Читать книгу Blood on His Hands - Max Afford - Страница 3
ОглавлениеPROLOGUE
From some miles away, the train was a worthwhile sight. It slipped across the gently undulating country like a linked string of flame-coloured jewels, now springing across an iron bridge, now vanishing momentarily from sight as it dived into a cutting. In that desolate stretch of country nothing seemed alive, save the cold stars, already brightening in a sky dusky with approaching night, and that twisting metal snake with the single flashing eye set in its head.
Hans von Rasch, curled up in his corner, paid little attention.
The young man sat upright and, pushing aside his rug, took a leather wallet from his coat-pocket. He drew out a folded letter and first glanced at the newspaper-cutting pinned in one corner.
"A position is offered to a third or fourth year medical student possessing a fairly sound knowledge of anatomy. Applicants should be without family responsibilities. Apply, giving full particulars of training and qualifications, to 'Medicus,' this office."
From the cutting von Rasch lowered his eyes to the letter. There was no printed heading; the address on the top stated briefly "Eldon Towers," and gave the date. The contents he knew by heart.
Dear Sir, I have great pleasure in informing you that your application for the position of assistant to Dr. Bernhardt Meyersen, of this address, has been accepted. You will report for duty on Monday, April 8th. Enclosed you will find cheque to cover your travelling expenses, also directions as to the vicinity of Eldon Towers.
Dr. Bernhardt wishes me to impress upon you the greatest need for discretion about your new position. You are not to discuss the name of your employer nor your destination with any other person.
Please reply to this letter in person. The doctor is expecting you.
Yours faithfully,
R. Austin Linton (Secretary).
A sudden noise recalled him. The door at the end of the carriage was flung open and a guard entered, rolling his body to the lurch of the train. He was a middle-aged man with a stolid, pleasant face. He paused near the solitary traveller.
"Getting near Greycliffe prison now, sir. Thought you might like to take a look." As though excusing his uninvited approach, he added: "Most folks do, travelling on this line, you know."
Von Rasch nodded.
"Thank you," he said. He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. Their guttural accent betrayed his nationality, so that the official glanced at him curiously.
"That's where the chap escaped from a week ago," he volunteered. "Warders and dogs been hunting the place for days now—stopped the train once, they did, for a search. Guess they'll never find him now. He's probably fallen into one of those gullies and broken his neck—sure as sin!"
Von Rasch had heard about the queer volcanic formation of this country; of the hollow earth that opened beneath the feet and the depthless caverns with their wells of green and stagnant water. He averted his head. "That is horrible."
The guard ran his tongue along the gum of a cigarette-paper. "Horrible's right." He spat out a wisp of tobacco. "But then, this chap was a horrible one himself. Oscar Dowling, the Golganna murderer. You remember him—no? Well, he murdered his wife and three children—chopped off their hands. Mad, he was—mad 's a hatter! That's why he got life instead of the noose. But I guess he's dead now all right."
"I cannot remember the case," von Rasch replied shortly. "I do not read newspapers."
The guard lit his cigarette and tossed away the match. He seemed glad to impart the information. "Strange case, it was. Made a lot of talk at the time. This Dowling was a well-educated man—one of those chaps who write books and things. Loving husband and father, the newspapers said. All at once he went off his head—phut." He clicked his fingers in the air. "Just like that! Been working too hard, doctors said. Anyhow, when he came round again, he knew nothing of what he'd done. In the court he swore they were sentencing an innocent man, said someone else was responsible for the murders! Then he went off again. They locked him in a madhouse for three months, then shifted him down here. When he was sane they set him to work in the cook-house. That's how he came to escape. Cunning, you see—cunning." The guard nodded to himself. "That's how they all are. But I guess he's gone for keeps now—and the best thing that could happen, I say!"
He paused in his gloomy recital and leaned closer to the window. Then he straightened and turned back. "You're for Henbane station, aren't you?"
"That is right."
"Well, it's the next stop." Reluctantly the guard pinched out his half-smoked cigarette and pocketed it. "Better get ready. We don't stop more than a minute or so." With a nod he moved out of the carriage and vanished with the slamming of a door.
Von Rasch rose to his feet and began to fold the rug. Reaching up, he took the suit-case from the wire rack overhead and, thus laden, began to sway down the corridor, and out onto a vacant platform.
* * *
Ten minutes passed before a sudden commotion aroused him. He jumped to his feet as a man walked into the station and halted a few paces away from him. Von Rasch had a swift impression of a huge, swarthy giant, bearded to the eyes, his great form wrapped from throat to ankles in an old-fashioned Burberry overcoat buttoned about his throat. A slouch hat was pulled low on his forehead. The new-comer stared at the young man for a moment, then asked gruffly:
"Mr. von Rasch?" He barely moved his lips as he spoke.
The young man replied quietly: "That is my name."
Without another word the big man bent and lifted the heavy suit-case as though it were a child's school-bag, then turned and walked out of the station. As the other made no move to follow, he turned and flung the words over his shoulder:
"This way. Carriage's waiting."
It was a small rubber-tyred sulky that waited a few paces away, drawn by a plump mare who fogged the chilling air with her breath.
With a nod he placed one foot on the step and sprang into the seat. With a grunt the big man was by his side, and the next minute they were spanking along the grassy bank leading to the road.
They must have been driving for close on half an hour when von Rasch saw a dark grove of trees some distance ahead. From the tangle of foliage, he could make out something like a squat tower pushing its way, reminding him of a deserted lighthouse in a dark and waveless sea. As they approached along the gently sloping road, he picked out the dim lines of pointed gables and steep roofs, and began to wonder if this house, guarded by the whispering army of trees, was his destination. He was not left long in doubt. The sulky purred on its way and ten minutes later turned in between the high stone pillars of the entrance gate.
The drive was to short that the house seemed almost to leap out from the trees to confront them. Von Rasch had a confused impression of outbuildings lost in obscurity, of arched doorways and twisted chimneys grotesque against the star-spangled sky. The sulky pulled up so abruptly that the mare's hoofs pawed the ground. The driver, lopping the reins about the whip socket, jumped out and nodded to his companion to follow. He gestured in the direction of the house.
"This way," he said briefly.
The young man had naturally assumed that they would enter through the front of the house. But he was mistaken. The servant led the way past massive pillars and a creeper-covered verandah to the side of the building. Here he pushed open a door with his foot and told his companion to enter. In the darkness they groped along a narrow corridor. The guide opened another door, and a flood of light illuminated the corridor.
"Wait in there," the bearded man muttered. Von Rasch heard him moving away, and a slam of a door announced his departure. He moved forward into the room and looked around.
It was apparently the library, this wide room with the four walls lined from floor to ceiling with books. The reds and golds of the bindings winked in the light of an old-fashioned oil-lamp hanging on chains from the ceiling. What little furnishings the room contained were artistic rather than utilitarian. A marble bust of a saturnine Dante sneered from a mahogany cabinet; there were several imitation tapestries stretched on screens here and there, and a barbaric note was struck by the presence of a many-armed Hindu idol raising pious almond eyes in one corner of the room. Von Rasch was about to examine this close, when the servant entered.
"Dr. Meyersen will see you," he said. "Come along."
Again they trod the dark corridors that wound so endlessly that the young man lost all sense of direction. At length they paused before a heavy door. The servant knocked sharply, favoured his companion with a curt nod, and moved off. From within came the harsh scrape of a chair thrust back, and footsteps approached. It was flung open and the young man had his first glimpse of Dr. Bernhardt Meyersen.
His first impression was a pair of deep-set eyes in a face of astonishing pallor, a pallor accentuated by the wild aureole of white hair. The eyes swept him from head to foot as he stood there staring at this man who was to be his employer. The silence became almost embarrassing, and the young man spoke quickly.
"Herr Doctor?"
"Yes." The voice was as thin and as sharp as the face.
"I am Hans von Rasch."
"So?" The eyes narrowed, focused on the other's face. "You are very young. How old are you?"
"Twenty-three, Herr Doctor. I understood you knew that from my letter."
There was no reply. Von Rasch dropped his eyes under this penetrating scrutiny. He was aware that the doctor had stepped aside to allow him to pass. "Come inside," he said.
The room into which they moved was almost Spartan in its severity; he noticed that the floor was of bare, unpolished boards and the furniture heavy and cheap. Near the centre stood a table covered with papers, and above this a hanging oil-lamp spread a yellow tent of light cutting sharply downward and leaving the rest of the room in half-shadow. High in the wall was the outline of a small window, protected by iron bars.
The doctor followed him inside and, pausing by the table, pulled up a chair. "Sit down, Herr von Rasch," he invited, and when the other had obeyed he leaned against the table, folded his arms, and stared down at him. He spoke quietly.
"You have adhered rigidly to the terms of my letter—told nobody of your destination or the name of your employer?"
"I have told no one, Herr Doctor."
"You are not married, nor have you family responsibilities of any kind which bind you to the outside world?"
Von Rasch said simply: "I am quite alone in the world, sir."
Dr. Meyersen nodded and pulled forward a chair. "That is good," he announced. "Now listen carefully, my boy. I want you to understand exactly what is required of you."
