Читать книгу Owl of Darkness - Max Afford - Страница 10
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ОглавлениеElizabeth Blaire spoke quietly.
"I don't know if either of you two gentlemen have heard of my brother Edward." A little half smile touched her lips. "It's probably extremely bad taste to sing his praises like this, but Ted is really rather extraordinary. When he was eighteen he took the Charteris Medal for Advanced Chemistry, together with a travelling scholarship which took him to Vienna. There he studied physics under Professor Karl Kauffmann. Anyhow, he stayed in Vienna until his scholarship finished, then, having no money, he returned home." She paused, then added quietly: "Ted and I are completely alone in the world. We have very little money. Whatever my brother has achieved has been by hard work alone."
Jeffery nodded. "What is your brother doing now?" he asked.
"Working on certain valuable experiments," the girl explained.
The Chief Inspector, toying with a pencil, looked up. "What sort of experiments?" he demanded.
"I'd better start at the beginning," Elizabeth said quietly. She settled back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap. "About eighteen months ago my brother returned from the Continent. The threat of war was banging very heavily over Europe, and, back in England, Edward became interested in the country-wide precautions against gas attacks. For some time he'd had in his mind the development of anti-toxic gas." A little wrinkle creased her forehead. "I'm not too sure of the actual details, but my brother believed that this formula would purify gas-laden air and, apart from the actual value of the discovery itself, would save the Government the enormous expense of manufacturing gas-masks and erecting gas-proof shelters."
"But surely," interposed Jeffery, "experiments for such a formula would cost a considerable amount of money?"
The girl nodded. "Indeed, yes. Our own finances were so small that it seemed Edward couldn't hope to achieve anything, when out of the blue came the offer from Sir Anthony Atherton-Wayne."
The pencil dropped from Read's fingers. He sat up abruptly,
"Isn't that the chap who's mixed up in this big armament deal?" he demanded.
"The same," Elizabeth replied. "And this is where Robert comes into the story." She turned to where Ashton sat hunched in his chair, following the conversation with slow movements of his head. "Robert was actually responsible for Sir Anthony's interest," she added.
Blackburn transferred his attention to the stocky young man. "Indeed?" he prompted.
Ashton nodded. His voice, slow and deep, was that of a man who weighs his words. "Betty should have explained that I'm private secretary to Sir Anthony," he said. "She happened to mention to me about her brother's experiments; I felt sure Sir Anthony would be interested. He interviewed Mr. Blaire and offered him certain generous terms, together with the use of a small cottage in the grounds of Sir Anthony's home—Rookwood Towers. Mr. Blaire lives in this cottage and carries on his experiments. If he is successful, Sir Anthony has first claim to buy the formula outright for a certain sum of money agreed on by both parties."
Jeffery turned to the girl. "So far, has your brother had any success with his experiments?"
"Well—yes and no."
Read, who had been listening closely to the recital, snorted.
"What d'you mean—yes and no? Either they've been successful or they haven't."
"Not quite, Inspector." Elizabeth Blaire eyed the testy man steadily. Her tone was edged with a trembling excitement. "About a month ago," she continued, "a most amazing thing happened. Edward mislaid some of his notes, and, afraid to tell Sir Anthony, muddled on desperately. One night he came to see me. He was throbbing with a sort of—of frenzied jubilation. It was some time before I could get anything sensible, out of him. Then he told me that something had gone wrong with his anti-gas experiments. By sheer chance, he had hit upon something else—another formula—something almost as revolutionary in its own way."
She paused, her face alight with recollection. Read and Blackburn stared, but before they could speak Ashton said curtly:
"Go on, Betty—tell them!"
The girl steadied her trembling hands in her lap. "My brother," she said slowly, "has discovered a perfect foolproof substitute for petrol, possessing all the qualities of the article, at about one-twentieth its price!"
Jeffery gave a long whistle of incredulous amazement. The Chief Inspector was leaning across his desk, staring at the girl. It was Blackburn who broke the silence. "But is this formula actually developed—or is it merely on paper?"
"Developed to the most practicable degree," Elizabeth assured him. "Formula Number Four, as Edward calls it, has so far stood up to every known test, giving three times the power of ordinary petrol!"
Jeffery felt for his case, opened it and took out a cigarette. "I suppose," he said quietly, "that your brother realizes the magnitude of his discovery? It's going to throw the whole manufacturing world into chaos." He struck a match, and over the tiny flame his eyes were sombre. "And think what this power would mean in the hands of an invading country."
From his corner, Ashton spoke dryly. "That's what's keeping Sir Anthony awake at night."
"But surely it belongs to him?" Jeffery said sharply. "What about the arrangement?"
"That's the whole trouble," Elizabeth said slowly. "You see, Mr. Blackburn, my brother declares that he signed himself to Sir Anthony to produce an anti-toxic gas. He is convinced that the baronet has no right to this formula discovered quite by chance."
"And that," commented Ashton, "is the least of our worries." He stretched his stocky body and pulled his coat about his shoulders. "You see, gentlemen, in some inexplicable way, this criminal calling himself The Owl has got wind of Mr. Blaire's invention."
"The Owl!" Read shot up like a jack-in-a-box, spraying cigar-ash across his desk. "Great Thundering Herds! How do you know?"
Ashton shrugged. "Blaire's been getting The Owl's visiting-cards in his mail," he said shortly. "Four have come along up to date. They all say the same thing. Unless he gives up his formula by a certain date he's going to be killed."
Read chewed at his cigar. He turned to Elizabeth. "And what does your brother say about these little birthday cards?"
The girl hesitated before replying, twisting the engagement ring nervously on her finger.
Ashton spoke for her. "That's the trouble," he said quietly. "Blaire doesn't take this business very seriously. He declares that The Owl is an invention of the sensation sheets—a catch-penny stunt to increase circulation."
Something in the slight curl of his lips, in the faint disparagement that coloured his voice, rallied the girl. She said quickly: "There is some excuse for Ted's attitude. He lives in a world bounded by the walls of his laboratory. Robert gets very impatient because he won't come down to realities."
The Chief Inspector stood up and crushed out his half-smoked cigar in an ashtray. "Mr. Ashton mentioned that your brother had been receiving these warnings..." and as Elizabeth nodded, "Did they give a time limit?"
"Yes. The twenty-third of this month."
Jeffery grabbed at the newspapers on the desk and scanned the date line. "Twenty-third," he murmured. "That's the day after tomorrow."
"He's been given until eleven o'clock on the night," supplemented Ashton, and again Blackburn was conscious of the faint hostility in his tone. The young man leaned over and muttered something in the Chief Inspector's ear. Read gnawed thoughtfully at his grey moustache for a few moments, then nodded. Elizabeth was watching with anxious eyes.
"All right," Read announced, addressing the girl. "We'll give you all the protection you need. I'll have a squad of men down in the morning. Rookwood Towers, you said?"
Ashton was producing a small leather case from his pocket. He extracted a card, rose and handed it to the big man. "You'll find the address on that," he said, and nodded to Elizabeth. She was pulling gloves over her slim fingers. Then she crossed to where Read was standing and put out her hand. Jeffery noticed, with inward amusement, that his friend gave it an awkward, embarrassed squeeze and turned abruptly to throw open the door.
"Now, don't you worry, Miss Blaire," he said with curt amiability. "We'll clip this Owl's wings once and for all." The girl thanked him with a little smile and tucking her arm through her fiancé's moved from the room. Jeffery ushered them out and closed the door. When he turned, Read was standing beside the desk, turning Ashton's card over in his fingers. "Well, son," he queried, "what do you think of it all?"
"I'll tell you one thing," Jeffery said levelly. "That girl was frightened. And the sturdy boy friend wasn't too easy in his mind, either. Also—they were keeping something back—something neither of them had the courage to talk about."
"So you got that, too?" Read's tone was quizzical. "What d'you think it was?"
"That," replied Jeffery, "is what I mean to find out. I Hope Rookwood Towers has all modern conveniences. I do so like my comfort." He turned towards the window and stared out at the swaying tree-tops. "I wonder," he remarked lazily, "why Mr. Ashton doesn't like his fiancée's brother?"
"What I'm wondering," the Chief Inspector returned, "is how a man like Atherton-Wayne comes to be mixed up in—"
"Look out!" yelled Jeffery, and ducked.
There was a sudden crash and splintering of glass. A heavy object plumped on to the carpet, rolled a few inches and stopped. The Chief Inspector, who had bobbed behind his desk at the other's shouted warning, raised himself slowly. The door flew open and an agitated Manners projected himself into the room.
"W-what happened?" he stammered.
Read, his eyes on the shattered hole in the window, ignored him. A wave of dull scarlet crept slowly over his heavy face. "By the great living Hokey!" he gasped, and rage choked the words in his throat. He grasped the edge of the desk and swallowed audibly, working his thick neck from side to side. Slowly he turned, to find Jeffery over a piece of crumpled paper he had picked up from the floor. The stone around which it had been wrapped gleamed whitely against the dark pattern of the carpet.
"What happened?" Manners repeated.
Jeffery was smoothing the paper in his fingers. He ran his eye over it and gave a deep chuckle. "The cheek of the very devil," he murmured. "Chief, you're certainly right." He held out the message. "Take a look at this—it's meant for both of us."
The Inspector almost snatched it from the young man's hand. His eyes popped as he read the words, printed in ink across the white surface.
"Keep out of this. My first and last warning!"
And it was signed. "The Owl."
