Читать книгу The Solution of a Mystery - J. S. Fletcher - Страница 8

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Silence fell on that room. Mr Radford continued to pace up and down; I remained sitting in the chair at the side of his desk. It was some little time before the silence was broken. He broke it ... at last.

‘What are you going to do?’ he asked abruptly.

‘I can’t say anything, Mr Mayor, until I have seen and questioned your son,’ I replied. ‘It depends upon his answers—and attitude.’

‘I want to question him first,’ he said. ‘You’ll hear my question, and his answer. Then—you can ask him what you like. But, mind you,’ he went on, speaking with vehemence, ‘you’re on the wrong tack, Henderson! The lad has his failings, but that he’s a murderer and a thief is utterly beyond all belief. The wrong tack, I say! I suppose you think you’ve got a prima facie case, eh?’

‘I don’t know what I’ve got, Mr Mayor,’ I said. ‘I hope your son will be able to clear things up. If——’

But just then the door opened and Richard Radford walked in and looked inquiringly from one to the other of us. He was a well-built, good-looking lad, who appeared rather older than he was. In good humour and temper he had rather a pleasant expression, but I saw as soon as he entered that he was just then in anything but a good temper. And his first words, uttered with something very like a scowl at his father, were not encouraging.

‘What do you want me for?’ he demanded irritably.

Mr Radford winced—obviously. It seemed to me that he was frightened.

‘To ask you a question,’ he answered. ‘Did you go to Lowsthorpe last night?’

Dick Radford looked at his father; then at me.

‘No!’ he snapped out.

‘Where were you, then?’

‘I shan’t say! What’s Henderson doing here?’

Mr Radford nodded at me.

‘I’m here, Mr Richard, to ask you two or three questions,’ I said, ‘It’ll be in your own interest to answer them. Did you pay Fardale, the bookmaker, fifty-one pounds this morning, in notes and gold?’

‘Who says I did?’ he demanded, angrily.

‘Fardale says so. Fardale has handed the money to me.’

‘Fardale’s a damned sneaking cad! I did pay him fifty-one pounds.’

‘Thank you! Amongst the gold which you paid him there was a marked sovereign——’

‘A marked sovereign!’ he exclaimed, evidently in genuine surprise. ‘How marked?’

‘Perforated by a small hole. Where did you get it?’

‘I know nothing of it! I never saw any marked sovereign. I gave him six.’

‘I know—I have them. But there it is. And that marked sovereign was certainly paid last night by Mr Collingwood, of Hagsdene Park, to Maidment, the rent-collector, who, at half-past ten last night, was murdered in Hagsdene Wood. Now, how did it come into your possession?’

He stood, silent, staring at me for a full moment. Then he shook his head and a look of sheer obstinacy came over his face.

‘I shall not say! You’ll not get one word out of me, Henderson—not a damned word!’

‘Were you in Hagsdene Wood at ten o’clock last night?’ I asked. ‘Will you say?’

‘I’ll say! I was!’

‘Why? For what purpose?’

‘My business! And now not a word more! Do what you like! I see what you’re after. But I didn’t kill Maidment, nor rob him, either. Be damned to you!’

Then with a swift movement he was outside the room and had slammed the door on us.