The Cold Blooded Vengeance: 10 Mystery & Revenge Thrillers in One Volume. E. Phillips OppenheimЧитать онлайн книгу.
sort, everything goes to prove. Just think of the number of people who have shown their interest in him. There is Bentham and his mysterious client, the Baroness de Sturm and your daughter, and—the person who murdered him. Apparently, even though he lost his life, Barnes was too clever for them, for his precious belongings must still be undiscovered.”
The Colonel finished his wine and leaned back in his chair.
“I am tired of this subject,” he said. “I should like to get back to the club.”
Wrayson called for the bill a little unwillingly. He was, in a sense, disappointed at the Colonel’s attitude.
“Very well,” he said, “we will bury it. But before we do so, there is one thing I have had it in my mind to say—for some time. I want to say it now. It is about your daughter, Colonel!”
The Colonel looked at him curiously.
“My daughter?” he repeated, under his breath.
Wrayson leaned a little forward. Something new had come into his face. This was the first time he had suffered such words to pass his lips—almost the first time he had suffered such thoughts to form themselves in his mind.
“I never looked upon myself,” he said quietly, “as a particularly impulsive person. Yet it was an impulse which prompted me to conceal the truth as to her presence in the flat buildings that night. It was a serious thing to do, and somehow I fancy that the end is not yet.”
“Why did you do it?” the Colonel asked. “You did not know who she was. It could not have been that.”
“Why did I do it?” Wrayson repeated. “I can’t tell you. I only know that I should do it again and again if the need came. If I told you exactly how I felt, it would sound like rot. But I’m going to ask you that question.”
“Well?”
The Colonel’s grey eyebrows were drawn together. His eyes were keen and bright. So he might have looked in time of stress; but he was not in the least like the genial idol of the Sheridan billiard-room.
“If I came to you to-morrow,” Wrayson said, “and told you that I had met at last the woman whom I wished to make my wife, and that woman was your daughter, what should you say?”
“I should be glad,” the Colonel answered simply.
“You and she are, for some unhappy reason, not on speaking terms. That—”
“Good God!” the Colonel interrupted, “whom do you mean? Whom are you talking about?”
“About your daughter—whom I shielded—the companion of the Baroness de Sturm. Your daughter Louise.”
The Colonel raised his trembling fingers to his forehead. His voice quivered ominously.
“Of course! Of course! God help me, I thought you meant Edith! I never thought of Louise. And Edith has spoken of you lately.”
“I found your younger daughter charming,” Wrayson said seriously, “but it was of your daughter Louise I was speaking. I thought that you would understand that.”
“My daughter—whom you found—in Morris Barnes’ flat—that night?”
“Exactly,” Wrayson answered, “and my question is this. I cannot ask you why you and she parted, but at least you can tell me if you know of any reason why I should not ask her to be my wife.”
The Colonel was silent.
“No!” he said at last, “there is no reason. But she would not consent. I am sure of that.”
“We will let it go at that,” Wrayson answered. “Come!”
He had chosen his moment for rising so as to pass down the room almost at the same time as Mr. Bentham and his strange companion. Prolific of smiles and somewhat elephantine graces, the lady’s darkened eyes met Wrayson’s boldly, and finding there some encouragement, she even favoured him with a backward glance. In the vestibule he slipped a half-crown into the attendant’s hand.
“See if you can hear the address that lady gives her cabman,” he whispered.
The boy nodded, and hurried out after them. Wrayson kept the Colonel back under the pretence of lighting a fresh cigar. When at last they strolled forward, they met the boy returning. He touched his hat to Wrayson.
“Alhambra, sir!” he said, quietly. “Gone off alone, sir, in a hansom. Gentleman walked.”
The Colonel kept silence until they were in the street.
“Coming to the club?” he asked, a little abruptly.
“No!” Wrayson answered.
“You are going after that woman?” the Colonel exclaimed.
“I am going to the Alhambra,” Wrayson answered. “I can’t help it. It sounds foolish, I suppose, but this affair fascinates me. It works on my nerves somehow. I must go.”
The Colonel turned on his heel. Without another word, he crossed the Strand, leaving Wrayson standing upon the pavement. Wrayson, with a little sigh, turned westwards.
XVIII. AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE
Wrayson easily discovered the object of his search. She was seated upon a lounge in the promenade, her ample charms lavishly displayed, and her blackened eyes mutely questioning the passers-by. She welcomed Wrayson with a smile which she meant to be inviting, albeit she was a little suspicious. Men of Wrayson’s stamp and appearance were not often such easy victims.
“Saw you at Luigi’s, didn’t I?” he asked, hat in hand.
She nodded, and made room for him to sit down by her side.
“Did you see the old stick I was with?” she asked. “I don’t know why I was fool enough to go out with him. Trying to pump me about poor old Barney, too, all the time. Just as though I couldn’t see through him.”
“Old Barney!” Wrayson repeated, a little perplexed.
She laughed coarsely.
“Oh! come, that won’t do!” she declared. “I’m almost sure you’re on the same lay yourself. Didn’t I see you at the inquest?—Morris Barnes’ inquest, of course? You know whom I mean right enough.”
“I know whom you mean now,” Wrayson admitted. “Yes! I was there. Queer affair, wasn’t it?”
The lady nodded.
“I should like a liqueur,” she remarked, with apparent irrelevance. “Benedictine!”
They were seated in front of a small table, and were at times the object of expectant contemplation on the part of a magnificent individual in livery and knee-breeches. Wrayson summoned him and ordered two Benedictines.
“Now I don’t mind telling you,” the lady continued, leaning over towards him confidentially, “that I’m dead off that old man who came prying round and took me out to dinner, to pump me about poor Barney! He didn’t get much out of me. For one thing, I don’t know much. But the little I do know I’d sooner tell you than him.”
“You’re very kind,” Wrayson murmured. “He used to come to these places a good deal, didn’t he?”
She nodded assent.
“He was always either here or at the Empire. He wasn’t a bad sort, Barney, although he was just like all the rest of them, close with his money when he was sober, and chucking it about when he’d had a drop too much. What did you want to know about him in particular?”
“Well, for one thing,” Wrayson answered, “where he got his money from.”
She