Читать книгу The House of Invisible Bondage - J.U. Giesy - Страница 6

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I SUGGESTED lunch, and we stopped at a cafe before setting out for Monk's Hall, the fashionable bachelor apartment house on fashionable Park Drive.

It was a many-storied building with an ornate foyer, an office, a desk, and a uniformed elevator attendant in charge of a many-mirrored cage inside a grille of ornamental type.

Inquiry at the desk elicited the information that Kingsley was in Lamb's rooms. We had a request for an interview telephoned up.

"He wants to know who it is, sir?" the desk attendant said after a moment.

Bryce flung himself into the breach. "Tell him we are friends of Miss Mason," he said.

Kingsley asked that we be sent up.

"Suite 410," the youth at the switchboard told us, and we made our way to the waiting elevator cage.

Two minutes later we were rapping on the door of the indicated suite.

It was opened by Kingsley himself. At least I had little doubt that the man who opened to us was Kingsley, since to all appearances at least he might well have been the victim of an assault. There was a bandage about his throat, and another around his head. He was a medium-sized individual with thin hair, a face wearing an expression of pain, and a pair of china blue eyes, separated by a slightly twisted nose which looked as though it might have been broken and badly set in the past.

"Come bin, gentlemen," he invited, and I noted that as he closed the door behind us and followed us into a handsomely appointed living room off the tiny-entrance ball, he walked with a limp amounting to almost an actual halt—a dragging of one leg, some injury of the past it struck me, rather than any recent hurt.

"Be seated, gentlemen." He gave us chairs. He was cockney English beyond a doubt. "Hif you're friends hof Miss Mason you're welcome. Hi presume Miss Mason his ha bit hupset hover wat 'appened lawst night. Rum go the marster, tryin' to do me in, w'at?"

"So that's the way you feel about it, is it?" Bryce said as Kingsley took our hats. "Well, you're right about Miss Mason. She's upset all right. They tell me you're going to pass it over, Kingsley, not going to press the charge against Lamb."

"Ho, but, sir, Hi couldn't do that."

Kingsley's tone was one almost of shocked surprise. "The marster, bless 'im, didn't know w'at he was doin', hof course. 'E's a toff, sir—a toff hif ever there was. Treated me swell 'e has for years. Saved my life 'e did in eighteen, time Hi got my leg. You may 'ave noticed hit, sirs. Guv me my blighty, ho yus.

"But by then Hi didn't 'ave no 'ome to go to, hand Mr. Himer 'e says, 'Well, Joe, hi'll take care hof you,' 'e says. Hand 'e's done hit, sirs. Hi'm not good for much. But hi howe 'im ha lot. Too much to make 'im hany trouble hover lawst night. Ho, yus, much too much. Miss Mason didn't arsk you to call, account hof that, did she, sirs?"

"No, she didn't. Lamb's brother George had already told her you didn't mean to make trouble," I informed him. As a matter of fact, I was a good deal taken with Kingsley. Gratitude of his type is unusual enough to be noteworthy. And, of course, what he had told us about Lamb's having saved his life during the war was something of a surprise. Lamb seemed to have been a good deal of a man a few years ago, even as Bryce had told Johnson at the jail.

Kingsley nodded slightly as I paused. "Hi didn't think she would," he declared. "Ha fine little lady—a bit of arl right, sir, hif Hi may so hexpress myself."

The fellow was frankness itself.

"See here, Kingsley," I said. "Let's get things straight. Really, we're no more friends of Miss Mason than we are of Lamb's. We merely told the desk that in order to insure our getting up. This—" I glanced at Jim—"is Mr. James Bryce, and I am Mr. Gordon Glace. Miss Mason came to us through a mutual friend this morning in Mr. Lamb's behalf. Our errand really is to learn from you as nearly as you can tell it exactly what happened last night as well as to discover whether or not you have noticed any change in Mr. Lamb the past few weeks."

Kingsley's wits were decidedly quicker than his halting gait. "Gor blyme!" he exclaimed, turning his glance from me to Bryce. "Gor blyme, sirs; you're by way of bein' detectives then, I fawncy—somethin' of the sort."

"Private detectives, Kingsley," I told him. "We're not of the police. But you see, the police doctor thinks Mr. Lamb may be not quite himself—mentally that is."

"Balmy!" he interrupted. "You mean, sir, they think 'e's balmy? My word! Not but w'at 'is 'oppin' at me lawst night might seem a bit crazy, like for the time 'e was hoff 'is 'ead. Hi'm thinkin' hit was a nightmare myself, something hof the sort."

"Just a minute, Kingsley," I interrupted his protests. "Didn't you tell the police that Lamb had been acting sullen all evening, mooning about and smoking a lot?"

"Well, yes, sir," he answered slowly. "Hi did say that. The marster did happear to be a bit 'opped lawst night. But bless you, a guy gets that way sometimes. Hand the marster halways smokes ha goodish bit."

Jim nodded. "An' I guess that's right," he agreed. "He was beefin' over wantin' his own brand of tobacco at the jail this mornin."

"Yes, sir." Kingsley smiled faintly. "'E Smokes a very special brand 'e does—both 'e hand Mr. George, 'is brother, sir. Now hand then I scrags a pipeful myself. But the marster don't mind. 'E's a toff like I said."

"Forgetting that for a moment," I switched the subject, "and forgetting last night also, have you noticed any change in your master the last month?"

Kingsley eyed me almost as though for a personal hurt. "There you go again, sir," he said. "Hand hif the bobbies think him balmy. Hi don't like to say a word. But 'e 'as changed a bit from w'at he was. Hothers besides me must 'ave noticed hit, sir, from the way you talk. 'E 'asn't been as cheerful, hif you know w'at I mean—like, as hif 'e 'ad somethink hon 'is mind, hand a bit quick to get 'is wind up, a bit 'ard to please."

"Did you know that he had quarreled with Miss Mason?" I asked.

"Quarreled with 'er?" he repeated in surprise. "No, sir. 'E halways spoke of 'er hin the most affectionate fashion. Fair gorn on 'er 'e was. You're sure there 'ad been words between them?"

I nodded. "She told us so herself."

Kingsley frowned, and then he brightened. "But she's for 'im. She must be for 'im, hif she come to you to 'elp 'im. Het couldn't 'ave been serious," he said.

"Miss Mason understands, that is, she fears that for some time Mr. Lamb has not been quite himself."

"Gor bless me!" Kingsley seemed very much disturbed. That the man had been and was fond of his employer, the man who had saved his life, had taken him in and given him employment, when he was no more than a bit of human flotsam of war, one could no longer doubt. He worked for Lamb, but aside from any question of mere employment, one sensed that his service was sincerely a service of loyalty.

"There hisn't hany reason for hit. Hunless—my word, sir, do you fawncy hit could 'ave come from the time a Fritz bashed him in the conk, that time 'e crashed his plane be'ind their lines?"

"As to that, I don't know," I said with a glanced at Jim. "Almost anything can happen from that sort of thing, I believe, according to medical men. Suppose you tell us exactly what happened last night as well as you can remember."

"Hi can remember hall right," he declared. "Right hafter twelve hit was. Hi was gettin' ready to turn hin. Hi 'ears a noise like my door bein' hopened, hand Hi turns around, hand hit was the marster, with a funny look hon 'is mush hand ha gun hin 'is 'and.

"'Hello!' hi says, not realizin' Wat was hup, hand thinkin' maybe 'e wanted to speak with me. But 'e doesn't say a word. 'E comes hat me scowlin' somethin' fierce, hand makin' ha funny noise hin 'is throat. Like a growl hit was. Hand 'e grabs me, hand bashes me one hon the crumpet with the butt of the gun. Fair staggered Hi was with the blow hand surprise.

"But Hi grabs 'is gun wrist, hand we fought hall hover the room. 'E's strong-a fine athlete han' swimmer as you may 'ave noticed—broad in the shoulders, with 'ips has lean has a 'ound's. But hi 'eld hon to 'im, callin' lim by name. Hi says. 'Mr. Himer, for heaven's sake w'at's the matter?' But 'e doesn't 'eed me, hand Hi thinks my time 'as come till a Mr. Blackmore hin the hapartment next door 'ears the racket, hand comes hand busts the glass hin the front door, hand let's 'imself hin.

"You may 'ave seen, sir, that there hare several little panes. 'E busts one, hand hunlocks the door hand runs hin, pulls Mr. Himer orf me, hand between us we tie 'im hup, hand call the police. They takes 'im away, hand I goes arfter a doctor, 'as my 'ead tied hup, hand comes back again.

"Then this mornin' Mr. George comes to see me, hand says ham Hi goin' to make trouble for Mr. Himer, hand Hi tells 'im my word no—I can't do nuthink like that, me howin' Mr. Himer my life, hand honly bein' worried habout 'is seemingly goin' orf 'is mind.

"So Mr. George says 'e's glad I feel like that hand for me to stick hit 'ere till 'e sees 'ow heverythink his comin' hout. Hi tells 'im Hi will, hand 'e goes orf, hand Hi laven't 'eard a bloomin' word from hany one till you come. Hi can't hunderstand hit, hi cawn't."

"As a matter of fact, Kingsley," I said, "Nobody quite understands it at this time. It's rather odd for him to suddenly change and attack you after you've been friends for years. But I believe that is one symptom of such things. You say Lamb paid no attention when you called him by name, and said nothing before he attacked you?"

"No, sir, 'e didn't," Kingsley returned.

"Hit's my opinion that 'e didn't know me. The way hit himpressed me, 'e mought 'ave thought me hanother man. Hand hafter Mr. Blackmore hand me 'ad tied 'im hup hand was waitin' for the police, 'e simply sat starin' hand tryin' now hand then to pull 'imself loose. 'E wasn't 'imself, sir. Hi'll take my oath to that."

"You've got the gun?" Bryce questioned as the valet paused, and sat regarding us with a troubled frown.

"No, sir." He shook his head. "The police took hit with them w'en they took Mr. Himer. But hit was one Mr. Himer 'ad during the war. Ha sort of relic hit was."

I looked at Jim, and he nodded and rose. There was nothing to be learned here in the opinion of us both. Nothing that save what was indicated to support the belief of Dr. Simpson that Imer Lamb was mentally unsound. Seemingly he had made a murderous and unprovoked attack on a man whose life he had saved, a man he had befriended for years.

Outside of the assumption that there was some change in the man himself, the thing did not balance up. Of Kingsley's attitude toward Lamb there could be no doubt. One could see that in the inner, recesses of Kingsley's soul, Imer Lamb was pretty much his god.

"W'at are they goin' to do with 'im, sirs?" he questioned as he brought our hats. "Are they goin' to turn 'im hout?"

"Hardly, I'm afraid," I told him. "Not now at least. It's far more likely that they'll put him in the county hospital for observation, Kingsley, until they at least decide whether he will be safe to release or not."

"The 'Orspital," he repeated. "Then Hi'll be packin' 'is bags. 'E'll need clean linen, 'e will, hand hevery think else. Most like Hi'll 'ear from Mr. George."

"Probably," I agreed. "That's not a bad thought, about packing his bags. He'll need fresh clothing, of course."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," he accepted my approval of his suggestion. "Hi'll hattend to hit at once. Good arfternoon, sirs." He opened the door for us to pass.

We descended to the street. It was half past two o'clock.

And now Bryce suggested, "I suppose the next thing we do is see George. I don't know what good it can do. But orders is orders, as the soldier boys remark. Still, if Imer Lamb ain't crazy he's givin' a darned fine imitation of a man who is. Seems too bad.

"If that lad up there is telling the truth, and for one I don't doubt it, Lamb's been a real guy in the past. That checks up with what Miss Mason says, too—gentle an' strong was about the way she summed Imer up. Funny how a chap with about everything a man could want, from plenty of jack to a swell little dame ready to hop over the stick with him any time they was mutually ready, should have blown up. Funny thing, the human brain."

I nodded. His words brought back to my mind the impression Moira Mason had made upon me that morning of a sunbeam dimmed by a cloud, and called up the cloud of trouble that had lurked in the limpid depths of her blue eyes, of the set tension of repression that had ridden upon her flower-like mouth.

Moira Mason and Kingsley both were suffering. Both were troubled in their brains because of the wreck which had occurred in the brain of the man each in his or her own way loved. It was a strange thing, the brain—that laboratory in which were generated the impulses that drove us to sane or insane deeds.

"Yes, Jim," I said. "And apparently Lamb's has gone wrong. As to what good we're doing I can't say. At least though we got Dual the hour of the man's arrest. With that to go on he can erect a preliminary, what he calls a horary figure of what took place, and govern his future actions from what he reads. We've known him to do that before, and I think that's what he intends doing in the present instance, and I suspect he is only doing it because Miss Mason asked for what information he could give."

"Tough," said Jim. "Tough on the girl, and tough on Lamb himself. If anybody I was fond of was to get batty in the belfry I'd rather they was dead, I guess."

"They'd be better dead," I declared. "Lamb's life can't hold much for him from now on, if he really is. Incarceration in some institution for the criminally insane is about what he has to expect."

"Yep!" my partner agreed. "An' if that ain't just about a livin' death, I don't know what is."

We walked to a corner and caught a trolley car bound for the business section; left it in the financial district, where banks, trust companies and brokerage firms crowded stone and brick and terra cotta shoulders, and looked for the Lamb address.

Presently we found it. "Lamb Lamb" the firm name glinted back at us from heavy plate-glass windows, in letters of burnished gilt.

"Here we are." Bryce laid his hand to the door, and we passed from the glare of the street into a semi shadowed interior of a tile and marble foyer, to proffer our request for an interview. In doing so we took a leaf from our experience at Monk's Hall, and declared ourselves friends of Miss Mason.

"Mr. Lamb is engaged at present," the girl at the information desk said. "Shall I send in your names?"

"If you please," I decided. "We'll wait."

We turned away to where a leather-upholstered divan ringed the base of a massive pillar, and sat down. The offices of Lamb Lamb were rather sumptuous, all marble, mahogany, and brass. At the end of the foyer in which we sat was a bank of private rooms. I fixed my eyes on that bearing the designation: "Mr. George Lamb."

Presently that door opened, and a woman emerged—a woman handsomely groomed, a beautiful woman, in a darkly sophisticated way.

"Good-by," she spoke over her shoulder in a well-modulated voice.

Then she was coming toward us with a graceful step, a faint smile on her carmined lips. She was wholly self-possessed, thoroughly poised, if one might judge by her bearing. She passed us closely, and I saw Jim's glance follow her slender retreating back. Then his voice was in my ears:

"Know who that was?"

I shook my head, turning my eyes from the woman just vanishing into the street.

"Nathalie Norton," he told me, mentioning a name I recognized as that of a girl who had won considerable popularity on the screen some seasons before, but of whom I had heard little of late. "You know George is interested in the Acme Film Distributing Corporation. Maybe Nathalie's makin' a play to get back in the pictures. Well, she wasn't so bad. I used to sort of like to see her stuff myself."

I nodded. Jim had a rather heterogeneous collection of information concerning all sorts of people in his head. Right now, however, I was more interested in watching the girl at the information desk.

As Bryce paused, she signed to us that we might seek Lamb in his room. I nodded again to indicate that I understood, and got up.

"Come along, Jim," I said.

He followed me back to the door of the room Nathalie Norton had just left. I rapped upon it.

"Come in," called a somewhat irascible voice.

I pushed the door open, and we went in.

George Lamb sat at a desk. He was as different from his brother as day from night. Where Imer was darkly handsome, George was blond and heavy-set, with grayish blue eyes that swept Bryce and me in a fashion one instantly felt was antagonistic, even before he spoke:

"Well, gentlemen? Mr. Glace and Mr. Bryce, isn't it? Friends of Miss Mason, I think you said? Hasn't that girl sense enough not to send you down here at such a time?"

"If by 'at such a time' you refer to your foster brother's condition and his present incarceration, do you find it strange that the woman who has been engaged to him for some time should take an interest in the matter, Mr. Lamb?" I returned.

For a moment he stared, and then he half rose from his chair, and again subsided within it.

"Well," he said, "we won't argue about it. You're here now; so sit down, and be brief. Just what is it that you and Moira Mason want? Or, wait! Before you answer that, suppose you tell me who you two really are?"