Читать книгу Account Settled - John Russell Fearn - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

At 10:25 the following morning Rajek Quinton was in the lounge of the Grand Hotel, pacing slowly up and down, hat and topcoat on, his briefcase in one hand and a small card­board box containing his model bomb in the other. Seated at one of the wicker tables watching him was Jaline.

“I don’t often see you so excited, dad,” she remarked, smiling.

“Who wouldn’t be?” He came over to her. “This may mean a real fortune…the acknowledgment of my genius as a watchmaker, apart from the million advance and royalties to follow. With all that money we’ll really be able to do as we want.”

“For that matter, we could do so on the fifty thousand.”

“Only within limits, my dear—to live as we want to live. I need a lot of money as working capital for other inventions and materials. Fifty thousand doesn’t go far when costly materials are needed.”

“Well.…” A tiny frown marred the girl’s forehead. “I only hope things work out right. Silly of me to be so doubting, I suppose, but somehow—”

“Silly? Of course it is!” Quinton patted her shoulder. “Drew has made it perfectly obvious that he’s playing straight by asking me to come over again this morning, and even send­ing his car for me to go in— Ah!” Quinton glanced up as a stocky, bull-necked chauffeur in purple livery came through the revolving doors. “This is probably the chap now.…”

He raised his hand in a signal, and Brant nodded and came over, touching his peaked cap.

“Morning, sir. Mr. Quinton?”

“That’s right. You’re Brant, Mr. Drew’s chauffeur?”

“Yes, sir. The car’s waiting outside. Mr. Drew asked me to remind you to bring everything.”

Quinton nodded and smiled. “That’s all right. Everything is here. Well, Jal, I’ll be back soon.… Bye for now.”

She nodded a farewell, and Brant followed the inventor’s short, well-dressed figure across the lounge and out through the revolving doors. In ten minutes they had reached the Drew Building, and for the time being Brant’s task was over. Quinton stepped into the elevator and was whisked to the seventh floor.

He found Emerson Drew awaiting him, smiling, advancing across the office with extended hand.

“Glad you could make it, Mr. Quinton. Have a seat and a cig— Or did you say you don’t smoke?”

“That’s right,” Quinton acknowledged, smiling. “I don’t.”

He put his case and box on the desk and settled his hat in his lap as he sat down.

“Well, sir, we’ve made progress.…” Drew returned to his chair on the opposite side of the desk and nodded his plush-covered head. “And there’s no doubt that we’ll take up the option on your invention and on the terms you suggested.”

“You mean—the million advance?” Quinton asked slowly, his blue eyes fixed on the square face.

“I do. But of course that can’t come immediately. There are the final tests to make, with actual explosives and so forth. I asked you to come so as to be certain that we have all the necessary formulae and, as it were, the spare parts in connection with the invention. We cannot go any further without being certain that the rights are exclusively ours. In a matter as vital as this, competition could be very dangerous. Understand?”

“Of course,” Quinton agreed, unzipping the briefcase and drawing out a blueprint and several papers. “Here is the duplicate blueprint I retained for my own use. It is identical with the one you have, and there are no other copies. And here is the mathematical formula and notes, together with my own private observations. Nothing else remains that has any connection with the bomb.”

“Splendid!” Drew exclaimed, studying the notes and blue­print in turn. “All right, Mr. Quinton, this is all we need. I’ll take your old receipt and give you a fresh one.”

Quinton nodded and handed it across. Drew’s hand reached out to the bell-push and presently Janet Kayne entered, as severely dressed and imperturbable as usual.

“Yes. Mr. Drew?”

“Miss Kayne, draw up an undertaking for Mr. Quinton and in it state cancellation of this receipt I have here, and instead give our undertaking to take full possession of all details, prints, and formulae on the Quinton bomb, in consideration of the advance royalty sum of one million pounds sterling, to be paid immediately upon completion of tests. That’s the gist of it. You know how to put it. Do it right away and I’ll sign it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Janet Kayne went out, leaving the two men talking of irrelevancies. She returned with the completed document in ten minutes and laid it on the blotter.

“Good,” Drew acknowledged. “I’ll need you shortly to take some letters.”

“Yes, sir.”

Drew signed the document and with a smile gave it into Quinton’s outstretched hand. The inventor smiled faintly, folded the sheet up, and put it in his wallet.

“This has done me more good than you realize, Mr. Drew,” he said seriously. “Though I never doubted but what you’d see the worth of the invention once you’d tried it.”

“We definitely do,” Drew assented, getting to his feet. “You just leave everything to me and I’ll give you a ring the moment matters are complete. Say, in about three days? How’s that?”

“I’ll be waiting for it.” Quinton rose and took up his hat and briefcase. “And thanks again.”

“As to that—” Drew opened the door for him. “I should be thanking you for your genius. Men as brilliant as you, Mr. Quinton are all too rare— Oh, the car will be waiting outside. Brant will take you wherever you wish to go.”

Quinton nodded, shook hands, and went off down the cor­ridor. Drew stood looking after him, a grim smile on his heavy mouth; then he turned back into his office, perched himself on the edge of the desk facing the window, and dialed on the private wire.

Silently Janet Kayne entered through the interconnecting door­way, regarded her employer’s broad back, and hesitated.

“Hello, J.K.?” Drew’s voice was full of easy cordiality. “It’s all fixed up. Thought I’d better tell you. Come over to my place tonight and we’ll arrange the final details. Yes, right! Goodbye.”

Janet Kayne waited, contemplating her notebook. Drew put the telephone down for a second or two, dialed another number, then picked the instrument up again.

“De Brock? Everything’s okay. Come over to my place night and we’ll have a pow-wow. I’ve asked J.K. to come long. What? Sure! Couldn’t have been easier. We’ve got the whole works. Nothing to worry about. Yes, see you tonight.”

The telephone rattled in its cradle and Drew slid off the desk, smiling. He gave a start as he saw Janet Kayne.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded, glaring.

“You mentioned some letters for me to take down, sir—”

“Is that any reason why you have to creep in when my back’s turned? Why didn’t you knock?”

“I did, sir—lightly. Perhaps you didn’t hear.”

Drew hesitated, compressed his lips, then sat down. He motioned girl to a chair. She began taking the letters as he snapped them out. Half an hour later she departed into her own office again. By ten to twelve she had finished the letters and took them in for Drew’s signature.

“I’ll sign them later,” he said briefly. “Go to your lunch and come back ten minutes earlier, Suit me better that way. I’ve no appointments for this afternoon, have I?”

“No, sir. A clean sheet.”

“Right. That’s all.”

Janet Kayne nodded and left the office, returned to her own quarters to don hat and coat. As poker-faced as ever, she went to the elevator and so down to the ground floor. She was crossing the wide pseudo-marble entrance ball when a slender, blonde-headed girl came in at the swing doors with anxious movements. She took three strides across the shining floor and then paused, putting a hand to her forehead and swaying noticeably.

“Here, what’s the matter?” Janet Kayne put an arm about the girl’s shoulder and supported her tightly. From the distance the commissionaire began to appear.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” the girl apologized, trying to smile. “I just feel a—a little faint.…”

“This way,” Janet Kayne said, completely in control of the situation, and waving the commissionaire away, she helped the girl across to one of the long oak forms and settled her down.

Very gradually, as she sat relaxed with head thrown back, color began to return to the girl’s cheeks. She made a little gesture.

“You’re very kind to bother over me like this—”

“I hope I’m human,” Janet Kayne responded. “You feeling better now?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed. Much better. It’s my heart that’s the trouble, I’m afraid, and anxiety doesn’t improve it. Tell me, do you work in this building? I’m Jaline Quinton.”

“Oh! Your father was here this morning—”

“Then he did get here all right?”

“Why, certainly!” Janet Kayne’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “Any reason why he shouldn’t? Incidentally, I’d better explain. I am Janet Kayne, personal secretary to Mr. Drew.”

“Then I couldn’t have met a better person!” Jaline Quinton seemed by now to have completely recovered. “I’m wondering what has happened to my father. Have you any idea what time he left here?”

“I should think it would be about quarter to eleven.”

“Then­—” Worry came back to Jaline Quinton’s face. “Then where is he? He said he’d come straight back to the hotel. Even if he walked it, he could do it within half an hour—and now it’s noon! I’m terribly worried. That’s why I came along to see if I could find him.”

Jaline’s eyes met the secretary’s level, impersonal ones for a moment. Janet Kayne raised and lowered her shoulders gently.

“I’m sure there must be quite a reasonable explanation, Miss Quinton. After all, not very much time has gone by. Your father may have called somewhere and—”

“But you don’t understand! My father came here about his invention and every moment he’s out of my sight I’m scared for his safety.”

“Then I’m sure you needn’t be. He arrived here safely with all the details of his invention. I know, because I typed out the receipt. If you take my advice, Miss Quinton, you’ll go back to the hotel where I’m sure you’ll find your father waiting for you. By this time he is probably the anxious one.”

Jaline got to her feet and nodded worriedly—then both she and Janet Kayne glanced towards the elevator as the gates clanged back. Emerson Drew himself emerged in topcoat and black soft hat, gold-knobbed cane in his hand.

He glanced briefly towards the two women, let his eyes rest for a moment on his secretary, then following his usual custom outside the office, he took no further notice and proceeded on his way to the outdoors.

“That’s Mr. Drew,” Janet Kayne explained quietly. “And I’m afraid I must be moving on. Perhaps I could see you as far as the end of the street?”

“No, thanks all the same.” Jaline Quinton squared her shoulders. “I’ll be all right—really. I soon get over these bad spells of mine.”

Nevertheless, Janet Kayne took the girl’s arm firmly as they walked side by side towards the swing doors.

* * * *

At the very moment the two women were leaving the Drew Building, Rajek Quinton was recovering from the stupefying effects of an ether-soaked handkerchief. As consciousness drifted back to him in snatches he remembered bits and pieces—vaguely, clouded by the miasma of dreams.

He had got into the car. Brant had driven in quite normal fashion amidst the traffic, then complaining of engine trouble, he had turned down a side street and stopped.… Then what? Dully, Quinton remembered. He had said he would get out and walk—but he had been forced back into the car with that handkerchief over his face, had collapsed in a corner seat as though asleep. And now—

He opened his eyes and for a moment or two his brain swam. Then he became aware that he was out in the country some­where. There was a dry rustling of grass, a warm breeze fan­ning his face. Above him was pale autumn sky and the sound of an active bird.

Gradually Quinton propped himself on his elbow and found he was lying in the grass beside a hedge. Not far away, lean­ing on the wire beside the hedge, was Brant, smoking a cigarette.

“Better, Mr. Quinton?” he asked briefly, and threw the cigarette down to grind it under his heel.

“Better—?” Quinton staggered up and stood staring at the stocky, powerful chauffeur fixedly. “What the devil are you talking about? You made me unconscious with that ether!”

“That’s right,” Brant agreed, straightening. “Just so’s to keep you quiet while I got you out here. We’re about twenty miles from anywhere—and you’re not going back!”

“I’m not—” Quinton’s head swam again. “W-what did you say?”

“You’ve come to the end of the road!” Brant regarded him with small, merciless eyes. “I’ve got a job to do—and I’ll do it proper, as I always do. See those wooden props standing up over there?” He pointed behind him.

Quinton looked wonderingly and nodded.

“They’re disused copper mines,” Brant explained. “And there’s no better place for getting rid o’ folks. Quagmire at the bottom and it takes care of everything. But just in case it doesn’t—in case your body isn’t sucked down as it should be—there’s a second precaution for making you unrecognizable.”

Quinton drew a deep breath and clenched his fists.

“What the devil are you talking about?” he demanded fiercely. “You lay a hand on me and I’ll—”

“No, you won’t,” Brant interrupted. “I’ve got it all planned, and I’ve got your wallet, including the receipt Mr. Drew gave you. Vital for me to have that. There’s no identification be­yond the clothes you stand up in. And your face—and neither of ’em will count for much in a moment, either!”

Before Quinton could understand what was intended, Brant stooped and picked up a flat metal bowl that had been lying in the grass. Very carefully he balanced it on his palm. There appeared to be water in it and Quinton watched curiously.

“I filled this while you were unconscious,” Brant explained “Same as I took your wallet. Here it comes!”

Quinton half turned, as though to run—then the water-like liquid in the bowl landed in his face and across his suit. In­stantly he screamed at the frightful anguish of pure nitric acid as it ate deep into his flesh. Blindly, as words came tumbling out of his mouth, he fell on his knees, and clawed at his face. The acid trickled corrosively through his clutching fingers.

“Only sure way to destroy identity,” Brant told him. “Now, come on—”

He grabbed him by the arm and forced him, screaming hoarsely, across the rough grass towards the mine planks. Then he gave him a mighty shove. Blindly, sobbing now with the pain of the acid, Quinton heaved over the edge of the mineshaft and pitched downwards.

Brant stood waiting, listening, his square jaw set tightly. At last he heard it—the deep, soggy thud of the body striking the quagmire at the bottom of the shaft. A low sigh escaped him and he lit another cigarette. He delayed several minutes more, and then at last he turned and walked back to where he left the emptied bowl of acid. He picked it up carefully and returned it to the car in the roadway. Silently he drove away down the deserted country lane.

It was half-past two when he entered Emerson Drew’s office and found the big man alone, browsing through the papers on desk. Drew said nothing, but his hard gray eyes had an unmis­takable question in them.

Brant nodded slowly in confirmation and placed the wallet on the desk, then he stood and watched in silence, as Drew went through it.

“And there is no chance of him returning?” Drew asked, when his examination was finished.

“None,” Brant replied with conviction. “Nor is there any chance of identification if the body should ever be found. I can give you the details, sir—if you want them.”

Drew shook his shaven head. “No. I’ll take your word for it. That’s all for now, Brant.”

“And what about the daughter, sir? Not bothering about her?”

Drew reflected and then tightened his lips.

“Not yet, anyway. See what develops. Now get out.”