Читать книгу The Wagoner's Halt Mystery - Reginald Heber Poole - Страница 5

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Kit Raven came into the office soon after Jimmy Sprott had returned. He was a well-built, athletic-looking man of twenty-seven or so, and was the junior partner in the firm of Micklethwaites. Seven or eight years ago the prospect of becoming a solicitor and spending his life in an office, poring over legal documents and becoming an expert on the intricacies of Company Law, had filled him with unhappy forebodings. He wanted an open-air life with some dash of adventure and spice of danger knocking round.

His father was very keen, however, that young Christopher should carry on the family tradition and become in due course a partner in the legal firm of Micklethwaite, Raven, Mortimer & Raven. Kit Raven was a good son, a sound and occasionally a brilliant scholar in those subjects which happened to appeal to him, and he possessed a good deal of common sense. He chose a middle course by studying hard for his exams while indulging his taste for the open air by walking holidays and becoming a member of certain rambling organizations.

He also took a keen interest in the work of Scouts. In the troop which particularly interested him was a youngster of sixteen whose name was Jimmy Sprott. Soon after Kit Raven joined his father’s firm young Sprott consulted him on the problem of getting a job and the outcome was that Jimmy entered Micklethwaites’ offices as a junior clerk.

As legal advisers Micklethwaites covered a wide field and there were occasions when cases came their way which required skilled investigation. It was on this type of work that Kit Raven began to make a name for himself, and shortly after Sprott entered the office he found himself accompanying Kit Raven on a curious inquiry where fraud was suspected.

“Just use your eyes and let me know afterwards if anything strikes you,” Kit Raven told his youthful assistant. Sprott carried out his instructions and, almost entirely as a result of his observations and his suggestions later, one of the most ingenious frauds ever attempted in the city was nipped in the bud.

There had been other cases since then and Mr. James Sprott, junior clerk in the employ of Micklethwaites, had appeared in the witness-box. Both Kit Raven and Sprott had been later complimented by the judge besides earning the thanks of the police. Their photographs had appeared in the newspapers and the name of Micklethwaite, Raven, Mortimer & Raven was mentioned a good many times.

Just at first the senior members of that highly reputable firm were not entirely pleased about the publicity this particular case had brought them. It was not on that type of case the firm had made its reputation. When they found that highly important people were anxious to have the services of a firm which not only combined firmly established integrity with expert commercial knowledge but had the alertness of Scotland Yard as well, the senior partners were pleased instead of pained.

In a very short time Kit Raven and Jimmy Sprott became a special department generally known as “Inquiries”. They conducted the discreet investigations where it was advisable to know more of a person’s reputation than appeared on the surface, or they handled those cases where there was a hint of blackmail behind the problem which had arisen, and at times they had been called to solve a genuine mystery, with police assistance if it seemed desirable.

The other clerks in the office were almost as well aware of the work done by young Mr. Raven and his junior clerk as the partners were, and at times became facetious, generally in the presence of Jimmy Sprott. “Our secret service staff” or the “Hush-Hush Department” and sometimes “our trained bloodhounds” were among the more regular nicknames conferred on the two investigators, and it helped to liven the routine of legal work. They could always rely upon young Sprott playing up to their efforts at humour, a fact which certainly helped his own popularity in the office.

This morning Kit Raven had been to keep an appointment with Sir Rufus Grayle, chairman or director of several great industrial companies and president of an important manufacturers’ association. The appointment had been arranged by Mr. Micklethwaite senior, and he had told Kit that he knew nothing whatever about the real object of the consultation except that it was highly confidential and that Sir Rufus had made it clear that it was not so much a legal problem as a difficult case for investigation.

It sounded like a big job for the hush-hush department, though it did not necessarily follow that Jimmy Sprott would take any great part in it. But he was very anxious to hear anything Kit Raven had to tell him when he came back. Sprott’s own story of Kelvin Creed and his queer antics in Threadgold Circus could wait for a time.

“Oh, I doubt if there is really anything in it for us, Jimmy,” Raven said in answer to Sprott’s inquiry, and he sounded slightly peeved. “Nothing for your powers of observation and no clues to ponder on. It is all very secret, but, so far as I can gather, Grayle’s idea is that there is a steady leakage of information about new developments in the British industrial world. He thinks that there may be some well-organized system of spying whereby other countries learn all our manufacturing secrets almost before they are being worked in this country. That’s the gist of what he had to tell me.”

Sir Rufus Grayle had not really been very helpful, nor had he given exact details of any particular case. He had spoken of some man who had died suddenly, but the verdict had been “accidental death”. This man had been under suspicion of playing the part of traitor to his employers, but there had certainly never been anything definite established against him nor a direct accusation made.

The case had caused some talk, however, and suicide had been suggested. Sir Rufus Grayle’s private secretary had expressed the opinion that it was murder, but was unable to bring forward anything that would justify his belief. Grayle and those with him were anxious to avoid calling in Scotland Yard, at all events not until they were on more certain ground. There were no real facts but merely vague suspicions to work upon.

“Then what does he expect us to do?” Sprott asked.

“Carry out a preliminary investigation—if you can tell me just what that means and how one begins. We may learn something more this afternoon, though I am not too hopeful. Grayle has telegraphed to this secretary, a man named Cantrell, and he is coming to see me this afternoon. He will have to come by car from Grayle’s country house—at least, it’s one of Grayle’s residences, but it also happens to be near one of the big works in which Grayle is interested, and Cantrell spends a good deal of his time at this place, Hartsmere. That may be the jumping-off point for us, if ever we do manage to jump! But I think it’s time we went out to lunch!”

It was while they were having their meal in a quiet corner of Kit Raven’s club that Jimmy told his own yarn about the visit of Kelvin Creed, now resting in a detention cell at Dane Street police station.

“An extraordinary business!” Raven said. “It’s queer, too, that he should mention Marston’s name. We spoke of him several times this morning as he has been responsible for urging Grayle to consult me! He’s evidently determined to push us forward as general trouble and mystery solvers. Well, I do hope we justify his good opinion of our abilities, but I’d prefer to tackle one case at a time instead of having two separate and distinct cases thrust on us in the same morning. What did you do with the package Creed gave you?”

“Locked it in the steel cabinet,” Sprott answered promptly. “I did not telephone Houghton as Creed suggested, because I thought you might prefer to talk to him yourself. He may give you some idea of what is at the back of Creed’s trouble.”

“Yes. I’ll ring Houghton when we get back. Then I might have a talk with the inspector at Dane Street. Kelvin Creed is a pretty big name in the scientific world. I suppose the best plan will be to see him as his solicitor and find out why he went out of his way to land himself in a cell.”

They lingered over lunch, not because of the meal, but because both of them were worrying round in their minds in an attempt to get some clearer ideas about the two problems which had been thrust before them this morning. Kit Raven was anxious to do anything he could to justify Sir Roger Marston’s good opinion of his abilities, and it would certainly not do the firm of Micklethwaites any harm to count Sir Rufus Grayle among their clients. But Grayle’s problem was all so vague and woolly that it was difficult to know where to begin to tackle it. Possibly the visit from this man Cantrell might be helpful.

Jimmy Sprott was wondering afresh about Kelvin Creed. In one way it was unfortunate that Kit Raven had this other problem on his mind, as he would obviously regard Grayle’s trouble as the more important of the two. There might be something in the Creed case if they could only tackle it in the right way. He was still wondering over the question of what was the right way when they returned to the office.

“I wonder what time this man Cantrell will turn up?” Raven said as he stood near his own desk. “When he does come, Jimmy, you might take a walk round to Dane Street and have a chat with Inspector Blair. I’ll see if I can get hold of Houghton right away and find out what he knows.... All right! I’ll answer it.”

The telephone bell had tinkled and Raven took off the receiver. In a couple of seconds he knew that Sir Rufus Grayle was at the other end. Judging by his voice, he seemed a great deal more excited and urgent than he had done during their talk this morning!

“Is that Mr. Raven? Oh, good! Grayle speaking. You know that I sent a wire immediately to Cantrell this morning? It was better than telephoning, so I thought, as he might be in any of half a dozen places at the time. He received the telegram all right and sent a message through to me to say that he was coming to town immediately, calling on me first of all and then coming along to your office as arranged. He was evidently very pleased that you had been consulted. Well—I—word has just come through from Hartsmere. Cantrell has been killed. Shot dead in the house of a friend. It—it’s murder, Raven!”

“I am sorry,” Raven said quietly and simply. “Is there any idea—any theory—how it happened?”

“Apparently there is not much doubt about what happened though I have only had brief particulars so far. Cantrell was shot by one of his closest friends. There are two brothers living together not so very far from my place at Hartsmere. I knew them quite well myself—friends of Sir Roger Marston. Cantrell visited them frequently—last men on earth one would suspect of any kind of wrong-doing. The Creed brothers are quite well-known——”

“What name did you say?” Raven interrupted to make certain that he had heard the name correctly.

“Creed. There are two brothers, Stanton and Kelvin. In the scientific world their names carry great weight—they have done a great deal of work for some of the companies with which I am personally associated. They live at a rambling sort of house—Wagoner’s Halt is the name of their place—about three or four miles from my house at Hartsmere.”

“Did Cantrell call to see them on his way to London?” Raven asked.

“That’s apparently what happened. A very good man was Cantrell. A bachelor—so were the Creeds. They were great friends. I can’t understand it. You don’t think this.... It isn’t possible that this tragedy can have any connexion with what I was telling you this morning?”

“I couldn’t possibly even guess at that,” Raven said. “Tell me—Cantrell must have been shot somewhere between noon and one o’clock? Yes, I thought so. And both the Creed brothers were at home when he called?”

“So far as I can gather from the brief report I have had. As I say, I have only heard the news by telephone, but I understand that both brothers were panic-stricken and took to their heels. There doesn’t seem to be any doubt about the fact that both Stanton and Kelvin Creed were at Wagoner’s Halt this morning, and they were in their laboratory when Cantrell called there. Now both brothers have vanished. They won’t get very far, of course, but——What do you think, Raven?”

Kit Raven was in a worse position for forming any opinion than Grayle was, but he gathered, after one or two further questions, that Sir Rufus was merely anxious that the young solicitor would act on his behalf and, if possible, let him have a report of some kind as soon as it was convenient. From one or two brief remarks he made over the telephone it was evident that Grayle had some weak idea that this tragedy at Wagoner’s Halt was in some remote way connected with the problem which he had endeavoured to put before Raven this morning.

Raven put the receiver back at last and turned to Jimmy Sprott. Briefly he told him Grayle’s news, though Jimmy had grasped the more important items from Raven’s remarks over the telephone.

“Our two cases seem to have become connected and to be part of one case before we have even attempted to tackle them,” Raven said. “The police will be busy, of course, but they will probably look at it from a different angle. We’ve had two or three queer cases in the last few months, Jimmy, but this looks like being the queerest and biggest.”

“Kelvin Creed can’t have had anything to do with Cantrell’s death,” Sprott said. “At least, he was not at Wagoner’s Halt when Cantrell was shot, whatever the evidence may be. Creed was in this office at half-past eleven and in Dane Street police station by noon. And according to what he told me his brother Stanton had already disappeared when Kelvin left Wagoner’s Halt. I wonder if we can get a photograph of Kelvin Creed just to make certain that it really was Kelvin Creed who called here this morning? I don’t think there’s any doubt about it myself, but it may be as well to make as certain as we can on that point. I think I should be able to tell from a photograph even though the visitor this morning was not looking his best by a long way.”

“We’ll get hold of a photograph, anyway,” Raven decided, and rang up an agency. Within less than half an hour five or six different photographs of Kelvin Creed, as well as two or three of his brother Stanton, had been delivered. Raven handed them to Sprott.

“That’s our man all right,” Jimmy asserted after a very short examination of the photographs. “I’m prepared to stand firm on that! So we can take it that Kelvin Creed was not at Wagoner’s Halt when the tragedy occurred; secondly, that it is quite possible Stanton Creed was not there either.”

“That’s a beginning,” Raven said. “And what’s the next move, Jimmy?”

“Go down to this place, Wagoner’s Halt,” Sprott said promptly. “Let’s find out what really did happen there—and what has been happening just lately, especially last night. But Wagoner’s Halt is the centre of the mystery and that’s where the real beginning ought to be made.”