Читать книгу Malcolm Sage, Detective - Jenkins Herbert George - Страница 8

"So there is nothing?" Malcolm Sage looked up enquiringly from themap before him.

"Nothing that even a stage detective could turn into a clue," said

Inspector Wensdale, a big, cleanshaven man with hard, alert eyes.

Malcolm Sage continued his study of the map.

"Confound those magazine detectives!" the inspector burst outexplosively. "They've always got a dust-pan full of clues ready madefor 'em."

"To say nothing of finger-prints," said Malcolm Sage dryly. He nevercould resist a sly dig at Scotland Yard's faith in finger-prints asclues instead of means of identification.

"It's a bit awkward for me, too, Mr. Sage," continued the inspector, confidentially. "Last time The Daily Telegram went for usbecause – "

"You haven't found a dust-pan full of clues?" suggested Malcolm Sage, who was engaged in forming geometrical designs with spent matches.

"They're getting a bit restive, too, at the Yard," he continued. Hewas too disturbed in mind for flippancy. "It was this cattle-maimingbusiness that sent poor old Scott's number up," he added, referringto Detective Inspector Scott's failure to solve the mystery. "Nowthe general's making a terrible row. Threatens me with theCommissioner."

For some seconds Malcolm Sage devoted himself to his designs.

"Any theory?" he enquired at length, without looking up.

"I've given up theorising," was the dour reply.

In response to a further question as to what had been done, theinspector proceeded to detail how the whole neighbourhood had beenscoured after each maiming, and how, night after night, watchers hadbeen posted throughout the district, but without result.

"I have had men out night and day," continued the inspector gloomily."He's a clever devil whoever he is. It's my opinion the man's alunatic," he added.

Malcolm Sage looked up slowly.

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

"His cunning, for one thing," was the reply. "Then it's so senseless.

No," he added with conviction, "he's no more an ordinary man than

Jack-the-Ripper was."

He went on to give details of his enquiries among those living inthe district. There was absolutely nothing to attach even theremotest suspicion to any particular person. Rewards had beenoffered for information; but all without producing the slightestevidence or clue.

"This man Hinds?" enquired Malcolm Sage, looking about for morematches.

"Oh! the general's got him on the brain. Absolutely nothing in it.I've turned him inside out. Why, even the Deputy Commissioner had ago at him, and if he can get nothing out of a man, there's nothingto get out."

"Well," said Malcolm Sage rising, "keep the fact to yourself that Iam interested. I suppose, if necessary, you could arrange for twentyor thirty men to run down there?" he queried.

"The whole blessed Yard if you like, Mr. Sage," was the feelingreply.

"We'll leave it at that for the present then. By the way, if youhappen to think you see me in the neighbourhood you needn't rememberthat we are acquainted."

The inspector nodded comprehendingly and, with a heart lightenedsomewhat of its burden, he departed. He had an almost child-likefaith in Malcolm Sage.

For half an hour Malcolm Sage sat engrossed in the map of the sceneof the maimings. On it were a number of red-ink crosses with figuresbeneath. In the left-hand bottom corner was a list of the variousoutrages, with the date and the time, as near as could beapproximated, against each.

The numbers in the bottom corner corresponded with those beneath thecrosses.

From time to time he referred to the two copies of Whitaker'sAlmanack open before him, and made notes upon the writing-pad athis side. Finally he ruled a square upon the map in red ink, andthen drew two lines diagonally from corner to corner. Then withoutlooking up from the map, he pressed one of the buttons of theprivate-telephone. "Tims," he said through the mouthpiece.

Five minutes later Malcolm Sage's chauffeur was standing oppositehis Chief's table, ready to go anywhere and do anything.

"To-morrow will be Sunday, Tims."

"Yessir."

"A day of rest."

"Yessir!"

"We are going out to Hempdon, near Selford," Malcolm Sage continued, pointing to the map. Tims stepped forward and bent over to identifythe spot. "The car will break down. It will take you or any othermechanic two hours to put it right."

"Yessir," said Tims, straightening himself.

"You understand," said Malcolm Sage, looking at him sharply, "youor any other mechanic?"

"Yessir," repeated Tims, his face sphinx-like in its lack ofexpression.

He was a clean-shaven, fleshless little man who, had he not been achauffeur, would probably have spent his life with a straw betweenhis teeth, hissing lullabies to horses.

"I shall be ready at nine," said Malcolm Sage, and with another

"Yessir" Tims turned to go.

"And Tims."

"Yessir." He about-faced smartly on his right heel. "You mightapologise for me to Mrs. Tims for depriving her of you on Sunday.Take her out to dinner on Monday and charge it to me."

"Thank you, sir, very much, sir," said Tims, his face expressionless.

"That is all, Tims, thank you."

Tims turned once more and left the room. As he walked towards theouter door he winked at Gladys Norman and, with a sudden dive, madea frightful riot of William Johnson's knut-like hair. Then, withoutchange of expression, he passed out to tune up the car for its runon the morrow.

Malcolm Sage's staff knew that when "the Chief" was what Tims called"chatty" he was beginning to see light, so Tims whistled loudly athis work: for he, like all his colleagues, was pleased when "theChief" saw reason to be pleased.

The following morning, as they trooped out of church, theinhabitants of Hempdon were greatly interested in the break-down ofa large car, which seemed to defy the best efforts of the chauffeurto coax into movement. The owner drank cider at the SpottedWoodpigeon and talked pleasantly with the villagers, who, onlearning that he had never even heard of the Surrey cattle-maimings, were at great pains to pour information and theories into hisreceptive ear.

The episode quite dwarfed the remarkable sermon preached by Mr.Callice, in which he exhorted his congregation to band themselvestogether to track down him who was maiming and torturing God'screatures, and defying the Master's merciful teaching.

It was Tom Hinds, assisted by a boy scout, who conducted MalcolmSage to the scene of the latest outrage. It was Hinds who describedthe position of the mare when she was discovered, and it was he whopocketed two half-crowns as the car moved off Londonwards.

That evening Malcolm Sage sat long and late at his table, engrossedin the map that Inspector Wensdale had sent him.

Finally he subjected to a thorough and exhaustive examination thethumb-nail of his right hand. It was as if he saw in its polishedsurface the tablets of destiny.

The next morning he wrote a letter that subsequently caused Sir JohnHackblock to explode into a torrent of abuse of detectives ingeneral and one investigator in particular. It stated in a few wordsthat, owing to circumstances over which he had no control, MalcolmSage would not be able to undertake the enquiry with which Sir JohnHackblock had honoured him until the end of the month following. Hehoped, however, to communicate further with his client soon afterthe 23rd of that month.