Читать книгу Death's Mannikins - Max Afford - Страница 6

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"Most interesting," said Mr. Blackburn, nodding his head.

"Interesting!" Rollo's tone was shrill. "Is that all you call it? I call it damned disturbing! Or damned senseless. Who's at the bottom of this crazy charade?"

Blackburn considered for a moment. "And what does the gentle Roger feel about all this? Has he taken any steps to protect himself?"

"He's in a blue funk," Morgan confessed. "So much so that, against his father's wishes, he's got a private detective down from London to guard him. A man named Pimlott." The young man grimaced. "Came down on Wednesday last and follows Roger about like a shadow. Very officious and mysterious, but hasn't the brains of a rabbit. Still—there he is! And here I am!"

Jeffery grinned at his friend's expression.

"Cause and effect?"

Rollo nodded.

"Yes. Can't stand the fellow, myself. And the atmosphere of the house is rather turgid at the moment, so I came up to breathe some of the blessed petrol-laden London air. I'm staying here."

"But surely you did some poking around on your own?"

"I did," his companion admitted. A shadow crossing his face suggested that the recollection was not pleasant. He leaned forward. "The post-markings on those parcels, for instance. Aunt Beatrice's doll, as I said, was posted in Rockwall. But Roger's came from London. That was why we took it as a joke at first. Because the family and the guests had all been up here at various times during the previous few weeks. Owen and Jan, with Miss Ward and Brian Austin, motored up for a matinee only a few days before. Barrett often comes up on his journalistic business. So does the Professor. Even Roger dares the traffic on occasion. Yet they all denied sending the dolls, so much so that we came to the conclusion that it must be the work of some stranger." He glanced at the other's face. "Yet how could a stranger get hold of the dolls? And as there were no strangers in the house on the night of Beatrice's accident, there seems to be no connection."

"All of which brings us back to the suggestion of coincidence."

"Yes—perhaps. But remember this." Rollo's fingers drummed the arm of his chair. "You must admit that whoever is playing the joke (if joke it is) with these dolls, is possessed of a most perverted sense of humour to keep the thing going after the death of Beatrice. Under normal circumstances, the person, finding the trick had produced—coincidently or otherwise—such tragic results, would be only too keen to have everyone forget such an ill-timed joke. I can't understand why this person should want to carry on the business with Roger!"

"The explanation of that might lie in the fact that the person who sent the dolls, being in London, hasn't heard of Beatrice's death," Blackburn suggested. "He or she sent the second doll to Roger, still under the impression that it is all an innocent practical joke."

Morgan's face was puckered with bewilderment.

"Yes," he repeated. "But who's at the bottom of it all?" He leaned forward and his voice was as serious as Jeffery had ever heard it.

"You know I'm not superstitious, Jeff. But I can't help thinking that there's something monstrous and ugly behind all this. Don't ask me what—I haven't any idea! I'm convinced that there's more in this mannikin business than we dream of. I've felt it for days—ever since Beatrice's death." He raised his eyes to the other's face. "That's why I came up to town. To see you and persuade you to come down to 'Rochester.'"

Blackburn was surprised.

"But, you said—"

"Never mind what I said. I might as well make a clean breast of it. If I hadn't seen you here tonight, I would have sought you out at Thursby. I mean it, Jeff! I'm worried stiff. I simply had to see you and tell you about all this—and Persuade you to come back with me in the morning."