Читать книгу The Mystery Of The Second Shot - Rufus Gillmore - Страница 7

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As Ashley left the house to telephone the news to his paper, he came upon Henderson on the steps trying to wheedle his way by the officer at the door. The look of panic on Henderson’s face, together with his own joy at having beaten him, caused Ashley to overlook their recent clash. Drawing Henderson aside, Ashley hastily recounted all that had occurred, including the strange actions of Newhall’s daughter.

“Get me in,” begged Henderson, with sudden eagerness.

“Can’t. I’m in bad with the police myself,” responded Ashley. He explained by telling of his quarrel with Sergeant Smith.

Henderson appeared to drop the idea at once. “You’d better get a move on and telephone in your story,” he suggested. “Going to say anything about your suspicions?”

“Nothing to hang them to yet,” confessed Ashley.

“Take my advice and hold them back,” advised Henderson. “You say the police call it suicide; better keep quiet about what you’ve seen and get the start on them. You haven’t got a leg to stand on yet— there may be nothing to it anyway.”

The advice was good, but Ashley was perplexed that a reporter of Henderson’s “yellow” stripe should offer it.

Hastening back from the pay station in the corner hotel, he found his re-entrance to the house barred by the officer at the door.

“Inspector Swett agreed to let me come back,” expostulated Ashley.

“Sure, but someone slipped by in your place.”

The policeman, grinning, condescended to explain. As soon as Ashley had gone from sight, Henderson had sent in for Sergeant Smith. “After a session down on the sidewalk, the sergeant lets him in and says for me to bar you.”

Henderson had stolen a march on him, probably by making the most of his quarrel with the sergeant. In his dismay, Ashley recognized the futility of appealing to that disgruntled official.

“Send in word that Mr. Ashley wants to see Inspector Swett for a minute,” he requested instead.

“Gone,” replied the grinning officer.

As a last resort, he asked for the unfriendly sergeant.

“No use; he gave me orders not to bother about you. It ain’t no use hangin’ round; you’ve been double-crossed, and by your friend.”

Ashley spent fifteen minutes in getting Inspector Swett on the wire at Police Headquarters. This amused official finally telephoned Sergeant Smith to admit him to the house.

Miss Newhall sprang to meet him, greeted him like a friend of long standing. “That officer says I can go now. Oh, I was so afraid you weren’t coming back!” she exclaimed. From the frightened way in which she drew near and kept close to him, he inferred that she had undergone further badgering during his absence.

“He has called a taxi for me; it ought to be here in a few minutes now—” The upward inflection with which she closed, the expectant look in her eyes, indicated that she depended upon him as her escort.

Ashley had returned with the intention of making a thorough search of the house. To be carried off now meant that he must leave the field clear for Henderson. And yet, perhaps he could not do better than to accompany the girl. Why had the others dropped their surveillance of her? On his entrance Sergeant Smith had gone straight upstairs. Had he or Henderson discovered some clew which rendered the girl of minor import?

“Could you wait just a minute?” he begged.

He tiptoed hastily up the stairs. As his eyes gained the floor above, he stopped. Sergeant Smith was not in sight, but Henderson was on his knees groping about the floor. A slight hiss attracted his attention. Sergeant Smith stood in the door of the sewing-room holding a green cloth bag such as Miss Newhall had carried. At the call, Henderson jumped to his feet. As he did so, Ashley got the impression that he either dropped or stepped on something. At least Ashley noted that, despite his haste, Henderson stooped to pick up something which he looked at and then pocketed. It made but a slight impression on Ashley then. His attention was centered on the green bag which Sergeant Smith was holding up. Leaning eagerly forward, he watched the two men loosen the string about its neck. Henderson’s hand was thrust inside. He was on the point of drawing something from it, when Ashley’s espionage was abruptly terminated by a voice from the lower hall.

“The taxi has come,” Miss Newhall called up to him.

The two men looked toward the stairway and saw him. Sergeant Smith left the bag hanging in Henderson’s hands and crossed the hall.

“Going to take the lady home?” he demanded. There was that in his manner which suggested that if Ashley were unwilling, he intended to perform that duty himself.

Ashley hesitated. What was inside that green cloth bag? Miss Newhall would probably know. Neither Henderson nor the sergeant would willingly allow him to learn, if he remained. No, he would follow its owner and leave the bag to them.

To his dismay, Sergeant Smith followed him down and accompanied them through the sidewalk throng to the waiting taxi. Were they to have his unwished-for company all the way?.

Shouldering back the rallying crowd of reporters, Sergeant Smith stood with one foot on the taxi step, one hand upon the door.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked.

Whether the sergeant went along or not, it would be a mistake to have that swarm of reporters on their heels. Before Miss Newhall could reply, Ashley bent over and drew the curtain on her side of the cab, “Say, Parker House. We must dodge these people,” he whispered.

She did as directed. The sergeant snapped the door shut, went forward and spoke to the chauffeur; soon they were flying down Commonwealth Avenue. Ashley glanced at the seat beside the chauffeur. It was unoccupied. He rose and looked through the window in the rear of the cab. Sergeant Smith was not on behind. Then, as he turned to sit down, he came in for a further surprise. Lying in Miss Newhall’s lap, grasped tightly in both her ungloved hands, lay a green cloth bag.