Читать книгу Old Ugly-Face - Talbot Mundy - Страница 18

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Elsa and Bulah Singh jumped to their feet and spoke simultaneously.

"Andrew!"

"You idiot!" The Sikh strode forward.

Andrew switched on the light: " 'Evening," he said. "What's the bright idea?" He appeared to expect the Sikh to attack him. He stood still, with a fighting smile and lowered eyebrows. The Sikh went close to him and spoke low-voiced:

"Go now, you fool—or you're next. You were warned."

"Yes," said Andrew. "On my way here one of my own men warned me to clear out. Is this your doing? Who shot Morgan Lewis?"

"On your way!" said the Sikh. "Someone shall overtake you with a message. Get going!"

"Andrew!" Elsa had crossed the room in stockinged feet. She stood beside Bulah Singh. "Andrew, you're accused of—"

"I know."

Bulah Singh spoke with studied calmness: "If you don't want to hang, get going. Lewis lies dead in your room at the hotel, shot with your automatic."

Andrew answered stubbornly: "My automatic was turned in long ago for registration at police headquarters."

Bulah Singh sneered: "You have the receipt for it?"

"No," said Andrew. "One of your spies stole that when he searched my rooms. You framed this."

"It's a clear case," the Sikh answered. "You haven't a chance. If you wait, they will hang you as sure as time is your enemy! Go! Hurry! I will hold up pursuit while you cross the frontier."

"Nothing doing," said Andrew. "Arrest me, if you want to. I'll stay and find out who did kill Lewis. They'll need my evidence."

Elsa started to speak. Bulah Singh stepped sideways between her and Andrew and turned his back to her. He spoke with concentrated fury: "You'll not live to give evidence. Your only chance is to do what I told you to do, in Tibet. I'll keep in touch. You can't play tricks with me. Get going, or hang!"

Elsa stepped beside Andrew and faced the Sikh. He scowled, speaking to her with his jaw thrust forward: "They will convict Mu-ni Gam-po and you as accomplices. That means prison. Tom Grayne will be left flat in Tibet, for St. Malo to deal with and—"

Elsa touched Andrew's arm: "Andrew—"

"Elsa, you keep out of this. I'll—"

"Please, Andrew. Bulah Singh knows you didn't kill Dr. Lewis. I know he knows it. But if you stay here to face this out, they'll bring up all kinds of things against you. It may take months. Tom is waiting at Shig-po-ling, and—"

Andrew stared at her, amazed. Bulah Singh swore in Punjabi and then snarled in English: "Unless he goes, he'll hang. I guarantee that: If he goes, he's safe. So are you. I guarantee that also." He glared at Andrew: "But get going—damn you, get a move on!"

Andrew grinned obstinately. Elsa continued as if the Sikh hadn't spoken: "I will be all right here, Andrew. I'm not a bit afraid. The great thing is not to leave Tom in the lurch, isn't it?" She looked straight into Bulah Singh's eyes, keeping her hand on Andrew's forearm so that he bit back the hot speech he had ready. Between those two big men she looked like a pale child, wide-eyed with bedtime sleepiness. But they waited for her to speak —the Sikh suspicious—Andrew puzzled, half expecting her to begin telling visions. What she said to the Sikh surprised both of them.

"Hadn't you better go?" she suggested. "Leave me to persuade Andrew?"

The Sikh's face revealed instant triumph. He nodded. "Yes. Persuade him as you love him. I must go—to delay the pursuit. Good-bye, Gunning. You can save her. She can save you. I can protect both of you. Don't waste time!"

He glanced around as if he meditated going out through a window.

Andrew's lip curled: "You left your raincoat in the hall."

The Sikh nodded. He walked to the door, opened it, turned suddenly to stare at Andrew and said: "You will find your road clear if you go swiftly. I will keep in continual touch. Play my game—and you will find her safe when you return. But don't come back empty-handed."

He closed the door quietly and let himself out through the front door.

As it slammed the phone rang. It continued ringing until at the far end of the hall Nancy Strong shut the door of her office. Andrew and Elsa faced each other in silence, Andrew breathing through his nose, too furious to trust himself to speak. Elsa was afraid to speak for fear she might touch off the angry energy that she knew might cause him to act without thinking.

"It's a God-damned shame," he said suddenly, grinding hisF teeth. "Morgan Lewis was a good guy. Foxy. Too mysterious. But on the level. I wonder who shot him with my gun."

"We have only Bulah Singh's word for it," said Elsa.

"His word's worth nothing," Andrew agreed, "but Bompo Tsering met me with the whole story out here by the gate in the dark. He wanted me to run. It's less than an hour since Lewis warned me that Bulah Singh has designs on you. See here—" he hesitated, staring at her—"why did you take Bulah Singh's side of it? Why did you say you'd persuade me?"

"To get rid of him. To get him out of the way, so that we could decide what to do."

"Elsa, you haven't a chance on earth to persuade me to play that man's game. He's a devil. He's clever. But I've a hunch I can prove he killed Lewis. It may be hard to prove. He may have hypnotized some—just a moment—look me in the eyes—what was he doing in here?— Did he hypnotize you?"

"He tried."

"Are you sure he didn't?"

"Quite sure."

"Lewis told me you'd be easy for him if he caught you off guard."

"Ah, but I had been talking to Nancy Strong before Bulah Singh came."

"About hypnotism?"

"No. About pigs and poets. Don't ask now, Andrew, it would take too long to tell. Just think. Try to get your mind quiet. Don't be stampeded."

"Stampeded nothing."

"Was my boot in your room at the hotel?"

"Yes. Fortunately Lewis noticed it. So I brought it along—gave it to Bompo Tsering."

"Do you trust Bompo Tsering?"

"Yes. He might be outwitted. He scares easy. But he wouldn't betray me for luck or money. He said he had the story from a man at the hotel. He'd gone there to find me. So he ran and overtook me. Yes, I trust Bompo Tsering."

"So do I trust him. Did he say everything's ready?"

"Yes. He wanted me to bolt without coming here. He believes I did kill Lewis."

"Well, Andrew, I do think you'd better go. I don't think you're in danger. Can you get along without the things you had at the hotel?"

"Sure. I planned to leave all that stuff. Everything I need is up close to the border, ready for the take-off."

"Then go, Andrew. And God bless you. Please tell Tom what I asked you to tell him."

"No. Nothing doing. I'll send Bompo Tsering. He's a good headman. He'll make it. He'll get through somehow. I'll stay and face the music."

"Andrew—"

"What?"

She hesitated. They could hear the clock tick on the mantelpiece. "Will you trust me this one last time?"

"What do you mean?"

"Bulah Singh told me that Dr. Lewis is dead."

"I guess all Darjeeling knows it by now."

"But he isn't dead! Andrew, he isn't."

"Are you seeing things?"

"Yes! So you're not in danger. But if you don't go you will be, because Bulah Singh—"

He interrupted, speaking gently: "You've been under too much strain lately. That damned Sikh has got you frightened and all mixed up in your mind. But see here—"

"Andrew—Dr. Lewis is not dead. He isn't even hurt. And he's on your side."

"No one could sell me that he wasn't friendly," Andrew answered.

"So you go now—and trust Dr. Lewis."

"Swell idea! I suppose I'm to tell Tom Grayne I left you to the mercies of a dead doctor and a Sikh hypnotist? Take a good look with that vision of yours and see if you can see me doing it"

"Andrew, you must go. I know it will be all right if you do. But if you don't—things are known about you—I mean, things in the United States. I know none of the details but Bulah Singh does, and—"

Nancy Strong knocked on the door and came into the room. She glanced down the passage before closing the door. She looked grimly amused; but in the aura of her humor was a hint of a broom that sweeps clean.

"Elsa!—in your stockinged feet—you should know better. These stone floors chill you right through the carpet. Go and warm your feet at the fire."

She switched off the light, took Elsa's hand and led her to the fireplace. Andrew followed.

"Put some wood on, Andrew."

He obeyed, stared, sat down facing them. There was silence for a moment while the fire leaped into a bright blaze. Then Nancy Strong breathed one of her sighs that smiled at the perplexity of things.

"You know the news?" asked Andrew.

"Yes. Oh, how much easier this world would be to live in if there weren't any men. Well, Elsa, I warned you that Morgan Lewis is dangerous."

Elsa, staring at the fire, said: "Bulah Singh is the danger,"

"Did he frighten you? Look at me!"

"Yes. But—"

"Look straight at me!"

"Yes. I was frightened—not at first, but after a minute or two. I had begun to feel there was no escape from him. Then suddenly I remembered what you had been saying—"

"I see you are all right," said Nancy Strong.

"Some of your phrases kept running through my mind, in back of my thought, like a refrain—like a tune that you can't forget—"

"And then you left off being meek! What do you think I was doing in my office?"

"You said you would write a letter."

"Here it is. Keep it. Child, much the easiest way to send good thinking straight to the one in need, is to write it down on paper, with a picture of the person in your mind. That forces you to concentrate. What did I write? Read it."

Elsa unfolded the paper, read it and glanced up at Nancy: "May I?"

Nancy nodded. Elsa handed the letter to Andrew. He held it to the firelight, frowning, puzzled, and glanced at both of them.

"That is strong magic," said Nancy. "Stronger than all the mantras and Yogic exercises from here to hell-and-gone, if you'll pardon my emphasis. We all know the magic. The thing is to use it."

Andrew folded Nancy's letter, stuffed it into his pocket and coughed to call attention to the fact that there was a crisis to deal with. Nancy looked at him sharply.

"It takes a lot of the milk of human kindness," she said, "to get some people out of the messes that their ignorant generosity gets them into. Did you ever see a ghost?"

"No, and I never wanted to," Andrew answered. "I need advice, badly. I'm going to be accused of shooting Dr. Morgan Lewis."

"That man is a menace," said Nancy. "Do ghosts use telephones?"

"I don't get you. Maybe I'm a bit—"

"Morgan Lewis is a menace to himself and to half Darjeeling at this very moment," said Nancy. "He is riding a motorcycle, in the dark, in the rain, without a headlight."

Elsa wriggled with delight. "Andrew, I told you!"

Andrew stared at Nancy Strong: "You mean Lewis isn't dead? How do you know?"

"He was talking to me a few minutes ago," said Nancy. "But of course —a motorcycle, at his time of life—and belonging at that to a Lepcha pharmacist's assistant—probably no brakes—and rotten tires—yes, he may be dead by this time—"

"He isn't!" said Elsa. "He's coming! I know it! I can feel it! He is bringing good news!"

"It will be bad news for someone," Nancy answered. "Unless that impudent Bulah Singh has sense enough to—"

"Listen!" said Elsa.

The machine-gun sputter of a decrepit motorcycle, hard-ridden, slowed up the drive and coughed to a standstill.

Elsa nodded triumphantly: "Dr. Lewis!"

"This has me beat," said Andrew. "The place feels like a madhouse."

"The whole world is a madhouse," said Nancy Strong. "You shot Morgan Lewis. Here comes his ghost. Perhaps his ghost is a little bit sane. We'll soon know."

The bell rang. The barefooted servant upset a chair in the hall in his hurry to reach the front door.

"I'm a failure," said Nancy. "I have had that servant for fifteen years. But I can't train him not to fear ghosts. Someone told him Lewis is dead. I told him Lewis is coming. So a dead man's here! And now listen to him."