Читать книгу The Wagoner's Halt Mystery - Reginald Heber Poole - Страница 4

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Sprott intended his remarks about the visitor’s real name to be challenging and at the same time he hoped that Mr. Smithers would have a little shock. The sooner he realized that frankness paid and bluff didn’t, the better it would be.

But the visitor was not in the least shocked. He beamed over his broken glasses as though he found Jimmy’s challenge distinctly amusing.

“Of course, Mr. Sprott. But I thought it better not to broadcast my name before the others, and I am sure you will appreciate my reasons presently. As a matter of fact, I had decided to use another name, but in the excitement of the moment I completely forgot it. It was Sir Roger Marston who suggested some time ago that if ever we were in difficulties we should consult Mr. Christopher Raven. You will have heard of Sir Roger Marston, of course?”

“Oh yes,” Sprott agreed.

“He has been very interested in certain work my brother and I have been engaged upon lately. My name is Kelvin Creed, and my brother, Stanton Creed, works with me in the laboratory we have built at Wagoner’s Halt. Unfortunately, we have encountered serious difficulties in the past few days. Stanton, indeed, has disappeared completely—not of his own free will, you understand. He is now being detained somewhere as a prisoner.”

Sprott’s feelings towards the visitor had already undergone a distinct change. He was not the foolish person he had at first appeared to be. There was even in his present dishevelled state something fascinating about the man and a certain charm not easy to define, but very quickly appreciated by Jimmy Sprott. The names, too, were distinctly familiar: Kelvin and Stanton Creed had surely been mentioned in the newspapers quite recently? As for Sir Roger Marston, his name was more than familiar. Kit Raven and Jimmy Sprott had carried out two or three confidential investigations on his behalf in a way which had earned high praise.

“No, I won’t sit down, thank you very much,” Kelvin Creed said when Jimmy asked him for the third time to take a chair. “I must apologize for my very untidy appearance, but I have no doubt that you frequently have strange callers. I will be as brief as possible in my explanations. First of all, I am anxious to hand over to you an important package for safe keeping.”

Sprott had already decided to allow the visitor to babble or explain in his own way, possibly with an occasional prompting. But when the man began to remove his coat and waistcoat, then flung his braces over his shoulders, Jimmy felt it was time to make some mild protest. Mr. Raven’s office was not a disrobing-room nor even a cubicle at the swimming-baths.

Kelvin Creed took not the slightest notice of the quiet suggestion that there was no sleeping accommodation here. Creed carried on with his performance and appeared to be tying himself in knots.

“Ah! Here we are!” Creed had just discovered that his collar was still attached on one side to the stud and that this prevented him from making further progress with his efforts to undress. Having unfastened the collar, he seemed to be trying to remove his vest without first taking off the shirt. That queer fascination the man had for Sprott prevented the youngster from saying another word of protest. He merely wondered what was going to happen next.

“At last!” Kelvin Creed’s face beamed with triumph as he produced a flat package, wrapped in brown paper and sealed in several places. It must have measured some fourteen inches by ten. Apparently it had been secured by tapes over Kelvin Creed’s shoulders. There was method in the man’s madness after all. He had evidently been determined that neither through his own carelessness nor by any other person’s design would he lose the packet. He handed it to Sprott, smiling at his own humour as he did so.

“My chest protector, Mr. Sprott!” he said. “If you would be good enough to place this in your safe, or some other secure hiding-place, until you can deliver it into the hands of Sir Roger Marston, personally, I should be most grateful. I would have taken it myself, of course, but Sir Roger is away at present. Mr. Houghton, his secretary, will let you know when he is back. You have probably met Houghton? Charming fellow. Very practical, of course, and remarkably orderly. I don’t quite know how he would have dealt with this situation. Stanton suggested——Oh dear! If only we could be sure about Stanton! You—you will urge Mr. Raven to begin his efforts to find Stanton at the earliest possible moment, Mr. Sprott?”

He had begun to dress himself with almost desperate haste, and now, as he knotted his tie rather badly, he dropped into the armchair reserved for visitors. One hand went slowly to his forehead and his eyes closed. That bright, perky look had gone, and Kelvin Creed had become a worn and jaded elderly man. Yet in a moment or two he was making a fresh effort to be bright and smiling.

“I am very tired, otherwise I would have tried to explain more fully. Normally my mind works fairly clearly and without confusion of thoughts. But Stanton has disappeared. He vanished last night—kidnapped by our enemies, I fear. I, too, shall vanish for a time. I must. My mind has become confused and I am losing my sense of proportion. I must rest. It is wiser to keep calm in times of crisis than to allow oneself to be overwhelmed. We have discussed the question several times, Stanton and I. But in my case I shall disappear of my own free will, and I shall be quite safe. Rest assured on that point, Mr. Sprott. I fear that Stanton is in grave danger and may even be suffering, though I trust not. Will you—you and Mr. Raven—do your utmost to help us? Sir Roger—or Houghton—will tell you——”

For a moment Jimmy feared that Kelvin Creed was going to collapse in the chair and that it would be wise to summon a doctor immediately. Before he had time to make a definite decision, however, Kelvin Creed was jumping up.

“I must go now. I am sure that it is the best course. You have the package and it will be safe in your hands until it is delivered to Sir Roger Marston. You will get in touch with Houghton and tell him that Stanton has gone and that I am in hiding, seeking rest. Sir Roger Marston will help you all he can. Now—is there some more private exit from these premises other than the main entrance through which I came?”

There was, as it happened, a rear or side entrance to this block of offices, but it was not the sort of exit one would use to take out a client. Yet Sprott conducted Kelvin Creed to this doorway without any protest simply because he had the feeling that Creed was right. If it had been possible Jimmy would have accompanied him farther, but Kelvin Creed begged him not to do so.

Sprott merely saw him out through this private exit into Leeson’s Alley, and explained that if he took certain turnings it would bring him out into the same street as the main entrance. Mr. Creed was anxious to reach Boston Street and there, apparently, his journey would end.

“Whether he likes it or not, I’m keeping an eye on him for a time!” Sprott decided, and, having allowed Creed a fair start, he followed him.

Creed went at a good pace, almost breaking into a run when he reached Old Flag Court, and so through to Boston Street. Jimmy determined to keep him in view until he either took a taxi or train or bus, or disappeared into some office or hotel.

Someone else was also interested in Creed, as Sprott suddenly realized. Two men actually passed Jimmy and he heard their excited whispers.

“That’s Creed all right! We should get him now!”

“Signal the car to keep close at hand. They’ll be all right in this street, but once we’re in Threadgold Circus it won’t be so easy.”

Jimmy had instinctively kept close to the men, who were not in the least interested in him, having eyes only for the figure ahead. He heard no more of their quick, jerky talk, however, and was indeed not quite certain whether he had correctly grasped the few brief sentences he had managed to pick up. They were getting very near the corner of Boston Street now, and the men began to put on extra speed.

Creed turned round suddenly and saw the men. There was not the slightest doubt in Jimmy’s mind about that, because Creed suddenly broke into a desperate run and was vanishing round the corner before the men were within a dozen yards of him. There were a fair number of people about, and the men were hampered when they tried to make a spurt.

They beat Jimmy Sprott by yards, however, and had vanished round the corner a few seconds before he reached the point where Boston Street joined the busy and important Threadgold Circus.

Just as Sprott turned into the Circus and went to the left, which was the way the two men had gone, a policeman went hurrying by. He was almost running—and it was just then that Jimmy saw the little crowd gathering round another policeman only a few yards away. For perhaps four seconds Jimmy had a somewhat interrupted view of the exciting scene which was holding up the pedestrians.

The policeman’s helmet had obviously been knocked off, and a smaller man was prancing round in the manner of a light-weight boxer trying to find an opening for a knock-out blow against a much heavier opponent. Once the smaller man managed to land a hit that was barely more than a tap, but hopped out of the policeman’s reach before he could be seized. The onlookers were apparently too amazed and possibly too amused to interfere as swiftly as they might have done, and even the policeman showed more signs of amusement than serious annoyance.

Again the little man pranced round, but the policeman decided that the show had lasted long enough. His arms swept forth and he gathered in the comic light-weight to his broad chest in the manner of a grizzly bear hugging its victim. The second policeman was on the scene by now and he stepped forward with ponderous calm to assist his comrade. The incident was over. Two seconds later the optimistic little man who had tried to knock out a policeman in Threadgold Circus was fairly and squarely in the grip of the law. Somebody had already handed the policeman his helmet and he looked calm and imposing once again.

“Great Scott! Kelvin Creed!” Sprott was gasping to himself as he recognized the silly ass who had pitted his puny strength against the massive pillar of the law. Creed looked tremendously pleased about his effort, too, despite the firm grip of two towering constables as they took him off.

“Bats in the belfry, I should say,” a man was trying to explain to his friend as the crowd dispersed. “I saw it all. He came dashing up and took the copper by surprise. Made one jump and sent his helmet flying, then shouted out something about taking on the whole of Scotland Yard at twopence a time. It may be some stunt to call attention to himself, as you say, but I doubt it. He looks pleased with himself, anyway. Not a young chap either. Ah, well! I must get along.”

As the two policemen passed by Jimmy Sprott another man was butting in and trying to explain something to the police. Sprott had put his handkerchief to his face as a momentary disguise as he had no desire to be seen by Kelvin Creed.

“All right! You come round to Dane Street and tell the sergeant there all about it, sir. He’ll tell you what to do.”

Sprott had an idea that he recognized the man who was trying to engage the policeman in conversation. He was one of the two men who had been so anxious to overtake Creed just before this queer performance took place. They were, according to the odd remarks Jimmy managed to hear, relatives of the prisoner, and they were anxious to impress the policeman that the poor fellow was under medical treatment. The police were polite but quite firm. Everything could be explained at the police station but not in the street.

Jimmy Sprott did not follow the police. He was very interested in the two men, however, and did his best to keep track of them. Just round the corner in Boston Street their car was waiting for them and both men jumped in the back. The car was being driven away almost immediately but not before Sprott had made a note of the number and mentally photographed the two men.

Later on he wandered round to Dane Street. He knew quite a number of the officers attached to this police station. At various times in the past year or two it had been necessary for Kit Raven to work in conjunction with the police, and it was owing to these cases that Jimmy Sprott could rely upon a welcome and any information it was possible to give him.

The sergeant in charge had finished with the case recently brought in, and the man had already been taken to a detention cell. The policeman had suffered not the slightest harm, of course, and it might have been regarded as a ridiculous but objectionable prank, except for the man’s own statement.

“A mental case, I should think,” the sergeant told Sprott. “We shall have the doctor along to see him and his opinion will decide what course we take with the fellow. Name? James William Hope, so he says. No, he didn’t give us any address because, according to his story, he was turned out of his last place and nobody else wants him. He said he was tired of walking the streets and he wants a rest. We get some queer cases here at times.”

“Well, you’ll look after him all right, I know,” Sprott said. “And I say, Sergeant! Don’t be in too big a hurry about letting his friends bail him out. I think there’s something very queer about the case, and it’s highly probable that Mr. Raven will be acting for this man Hope. I have an idea that he’s really a client of ours, but I’d better not say too much at this stage. Mr. Raven will probably be coming round himself. But give us a ring if there’s any talk of bailing him out, will you?”

“Oh? Client of yours, eh?” The sergeant scratched his head and considered the matter. “Well, that will be all right with us, of course. Certainly! Something fishy behind this attempted assault, is there? I shouldn’t be surprised at that, Jimmy Sprott! All right! We’ll take care of him and we’ll let you know if there’s any talk of bail. From what Hope said himself he’ll refuse to be bailed out, anyway. But we’ll let you know if anything crops up.”

Jimmy Sprott thanked him and wandered forth. He walked back to the office leisurely, trying to see the queer incidents of this morning in proper perspective. Were Kelvin Creed’s visit and his later performance in Threadgold Circus to be regarded as comic interludes of no particular importance, or was there a good deal more behind it than Jimmy had yet grasped?

In any case, the visit of Kelvin Creed, alias John Murgatroyd Smithers, alias James William Hope, had given him quite a pretty problem on which to ponder. There was no need for him to exercise his powers of observation upon Mr. Cummings. Cummings could look after himself, but it looked as though Kelvin Creed was badly needing someone to look after him!