Читать книгу The Terror - Edgar Wallace, Martin Edwards - Страница 15

SUPERINTENDENT HALLICK came down by car with his photographer and assistants, saw the body with the local chief of police, and instantly recognised the dead man.

Connor! Connor, the convict, who said he would follow O’Shea to the end of the world—dead, with his neck broken, in that neat way which was O’Shea’s speciality.

One by one Hallick interviewed the guests and the servants. Cotton was voluble; he remembered the man, but had no idea how he came into the room. The doors were locked and barred, none of the windows had been forced. Goodman apparently was a heavy sleeper and lived in the distant wing. Mrs Elvery was full of theories and clues, but singularly deficient in information.

‘Fane—who is Fane?’ asked Hallick.

Cotton explained Mr Fane’s peculiar position and the hour of his arrival.

‘I’ll see him later. You have another guest on the books?’ He turned the pages of the visitors’ ledger.

‘He doesn’t come till today. He’s a parson, sir,’ said Cotton.

Hallick scrutinised the ill-favoured face.

‘Have I seen you before?’

‘Not me, sir.’ Cotton was pardonably agitated.

‘Humph!’ said Hallick. ‘That will do. I’ll see Miss Redmayne.’

Goodman was in the room and now came forward.

‘I hope you are not going to bother Miss Redmayne, superintendent. She is an extremely nice girl. I may say I am—fond of her. If I were a younger man—’ He smiled. ‘You see, even tea merchants have their romances.’

‘And detectives,’ said Hallick dryly. He looked at Mr Goodman with a new interest. He had betrayed from this middle-aged man a romance which none suspected. Goodman was in love with the girl and had probably concealed the fact from everybody in the house.

‘I suppose you think I am a sentimental jackass—’

Hallick shook his head.

‘Being in love isn’t a crime, Mr Goodman,’ he said quietly.

Goodman pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it isn’t—imbecility isn’t a crime, anyway,’ he said.

He was going in the direction whence Mary would come, when Hallick stopped him, and obediently the favoured guest shuffled out of another door.

Mary had been waiting for the summons, and her heart was cold within her as she followed the detective to Hallick’s presence. She had not seen him before and was agreeably surprised. She had expected a hectoring, bullying police officer and found a very stout and genial man with a kindly face. He was talking to Cotton when she came in, and for a moment he took no notice of her.

‘You’re sure you’ve no idea how this man got in last night?’

‘No, sir,’ said Cotton.

‘No window was forced, the door was locked and bolted, wasn’t it?’

Cotton nodded.

‘I never let him in,’ he said.

Hallick’s eyelids narrowed.

‘Twice you’ve said that. When I arrived this morning you volunteered the same statement. You also said you passed Mr Fane’s room on your way in, that the door was open and the room was empty.’

Cotton nodded.

‘You also said that the man who rung up the police and gave the name of Cotton was not you.’

‘That’s true, sir.’

It was then that the detective became aware of the girl’s presence and signalled Cotton to leave the room.

‘Now, Miss Redmayne; you didn’t see this man, I suppose?’

‘Only for a moment.’

‘Did you recognise him?’

She nodded.

Hallick looked down at the floor, considering.

‘Where do you sleep?’ he asked.

‘In the room above this hall.’

She was aware that the second detective was writing down all that she said.

‘You must have heard something—the sound of a struggle—a cry?’ suggested Hallick, and, when she shook her head: ‘Do you know what time the murder occurred?’

‘My father said it was about one o’clock.’

‘You were in bed? Where was your father—anywhere near this room?’

‘No.’ Her tone was emphatic.

‘Why are you so sure?’ he asked keenly.

‘Because when I heard the door close—’

‘Which door?’ quickly.

He confused her for a moment.

‘This door.’ She pointed to the entrance of the lounge. ‘Then I looked over the landing and saw my father in the passage.’

‘Yes. He was coming from or going to this room. How was he dressed?’

‘I didn’t see him,’ she answered desperately. ‘There was no light in the passage. I’m not even certain that it was his door.’

Hallick smiled.

‘Don’t get rattled, Miss Redmayne. This man, Connor, was a well-known burglar; it is quite possible that your father might have tackled him and accidentally killed him. I mean, such a thing might occur.’

Mary shook her head.

‘You don’t think that happened? You don’t think that he got frightened when he found the man was dead, and said he knew nothing about it?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘You heard nothing last night of a terrifying or startling nature?’

She did not answer.

‘Have you ever seen anything at Monkshall?’

‘It was all imagination,’ she said in a low voice; ‘but once I thought I saw a figure on the lawn—a figure in the robes of a monk.’

‘A ghost, in fact?’ he smiled, and she nodded.

‘You see, I’m rather nervous,’ she went on. ‘I imagine things. Sometimes when I’ve been in my room I’ve heard the sound of feet moving here—and the sound of an organ.’

‘Does the noise seem distinct?’

‘Yes. You see, the floor isn’t very thick.’

‘I see,’ he said dryly. ‘And yet you heard no struggle last night? Come, come, Miss Redmayne, try to remember.’

She was in a panic.

‘I don’t remember anything—I heard nothing.’

‘Nothing at all?’ He was gently insistent. ‘I mean, the man must have fallen with a terrific thud. It would have wakened you if you had been asleep—and you weren’t asleep. Come now, Miss Redmayne. I think you’re making a mystery of nothing. You were terribly frightened by this monk you saw, or thought you saw, and your nerves were all jagged. You heard a sound and opened your door, and your father’s voice said “It’s all right”, or something like that. Isn’t that what occurred?’

He was so kindly that she was deceived. ‘Yes.’

‘He was in his dressing-gown, I suppose—ready for bed?’

‘Yes,’ she said again.

He nodded.

‘Just now you told me you didn’t see him—that there was no light in the passage!’

She sprang up and confronted him.

‘You’re trying to catch me out. I won’t answer you. I heard nothing, I saw nothing. My father was never in this room—it wasn’t his voice—’

‘My voice, old son!’

Hallick turned quickly. A smiling man was standing in the doorway.

‘How d’ye do? My name’s Fane—Ferdie Fane. How’s the late departed?’

‘Fane, eh?’ Hallick was interested in this lank man.

‘My voice, old son,’ said Fane again. ‘Indeed!’ Then the detective did an unaccountable thing. He broke off the cross-examination, and, beckoning his assistant, the two men went out of the room together.

Mary stared at the new boarder wonderingly.

‘It was not your voice,’ she said. ‘Why did you say it was? Can’t you see that they are suspecting everybody? Are you mad? They will think you and I are in collusion.’

He beamed at her.

‘C’lusion’s a good word. I can say that quite distinctly, but it’s a good word.’

She went to the door and looked out. Hallick and his assistant were in earnest consultation on the lawn, and her heart sank.

Fane was helping himself to a whisky when she returned to him.

‘They’ll come back soon, and then what questions will they ask me? Oh, I wish you were somebody I could talk to, somebody I could ask to help! It’s so horrible to see a man like you—a drunken weakling.’

‘Don’t call me names,’ he said severely. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Tell me anything you like.’

If only she could!

It was Cotton who interrupted her confidence. He came in that sly, furtive way of his.

‘The new boarder’s arrived, miss—the parson gentleman,’ he said, and stood aside to allow the newcomer to enter the lounge.

It was a slim and aged clergyman, white-haired, bespectacled. His tone was gentle, a little unctuous perhaps; his manner that of a man who lavished friendliness.

‘Have I the pleasure of speaking to dear Miss Redmayne? I am the Reverend Ernest Partridge. I’ve had to walk up. I thought I was to be met at the station.’

He gave her a limp hand to shake.

The last thing in the world she craved at that moment was the distraction of a new boarder. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Partridge—we are all rather upset this morning. Cotton, take the bag to number three.’

Mr Partridge was mildly shocked.

‘Upset? I hope that no untoward incident has marred the perfect beauty of this wonderful spot?’

‘My father will tell you all about it. This is Mr Fane.’

She had to force herself to this act of common politeness.

At this moment Hallick came in hurriedly.

‘Have you any actors in the grounds, Miss Redmayne?’ he asked quickly.

‘Actors?’ She stared at him.

‘Anybody dressed up.’ He was impatient. ‘Film actors—they come to these old places. My man tells me he’s just seen a man in a black habit come out of the monk’s tomb—he had a rifle in his hand. By God, there he is!’

He pointed through the lawn window, and at that moment Mary felt a pair of strong arms clasped about her, and she was swung round. It was Fane who held her, and she struggled, speechless with indignation. And then—

‘Ping!’

The staccato crack of a rifle, and a bullet zipped past her and smashed the mirror above the fireplace. So close it came that she thought at first it had struck her, and in that fractional space of time realised that only Ferdinand Fane’s embrace had saved her life.