Читать книгу The Golden Bat - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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Keen was badly frightened, there could be no sort of doubt about that. It was not alarm or surprise or uneasiness that Ray could read in those darkly glittering eyes of his, but real fear. For the moment he had forgotten all about his dinner companion; then slowly he managed to get himself in hand. As he glanced uneasily at Ray he grew assured, for Ray's face bore an expression of curious innocence that was almost childish in its mute inquiry.

"Has something upset you?" the latter asked ingenuously.

"Well, just for the moment, just for the moment," Keen responded casually. "You see, I am more or less responsible for the custody of the house at Shepperton, and my conscience is uneasy, mainly because I haven't been near the place for over a year. It isn't as if there were any valuables on the premises. But you know what these people are, if they can't find what they expect, they think nothing of turning a house inside out and destroying valuable stuff for the mere sake of doing it. And if they have wrecked their vengeance upon the poor old chap's butterflies——"

At that moment the butler came in with a copy of the 'Evening Mail,' and Keen snatched it impatiently from his hand. For the next ten minutes he was deeply engrossed in the story. It was by no means badly told, and the newspaper man had made the best of it. He described the lonely house at Shepperton, standing in its neglected, weedy garden, remote from the road, and empty for many months, during the absence of the eccentric proprietor, whose name the writer gave, though it was quite evident that he had no idea that he was weaving a newspaper story around a celebrity. He spoke of the old man and his taciturn servant, and how, on and off, for years, the place had been locked up, and left deserted without even a word to the local police.

"All very clever," Keen muttered. "What journalists call a stunt, I suppose. Something to make a splash on the front page, and hint at a sensation, which probably will never come to anything. Now, tell me, Mr. Ray, why should people burgle a place like that? It's only a small bungalow, with one large room, which is a library and museum combined, and three small bedrooms, with kitchen and offices. Electric light and gas and all that kind of thing, but nothing more than that. Looking through the account, there is not even a suggestion that my friend Moon is a man of means. As a matter of fact, he isn't. However, I suppose I shall have to go down there tomorrow and spend the day fooling about with the local police. But if the moths are all right, I shan't worry. It's an awful nuisance, because, I was going north—I mean into Devonshire to-morrow—and now I am afraid I shall have to put it off. However, let us talk about something else."

Ray went his way presently, without any further chance of a word with Angela. Not that it mattered much, because there was a perfect understanding between them, and he had not the least fear that she would say anything likely to rouse the suspicions of the man whom she regarded as her guardian. It was not late yet, and Ray went straight back to his rooms, where he took the telephone receiver off the hook and called up Lytton Barle. He gave a code number, and almost immediately a quiet voice at the other end of the wire gave a number in reply. No more than that, but it was quite sufficient for Ray, who responded with another number, and, after an interval of a few seconds, he recognised the voice of Barle, as it came over the line.

"Ray speaking," he said. "Where are you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I am in my own quarters," Barle responded. "It's all right, you can speak quite freely. I have given orders I am not to be disturbed, and you can talk as long as you like. Is there anything doing?"

"I really begin to believe there is," Ray responded cheerfully. "I have just been having a most entertaining evening with a man called Keen, who lives at Silverdale Mansions, and has offices as a Brazilian produce merchant in the City."

"Ah, not very illuminating," Barle murmured.

"Wait, my friend, wait. You remember telling me about that unique butterfly which was stolen from Lord Barlington's place in the big burglary the other night? The little incident you mentioned as of no importance, but which struck me as being of great significance. Well, as a matter of fact, it is. You see, this man Keen is a great friend of John Everard Moon, the greatest living authority on entomology, in fact, Moon frequently mentions Keen in his books. Now, it is a subject I am rather keen on myself, and, for reasons which I don't want to go into at present, I made an excuse to ring up Keen at his City office, and told him that I was in touch with a Golden Bat, and, as I expected, he rose to the bait. You see, I wanted to get into his house."

"Why?" Barle asked.

Ray was silent just for a moment. There was no particular reason why he should tell his chief all about Angela, because it was more or less of a sacred nature, and, up to the present, at any rate, had nothing whatever to do with the business in hand.

"Don't press me on that point, please, will you?" he asked. "I wanted to get into the home, or rather the flat, where Keen lives, and I managed it. Now, let's get hack to the essentials, shall we? Last night, there was a burglary at a little establishment called the Thatched House at Shepperton, and, strangely enough, the house belonged to a man called Moon."

"What, the great man in question?" Barle cried.

"Certainly. And it wasn't a coincidence, because, between you and me, I burgled the house myself. With that permit of yours I had not any trouble with the authorities at Shepperton. I merely broke in through the closed shutters of the big room there and left the windows wide open. I knew that the police would find them in that state, and they did. Mind you, I didn't take anything out of the house, I didn't want to. What I really wanted to do, I shall tell you in due course. I managed to convey a hint as to what had taken place to a young journalistic friend of mine, and he made quite an interesting story of it for his paper. If you will get a copy of the 'Evening Mail,' you will see it for yourself. Quite a good story."

"You are too subtle for me," Barle laughed.

"Oh, I don't think so. You will see when next we meet what I am driving at. Now, after dinner this evening, I told Keen all about the burglary at his friend's house, and I never saw a man more frightened in my life. It was only for a minute or two, but there was no mistaking his terror. There is something very sinister hidden in that lonely old bungalow, which is frequently shut up for years at a time, and Keen knows all about it. And I know a good deal about Keen—I wasn't out in Brazil all those months for nothing. Now, I want to have a free hand in the investigations of that burglary. I want to come and go as I like, but I don't want Keen to know that I am interested. The best thing, I think, is to have him watched, and, when he is safely out of the way, I can go down to Shepperton and potter about there to my heart's content. I know Keen is up to some mischief, because he told me tonight that the whole thing was a nuisance, because he has important business just now that calls him to the North. And, I didn't fail to notice that when he said 'North' he suddenly switched off into 'Devonshire.' I feel sure he is going North at the first available opportunity, and I am going to ask your men to track him, and see him safely out of London, so that I can have a free hand at Shepperton. I haven't the least idea what I am going to find in the Thatched House; perhaps nothing, but I am rather more sanguine than that."

"All right," Barle said. "It shall be as you say. And now for a bit of news. There was another of those baffling robberies the night before last, between York and Scarborough, and a pretty fine haul the rascals got away with. They actually had the impudence to travel from York to just outside Scarborough in the big Rolls Royce belonging to the man who was robbed. It had gone into York for a little tuning up, and they got it from the garage by a forged letter, delivered by a man dressed as a chauffeur. Then when they had laid hands upon the plunder they drove back and left the car on the roadside. Now, what do you think of that!"

"Well, I think we have got our work cut out. It seems pretty evident to me that it is the work of the same lot who raided Lord Barlington's house. And that brings me back to the point. Do you think you could get me a few minutes' interview with his lordship? It must be done very quietly, and in such a way as not to attract attention. Come about naturally, do you understand? I think he will be able to tell me one or two facts of more than ordinary interest. Now I know he is a member of my club, the United Universities, though he very seldom goes there. But if you could arrange for him to drop into the small library there about tea time to-morrow we should not be wasting his time or mine."

"Very well," Barle agreed; "I will do what I can, and if it's all right I will call you about lunch time."

With that, the conversation ceased, and Ray went thoughtfully to bed. It was just on the luncheon hour the next day when a message came from Barle to the effect that the interview had been arranged, and that Lord Barlington would be on the spot at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and in due course Ray found himself alone with the tall, distinguished-looking diplomat who had spent most of his life in the service of his Sovereign.

"Very good of you to see me like this, Lord Barlington," Ray said. "I won't detain you long, but there are just a few questions I would like to ask, because I may be on the track of the clue to the robbery at your house. I dare say that Mr. Barle has told you all about me——"

"Oh, yes," Barlington said. "Really most interesting. A secret squad of educated men, quite unknown to these scoundrels. An excellent idea! And I understand that you spent some years in the English Army Secret Service.

"In Brazil and other parts of South America. But particularly in Brazil," Ray said, significantly. "Most of my time was passed at San Salvador. At other times I was at Monte Video. I think your lordship knows those parts."

"God bless my soul—yes!" Barlington exclaimed. "I was Minister-in- Charge at both places."

"Quite so!" Ray smiled. "And may I ask your lordship if you were in any way interested in tropical butterflies?"

"Butterflies!—butterflies! Certainly not."

"Ah!—that is rather disappointing," Ray said. "I hoped perhaps you were, seeing that you had an almost unique specimen in a case in your library. I am alluding to an insect called the Golden Bat, which, I am informed, was stolen from your house, though why the burglars wanted to take that is a mystery."

Lord Barlington looked a little grave. His benign expression had given way to one of cold austerity.

"There are some questions," he said, "that I would rather not answer—questions relating to painful incidents in one's life which are best forgotten. And surely the freak idea of taking away that worthless handful of dried fluff cannot possibly have any bearing on the problem which you have to solve."

"I am afraid your lordship must allow me to be the best judge of that," Ray said firmly. "You never know what the faintest clue is likely to lead to. I believe that I am on the track of big things—in fact, I know I am. But I should never have got as far as I have if Mr. Barle had not happened to mention to me the incident of the stolen butterfly. Now, Lord Barlington."

The old diplomatist hesitated for some little time.

"Oh, well!" he sighed heavily. "If I must—I must. But it is a painful business and relates to a son of mine who died out in Brazil in tragic circumstances some seventeen years ago. And when I say tragic, I mean disgraceful."