Читать книгу The Wagoner's Halt Mystery - Reginald Heber Poole - Страница 7

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The first task Jimmy Sprott had to tackle that afternoon was to hunt up the names of Kelvin Creed and Stanton Creed in certain reference books and make all the notes he could gather about them. It was neither a long nor a difficult task, and possibly it was of no particular importance.

In the same way he made a full report of what had happened this morning from the time when Kelvin Creed burst into the general office until Sprott’s talk with the sergeant at Dane Street police station. It might be very helpful later on to have this record.

He was typing out a fair copy of his report when he became conscious of a queer feeling that someone was actually in the room and watching him intently as he worked. It came as a sudden thrill, or as though some instinct warned him, whispering to him: “You are being watched! Take care!”

He stopped typing and then very deliberately turned his eyes towards the door. His instinct had not deceived him. The door was closed and standing with his back to it was a tall man who had a distinct stoop. He was dressed in dark clothes and the overcoat he wore looked unfashionable because of its unnecessary length. The large soft felt hat was pulled down so that it almost covered the man’s eyes.

His face, indeed, was almost hidden; the turned-down brim, the head bent forward, and the upturned collar, all combined to conceal the man’s features. What little Jimmy could see of the face in the first few moments seemed to be entirely lacking in colour.

“Are you—looking for anyone?” Jimmy had the feeling that it was a silly sort of question to ask, but it happened to be the one which first entered his mind. There were more important questions he really wanted to ask, but he only thought of them after he had asked the first. How had the man been able to come into this private office without Wilks seeing him? And how had he managed to open and close the door without the slightest sound? What did he want, anyway?

The man moved forward and came towards Sprott. Even in the smooth, noiseless way he moved there seemed something sinister. There had already been one queer visitor to-day to see Mr. Raven, but the first one had raised a smile; this second visitor had something definitely threatening and evil about him.

“I came to see you,” the man said and removed his hat. As Sprott rose from his chair he became aware of the extraordinary eyes the man possessed, though the effect may have been partly due to their deep setting below heavy, shaggy eyebrows. His head was bald and massive, and from the eyebrows upwards it was out of proportion to the narrow, fleshless face with its greyish tinge. Yet the eyes seemed to glow with some hidden fire, but it was not the glow of bright enthusiasm. There seemed to be some deep malevolence and hate in the very intensity with which he kept his gaze fixed on Jimmy Sprott.

“I’m here!” Jimmy said, and there was a note of challenge in his voice. “I’m afraid Mr. Raven is out——”

“I know that. He has gone to Wagoner’s Halt. I shall see him just when it suits me to see him. My business at present is with you. A man came to see you this morning and handed you a package——”

“We never discuss our clients with other people,” Sprott interrupted. “Whatever business you mention to me will be regarded as confidential. That rule applies to all callers.”

“This man gave you a packet of papers. They were stolen. It will save us both a great deal of trouble if you obey me without question.”

He still kept his eyes fixed on Sprott. The idea of anyone trying to hypnotize him struck Jimmy as ridiculous, but the thought did flash into his mind. There was something unpleasantly fascinating about those eyes. Jimmy turned his head abruptly and looked towards the door. He had the feeling that it had cost him a real effort of will to do this apparently simple act.

“I know nothing about stolen papers, and I should certainly not hand anything over to a stranger without having very full authority,” he told the man. “I’m very sorry, but if you would care to call later when Mr. Raven is here——”

In a flash the man’s hand had shot out and his fingers were gripping Sprott’s throat. It was done so unexpectedly that Jimmy never had a chance to defend himself. In some extraordinary way the man’s body had come forward as swiftly as his long arm. For several agonizing seconds Jimmy had the feeling that the fingers were piercing his flesh and then he felt himself slipping helplessly to the floor.

For a few moments he must have lost consciousness, but something sharp was being jabbed into the left side of his neck, and he made a desperate effort to raise himself. That fierce, paralysing pain had gone and a pleasant glow was throbbing through his veins. He had a vague idea that the weird-looking stranger was helping him to his feet.

After that Jimmy Sprott’s ideas of what happened were all very confused and unreal. He knew vaguely that he talked with the strange visitor and that, although he had no intention of telling him anything about the visit of Kelvin Creed, he answered certain questions the man put to him because they did not seem to matter. After all, it was an amusing story, and Kelvin Creed wouldn’t mind.

The stranger seemed to have grown bigger and more grotesque, but there was no longer any fear in Jimmy’s mind. In some way he, knew that the man was known as the Vulture, but whether the visitor told him so himself or whether in some queer way Jimmy guessed, he never knew.

Everything became very vague and dreamlike, with strange shadows moving about the room until it grew dark. Jimmy Sprott still sat at his desk, dreaming and dozing, but curiously content. Nothing mattered very much so long as he could just sit here and dream. It annoyed him slightly when he realized that somebody was shaking him and calling him by name.

“Jimmy! Jimmy! Wake up, boy! Anything wrong? Jimmy! Shake yourself, boy! What’s the matter with you? Jimmy!”

“Hullo! What’s that? What? What’s the matter?” Sprott raised himself with a sudden effort. He had been sitting at the desk, his arms resting on the writing-pad to the left of his typewriter while his forehead had been resting in turn on his hands. His first waking impression was one of annoyance with himself for having dropped off to sleep, but he felt too hopelessly dazed to grasp anything except the fact that Kit Raven was standing by his side.

“What’s wrong, Jimmy? What’s been happening here?” Kit asked. He had come straight from Wagoner’s Halt back to the office and had at first formed the impression that Sprott, like everyone else, had gone home. It was close on seven o’clock, and the place was in darkness. Even Wilks had gone, and Kit had let himself in with his private key. It was only when he switched on the lights in his own office that he saw the figure of Jimmy Sprott slumped across the desk. It had given Raven the worst shock of the day. Jimmy was slowly getting to his feet and was putting a hand to his head.

“I don’t know,” he murmured dully. “Must have dropped off to sleep, I suppose. Somebody came in, I think, and wanted to know——Oh, what happened?”

Still with his hand to his forehead, he raised his head as he tried to recall something definite from the nightmare mist that clouded his mind. As he did so, Kit Raven gave a quick gasp of amazement, but checked it almost instantly. On Sprott’s throat were three marks, blurred by the dried trickles of blood which had come from those slightly crescent-shaped wounds.

They were exactly the same marks as those Kit Raven had seen on Mrs. Gill’s throat. Raven had worried and puzzled over the story behind those small wounds all the way back from Wagoner’s Halt. Mrs. Gill had been anxious to hide them from him, and Gill himself had been afraid lest Raven or anyone else should notice them. Raven was certain that both husband and wife were anxious to conceal the marks; he was equally certain that they had some connexion with the tragedy that had taken place. It was natural that his first suspicions should be concerned with Frank Gill, despite the strong feeling he had in the beginning that Gill could be ruled out as a possible suspect. The person who had caused the marks on Mrs. Gill’s throat was someone who had visited this office during the afternoon and attacked Jimmy Sprott. Gill had been at Wagoner’s Halt all the time.

“Sit down, Jimmy, and take things calmly. I’ll ring up and ask a doctor to come along and have a look at you. Then I’ll ring up the Argosy Hotel and ask them to send round tea and toast—or would you prefer something else? I want tea myself. I’m not in the mood for dinner just yet.”

“Tea!” Sprott said. “Jove! A cup of tea is the one thing I do want. Falling asleep in that ridiculous way seems to have given me a rotten headache. I’m trying to remember about the visitor who came this afternoon. An unpleasant-looking fellow he was and his name was——What was his name? Something like the Vulture. It all seems so silly. I’ve been having a nightmare, I think, and I can’t get it out of my mind.”

“Very probably. But just take things quietly. I’ll talk to you later.”

Raven was using the telephone, despite Sprott’s protests that there was not the slightest need to send for a doctor. Within ten minutes a doctor had arrived, and he was still there when the man from the Argosy Hotel arrived with tea and toast. The doctor was puzzled, but felt fairly confident that Sprott would be all right presently. He had evidently had some drug, and, as Jimmy began to recall certain incidents in his nightmare, he mentioned about the sharp pricking sensation.

“Hypodermic syringe,” the doctor said. “But these marks on your throat——They were made by somebody’s fingernails unless I’m very much mistaken. What on earth has been happening to you, young man?”

The doctor left them presently, having given Jimmy a couple of tablets and made arrangements about seeing him again. Tea and toast would do him no harm, and under the influence of these refreshments Sprott’s brain began to return to its normal state. Even so, he was still unable to give a very clear account of his strange visitor and of what had happened in the office.

“He was in the room before I realized it,” Jimmy said as he tried to get everything in its right sequence. “Yes! I remember now! He wanted the package Kelvin Creed had handed to me. His statement was that they were stolen from someone else. And then, without a word of warning, he was attacking me. After that——” Again Jimmy closed his eyes and passed his hand across his forehead—“I really can’t remember anything very clearly.”

“The package?” Raven said. “You put that in the steel cabinet, didn’t you? Ah, here are the keys on your desk. I’d better just make certain that the package is still there.”

He went quickly across to the fairly large set of steel drawers in which important documents and papers were kept. Sprott called out to him, “Bottom drawer!” as Raven selected the right key. There were not very many papers stored in this bottom drawer, and it did not take Kit Raven more than five seconds to make certain that there was no large sealed packet deposited here.

In the next few minutes every one of the drawers in the cabinet had been opened and carefully searched. Jimmy Sprott was by Raven’s side before he had finished the search and he remained there, watching anxiously, until Raven had gone carefully through everything in the cabinet.

“It’s gone!” Jimmy jerked the words out as the unpleasant truth became painfully obvious even to his dulled but still hopeful mind. “That fellow—I’m sure he told me that he was known as the Vulture—must have taken it. I’m sorry! I’m frightfully sorry, Kit! I’ve let you down badly this time.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Raven told him. “It’s not your fault. Events have been happening a little too quickly for us, Jimmy. That’s the trouble. I seem to be getting hold of odd bits and pieces that don’t fit together at all. I think the next move will be to go round to Dane Street and try to have a talk with Kelvin Creed. James William Hope is the name he’s given there, isn’t it? It is quite on the cards that the Dane Street authorities have already had the description of the two brothers which Forshaw was circulating. In that case they may have recognized Creed as one of the wanted men. But you had better get home and have a good night’s rest. I’ll go round to Dane Street.”

“I’m all right now,” Sprott asserted. “I’d prefer to come with you, if you don’t mind. I shan’t rest until I know whether those papers in the package are so precious as Kelvin Creed seemed to think they were. I’m hoping to goodness they were not!”

It may have been the tablets the doctor had given him, or the tea, or even the effect of the shock caused by the discovery that the package of papers had vanished, but whatever the reason Jimmy Sprott was feeling anxiously alert and fairly fit again. Within a quarter of an hour or so he was entering the Dane Street police station with Kit Raven. The inspector himself was in his office, and Mr. Raven and his young assistant were shown into him at once.

“Yes. I understood that you would be acting for the man Hope,” the inspector said. “But I’m afraid you won’t be able to see him to-night. We’ve already had some friends of his here and they were anxious to bail him out.”

“You didn’t agree to bail?” Raven asked quickly.

“Hope wouldn’t listen to the idea in any case. He didn’t want to leave his comfortable detention cell!” The inspector smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “These friends of Hope’s had a medical man with them, and according to what they said Hope has been under treatment for some time past. We allowed this doctor to see the man, but Hope kicked up a terrible row, and we had to ask the doctor to leave. Later on we had our own medical officer along. He thinks Hope is a nervous breakdown case and gave him a sleeping-draught. I believe he’s sound asleep now, and our doctor gave instructions that he was not to be disturbed. We have to handle these cases very carefully nowadays, Mr. Raven, but I should think you could interview him in the morning.”

Raven asked one or two questions as to the course the police would take with the man now detained. The case would have to be mentioned in court, but if the doctor gave a certificate they would merely ask for a remand. All being well Mr. Raven could see Hope in the morning.

Whether the inspector had the slightest idea of Hope’s real identity Raven did not know, nor did he raise the question at all. The Wagoner’s Halt case was never mentioned. Kit Raven had the feeling that for the time being it would be as well not to raise that affair in connexion with James William Hope, alias Kelvin Creed. He would have a better idea of what course to take when he had seen Creed personally.

“I’ll call on you in the morning, Inspector,” Raven said, and in company with Jimmy Sprott left the police station. The pair went back to the office for a short time, but did little more than send a telephone message which would be delivered to Sprott’s home. It was not the first time by any means that this kind of message had been sent. Jimmy was on special business and would be spending the night at his chief’s flat in town.

“And then, if you’re feeling fit again, we’ll have a real meal,” Raven said. “I think we can call it a day. Don’t ask me what I think about the case so far, because I haven’t any real idea myself. There are too many loose threads hanging round and I can’t even guess where they will lead us, though I hope they will lead us somewhere. We’ll start afresh to-morrow!”