was still brooding upon it when Geoffrey Herepath was announced.

He saw a tall, fair man, with a handsome, clever face, shrewd eyes, and a mouth relieved from hardness by a humorous, rather tender droop at the corners. He saw a man with power and intelligence written all over him. Then a flash of recognition came into his eyes.

"Your name puzzled me," he said. "I could not place you, though it was quite familiar. Why you were connected with me in that Clarges case some two years ago. I mean to take it up again when I have time. I am still convinced that there is money in it, and that we are the victims of a conspiracy."

"Certain," Herepath said. "I, too, am biding my time. But I have plenty of troubles of my own on hand just now, doctor. I think I explained everything to you on the telephone. I am anxious for your verdict."

"Quite right," Gilray replied. "I like to hear a man speak like that. Take off your coat and vest—and shirt. It is a theory of mine, based on one or two small successes, that these eye troubles are sometimes merely muscular...Yes, that will do nicely...Now I am going to put something in your eyes. No, not belladonna; I have a far better preparation than that, and one that causes no after inconvenience."

As Gilray bent in examination over his patient, he could see that Herepath had round his neck a slender gold chain to which a medallion was attached—an oval medallion containing a portrait which looked like a photograph on vellum or celluloid coloured by hand. He could see that this was the likeness of a girl, as he looked again his whole frame stiffened.

It was the photograph of Enid Harley.

Gilray opened his lips to speak, but not sound came. It was some little time before he could control himself sufficiently to say——

"That will do for the present. Let me bathe your eyes with this lotion...Yes, you can see quite as well as ever, I mean as well as you could when you came here."

"As well as I could when I came here, doctor, that sounds ominous. What is the——"

Herepath paused and Gilray passed his hand across a damp forehead.

"I—I can't tell you yet," he said. "It is far too early. You will have to come to me again in a week. In the meantime don't do any night work, and keep your eyes off those plans. Come again at this time next Thursday."

Gilray was alone again, alone and struggling with a fierce temptation. So that was the man who had robbed him of the girl, and her fortune. Her father who...it was preposterous. And it was so easy, so very easy to...

Gilray dropped into a chair, trembling from head to foot.

"I see my way, I see my way," he whispered hoarsely. "And, by heavens, I'll do it."