Читать книгу The British Mysteries Edition: 14 Novels & 70+ Short Stories - Sapper - Страница 21

Table of Content

"DO you think we'll have any luck, Jim?"

"I haven't a notion, my dear fellow. I'll answer your question in half an hour."

The two men had just turned into Oakleigh Avenue. The car had been left in a garage in Hampstead, as Jim Maitland feared it might prove conspicuous if left standing in the road. Moreover he had no idea how long his visit would take. The road was as deserted as the previous night: save for an occasional taxi homeward bound with a theatre party they saw no one for the first quarter of a mile.

"I think I'll recognise the house," he said at length. "If not we'll go to where you had your party and cast back. I'll get it then for a certainty. Hullo! what's the excitement in front?"

He paused, pulling his cousin into the shadow. A car was drawn up about a hundred yards ahead and some men were standing by it. An altercation of sorts was in progress: their voices—though not the actual words—could be clearly heard. And one, at any rate, seemed very angry.

"We'll saunter on slowly, Percy. For it seems to me they must be fairly adjacent to the house we want."

"I tell you it's a damned scandal." Suddenly the sentence came distinctly. "We'll break the blasted place open. It's a club, isn't it? They've got no right to shut."

They were close now, and by the light of a street lamp, they could see what was happening. There were four men in evening clothes, and three of them were trying to pacify the fourth, and get him back into the car.

"Shut up, you fool," cried one of them, glancing over his shoulder. "The place is closed." And then in a hoarse mutter as he saw Jim and his cousin—"Police."

Still protesting angrily the fourth man allowed himself to be pushed into the car, which drove rapidly away.

"Took us for plain-clothes men," said Jim with a laugh. "And that answers one of our questions. Evidently no gambling to-night. And it also marks down the house."

He inspected it carefully and after a while he nodded.

"Yes: this is the spot. There's the tree I stood behind last night. But they're all so confoundedly alike, these houses up here. Now, Percy, my boy, the fun begins—or let's hope so."

"I suppose you're right, laddie," said his cousin gloomily. "Personally it's not my idea of laughter and games. The bally place gives me the willies."

Jim laughed.

"Cheer up," he cried. "It's much livelier inside."

He took a swift glance up and down the road: then he opened the gate and stepped into the drive. And then for a moment he paused with his eyes fixed on a patch of ground on which the street lamp shone.

"See that," he said quietly. "That deepish track. There has been a heavy vehicle in here to-day. Probably a pantechnicon. The birds have flown all right, or I'm a Dutchman."

"You're quick, Jim," said his cousin. "I'd never have noticed that."

"Because your eyes aren't trained," answered the other. "You see, but you don't observe. Come on—there's no good standing here. Though I'm afraid we're going to have our trouble for nothing."

He led the way swiftly to the back of the house. The window was open, just as he had left it, and without further ado he swung himself into the room.

"Not a sound," he whispered, as his cousin joined him. "Keep your torch handy."

Carefully screening his own from the window behind him, he switched it on. And for the second time he stood very still with his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Do you see that?" he breathed. "I wonder what it means. It's odd—very odd."

The dust still lay thick on the floor, and as he turned his torch from side to side his cousin began to grasp what he was driving at. Across the centre of the room were the imprints of very visible footmarks which went from the window towards the door. In one of them Jim Maitland placed his foot: it fitted exactly. They were his tracks of the previous night. But they were not the only ones. Sometimes crossing one another, but for most of the way as clear and distinct as those made by Jim were other footsteps. And it was at these that he was intently peering.

The foot was small—like a woman's, and the distance between each step was short—so short, in fact, that the tracks might have been made by a child. That they were all the work of one person was obvious, but beyond that Percy's brain failed to advance. Some small girl presumably had been running round the room, and he failed to see why the matter should interest his cousin.

"What do you make of it, Percy?" came in a whisper from Jim.

"Looks as if a girls' school had been having a dancing lesson, old lad. Let's push on: this room gives me the hump."

"You fat-headed blighter. Do you mean to say you can't read those marks? Look at that set of tracks."

Jim focussed his torch on one of them.

"Which way was the person going who made those?"

"From the window to the door," answered his cousin.

"Good boy. And now those?"

"From the door to the window."

"Getting quite bright. Now take the last lot."

"They are from the window to the door."

"Right again. Now think it out. Two lines from the window to the door, and only one from the door to the window. And all the same person."

Percy's brain wrestled with the problem manfully.

"Whoever did it must have been ga-ga," he said at length. "I mean, fancy running about this place for fun."

"And how did the person run? Where did he start from—the door or the window?"

Once again Percy's brain creaked.

"Window to door," he muttered. "Door to window: window to door."

"Not quite right, Percy—but near enough. So where is he now?"

And suddenly the full significance of it sank in.

"Good Lord!" he cried. "He must be in the house."

"Precisely," said Jim. "Therefore don't shout, and keep your wits about you. For it was no small girl who made those tracks. Now—follow me."

They passed up the stairs into the hall. Percy close on his cousin's heels. What had seemed perfectly priceless in the club was not turning out quite such good value as he had expected. From outside came the sound of a passing car: then the same deathly silence settled on the house again.

"Jim," he whispered.

There was no answer, and putting out his hand he encountered air. His cousin was not there.

"Jim." The whisper was louder, and the next instant a hand gripped his arm, so unexpectedly that he almost cried out.

"Shut up, you young idiot. I thought you were behind me. I've been up to the first landing."

"How jolly," remarked Percy. "Are you going up again?"

"To the second floor," whispered Jim. "Had a look at the roulette room: everything dismantled, as I expected."

He was creeping up the stairs as he spoke, and at the top of the flight he paused.

"Do you hear anything?" he breathed in the other's ear.

But Percy could hear nothing save the thumping of his own heart, and was only conscious of a strong desire to flee. If this was the normal manner of a burglar's life he proposed to stick to bigamy in the crime line.

"Perhaps I was mistaken," whispered Jim. "Come on."

They crept up the next flight, and again Jim stopped.

"I'm going to switch on my torch," he muttered. "If we're caught—we're caught."

But the passage was empty, and he flung open the door of the room where the body had been. Then like a flash he stepped back: opening doors can be a dangerous occupation. But nothing happened, and after a while he entered.

The room was as he had left it, save that there was no trace of the dead man. None of the furniture had been moved: papers still littered the top of the desk.

"Stay by the door, Percy," he said quietly. "No—not in the centre, old lad: stand to one side. And keep your ears skinned for any sound."

He flashed his torch over the papers on the desk, but beyond a few bills and receipts there was nothing of any interest. They were made out to Mr. M. Johnson, which might have been genuine or might not: anyway, they did not advance things.

He knelt down on the floor where the body had been, and after a while his attention was attracted by a small piece of paper that was lying just under the bottom of the desk. It was so placed that had he not been on his hands and knees he would never have noticed it, the desk would have hidden it. He picked it up and examined it: then he whistled softly to himself.

It was clearly one corner of a larger piece of paper. It had been torn off violently; the distortion of the paper was obvious. Moreover it was discoloured as if it had been held tightly between a finger and thumb which were warm. Was it possible, he reflected, that this scrap had been in the dead man's hand, and had fallen under the desk when he himself fell?

He held it up to the light and studied it carefully. The two letters WE had been written in indelible pencil, and were presumably part of a longer word. But the main point of interest lay not so much in what it might mean—with such a small clue that was bound to be a closed book to them for the time—but in the fact of its presence at all. Because it seemed to Jim that that scrap of paper justified his line of action. There was something more to it than a mere gambling row, and it was going to be his job to find out what. He put it carefully in his pocket-book, and straightened up. And he was on the point of telling his cousin that they would hook it when he heard the unmistakable sound of a board creaking in the passage outside. He signalled to Percy to stand still: then he waited motionless, his torch focussed on the floor. He knew that in a moment or two he would see again that misshapen figure, and in spite of the element of surprise being absent a queer little thrill ran through him. There came another creak, and the dwarf was standing in the room.

He saw Percy give an uncontrollable start: then for a while the three of them stood without movement. Suddenly the blind man switched on the light, walked to the desk and sat down. He picked up the telephone, and Jim made a sign with his hand towards the door. If possible he wanted to get away without being discovered, and as silently as a cat he crossed the room.

"Is that Exchange? Mr. Johnson, of 95, Oakleigh Avenue, speaking. My call is for rather an unusual purpose. Would you make quite sure you have the name and address correct? Perhaps you would repeat it. Yes: that's quite right. Well, would you make a special note in case a call comes through for him, that a Mr. Jim Maitland is with me at the moment? Yes: Jim Maitland. Thank you so much. I regret having to trouble you."

He put down the receiver and lay back in his chair with a smile, while Jim Maitland stood in the centre of the room staring fascinated at him. As far as he knew he had not made a sound, and yet the little devil had spotted him.

"Good evening, Mr. Maitland." His voice was suave. "Won't you introduce your friend? You can, of course, if you prefer it go away. At the same time, having taken all the trouble you have, a little chat might clear the air."

"How long have you known I was here?" asked Jim curiously.

"Ever since you arrived," replied the other. "You are the most silent mover, Mr. Maitland, that I have ever met, and I congratulate you on it. But I have certain advantages, as you know. I trust your little experience last night has done you no harm."

Jim Maitland lit a cigarette, and pulling up a chair, sat down. The situation was a novel one for him. Not for many years had he found himself similarly placed. On several occasions he had been in tight corners, where only quick shooting and his great strength had saved him. But that had been physical: this was mental. And not since he could remember, did he recall having been up against one man who so definitely threatened him with an inferiority complex.

"Quite right," continued the blind man. "Make yourself comfortable. And your friend too. By the way, you still have not introduced us."

"It would be a little awkward for you if he happened to be connected with the police," remarked Jim.

"A little," agreed the other. "But I happen to know he is not. The police do not as a general rule own Bentleys or belong to the Dorchester club."

"True, Mr. Dresler—very true."

"Did that rat Goldstein tell you my name?" snapped the dwarf.

"Your information with regard to my movements seems fairly complete," remarked Jim. "It is refreshing to find something you don't know. However, for your benefit it was not Goldstein. He disowned all knowledge of you, though I fear he did not do it very well. No, Mr. Dresler, it appears that you are quite a well-known character in the criminal world."

"You flatter me," said the other. "At the same time your use of the word criminal is hardly polite."

"And I was just wondering," continued Jim, "what would be the result if I used your telephone, not for the exchange, but for the police station."

The blind man waved a deprecating hand.

"I admit, Mr. Maitland, that such a course is possible. Though I should hate to think that you would do anything so crude. What, incidentally, would you tell them?"

"The truth," said Jim briefly. "As seen by me last night."

"As I said, such a course is possible," repeated the other. "Nevertheless, there are one or two small points that strike me. In the first place what are you both doing in this house, and how did you get in?"

"You know quite well how I got in."

"My dear sir, of course. But the police would want to know. And to the official eye it looks very like house-breaking. A serious offence, Mr. Maitland. Then there is a further point. Why not tell the police at Streatham this afternoon whatever story you are proposing to tell them now?"

"Agreed," said Jim. "They would probably be very angry with me. But, Mr. Dresler, they would, I think, be even more angry with you."

"I doubt it. After all, your conduct to the official eye has been most reprehensible. You arrived here last night, having broken into the house, in a condition of disgusting drunkenness. So violent did you become that I was on the point of summoning assistance when mercifully you fell asleep. And two friends of mine very kindly laid you out to cool somewhere."

"Do you deny that a man was shot in this room last night?"

"My dear Mr. Maitland—what an absurd delusion. You must have been more drunk even than I thought. It is perfectly true that a man was knocked down. But—shot! Why, where is the body? What has become of it? And if that is the accusation you have to bring—the gravest of all, murder—it was doubly reprehensible of you not to tell the police at once."

In spite of himself Jim laughed.

"You damned little scoundrel," he said. "Where is this conversation leading to?"

"That, my friend, remains to be seen," answered Dresler. "To be quite truthful, Mr. Maitland, I had to assume that you would pass on your strange delusion to the police as soon as you recovered. I therefore made my plans accordingly. When, however, I found that you had said nothing I revised my estimate of your character. I had you shadowed from the time you left the police station, and it soon became clear that you were going to play a lone hand. Your conversation with Goldstein confirmed the fact."

"So he passed it on, did he?" said Jim.

"At once," replied the other. "Now I like people who play lone hands. They belong by unquestioned right to the fellowship of one. Shall we play on the same side, or not? Shall we join forces, or shall we fight?"

"The proposition requires thought," said Jim, with a warning glimpse at his cousin who with his mouth open and his eyes almost falling out of his head had been following the conversation in silence.

"What advantage is it to you," he continued, "if we amalgamate?"

"I will be candid," said the blind man. "From enquiries I have made about you to-day I have learned several things. You are, I gather, one of those men who like adventure for adventure's sake. You are further an almost legendary figure as far as a scrap is concerned. Last night I managed to control your drunken frenzy, but I am not under any delusions that I should be able to do it a second time. And, while I think of it, may I apologise for that absurd note you received. It was sent when I had no idea as to the manner of man you were."

Jim laughed again.

"I accept your apology," he said gravely.

"Very well, then," continued the other. "It is clear to me that you and I are going to see more of one another in the future. Your presence to-night proves that you are of—shall we say—a curious disposition. And, in brief, I would sooner have you on my side than against me. What do you say?"

"Your side in what?" asked Jim mildly. "Forgive my denseness, but you speak in riddles."

"Is that so, Mr. Maitland?" said the other leaning forward. "Just how much do you know?"

"It would seem," remarked Jim, "that there are one or two things on which you are not omniscient. However, I still await an answer to a very simple question. Your side in what? Running a gambling den?"

The blind man sat silent, motionless: almost it seemed as if he was trying by some form of telepathy to read the other's brain. And his problem was as clear as if he had spoken aloud. Was it merely the sound of the shot that had brought Jim Maitland in the night before? Was it pure coincidence, or was there something more behind it? It was impossible for the dwarf to know of his acquaintance with Judy Draycott: at the same time men of Dresler's kidney are by nature ultra-cautious. And knowing as he did that Jim had recently returned from South America, the reason for his hesitation was obvious.

"No: not that, Mr. Maitland," he said at length. "In fact owing entirely to you our little club below has ceased, as you doubtless observed on your way up. But it is possible that in the near future we might be of great assistance to one another."

"You flatter me," said Jim.

"My strong point, if I may say so, lies more in the planning of schemes, and in their organisation, rather than in actually carrying them out. My infirmity is a great handicap. And as I say, I have great hopes that very shortly I shall be in a position to put a suggestion in front of you which will appeal enormously to a man of your temperament."

"Why this altruism, Mr. Dresler?"

"For the reason I have already stated. I would sooner have you on my side than against me. And from the estimate I have formed of your character it will be impossible to do what I would most prefer—dismiss you altogether."

"Very frank," laughed Jim. "And what is the nature of this suggestion?"

"Should you accept my proposal I will tell you in due course. I may say that it is perfectly legal."

"That must be rather a novelty for you, Mr. Dresler," said Jim rising. "Of course, you will quite understand that it is impossible for me to commit myself in any way until you are more explicit. But at the same time, should your scheme appeal to me, I shall be quite prepared to consider it on its merits."

"Excellent," remarked the dwarf. "And in view of our very amicable chat I can only regret that I took such an unnecessary precaution as to ring up the exchange. I think we understand each other perfectly."

A faint smile crossed Jim's face, which would have caused the dwarf considerable uneasiness had he been able to see it.

"Perfectly," he agreed. "I shall await your suggestion with interest."

"And in the meantime," said the other, "we may dismiss the question of the police, I take it?"

"Assuredly," answered Jim. "A meddlesome body of men. Good night, Mr. Dresler. I have greatly enjoyed our chat."

He signed to his cousin to follow him, and a few moments later they were both in the drive.

"Don't speak," he said quietly. "I don't want to run the slightest risk of him hearing your voice. You may come in very useful later, my lad."

They walked a hundred yards in silence, and then Percy exploded.

"Good Lord! man," he said, "you can't mean to join forces with that little reptile?"

"Just as much," grinned Jim, "as he means to join forces with me. A thoroughly dangerous man, Percy, but unless I'm much mistaken, we've got five to four the better of him. In fact we've done a damned good evening's work."

"He bluffed you good and hearty over the police," said the other.

"Did he? I wonder. A lot that he said was perfectly true. They'd have asked me some very awkward questions."

"Yes, but dash it all, old boy, it's a bit tough on the wretched blighter who was shot. I'd like to see somebody get it in the neck over that."

"You can take it from me, Percy, that someone is going to get it in the neck before I've done with them. There's a good deal I haven't told you as yet: I wanted confirmation before I passed it on. To-night I've got it."

"Confirmation of what?" demanded the other.

"The fact that there was more in the whole thing than met the eye."

"You mean that last night's shooting was not a mere gambling quarrel."

"Possibly. But a better way of putting it would be that the man who was shot did not go there primarily to gamble. He went in connection with the scheme our friend suggested I should come in on."

"I wonder who the poor devil was. A pity you don't know."

"I do," remarked Jim. "And that, my lad, is where we've got five to four the better of him. He was Miss Draycott's brother."

"Rot," said the other incredulously, stopping dead in his tracks. "How on earth do you know?"

"The likeness of two peas to one another could not be greater," said Jim. "He only landed from South America yesterday—at least that is when the mail boat berthed—and what his movements were after that until he found himself in that gambling den I can't tell you. Who it was who persuaded him to go there I don't know. It may have been the dago who finally shot him: it may have been Barnet. The point is immaterial, anyway. What is important is that he had in his possession information which he believed to be of value. And what that little swine was trying to puzzle out to-night was whether I knew that fact or not. So finally he fenced. He alluded to a scheme, but said no word of what it was."

"Have you any idea?"

"I have a very shrewd idea. And I have a further shrewd idea, Percy, that there's going to be a lot of fun in the near future for both of us—that is, if you care to come in."

"You bet I will. I rather enjoy this sort of thing. But isn't it a bit rough on the girl, old lad—little Judy."

"I know what you mean," said Jim. "But I acted with my eyes open. Telling her won't bring him back to life, and would inevitably have brought the police in. It might have resulted in the dago swinging, but I doubt it. So in the fullness of time we will take the law into our own hands and shoot him. But not yet."

"Easy over the bricks," cried his cousin. "In my case the condemned man would not eat a hearty breakfast."

"We won't do it here, Percy. I think we shall be going to South America shortly, and it is easy out there."

"South America! What the devil are we going there for?"

"Sea trip with a nice breath of ozone. And in the meantime just remember two things. First we have not been to Hampstead to-night: second and by far the more important, Miss Draycott and I have never met. A still tongue, Percy, and a sharp eye, and you'll be quite a credit to the family before I've done with you."

They drew up at the door of the Dorchester, and Jim got out.

"Night night, old lad. I'll put you wise to everything before long."