MR. J. G. REEDER SERIES: 5 Mystery Novels & 4 Detective Stories. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
lock up the beer,” said Stevens facetiously.
“And you needn’t be funny,” was the sharp retort. “If we close this club you’ll lose your job – and if they don’t close it now they never will.”
He took aside his assistant.
“I’m afraid Johnny’s got to go through the hoop tonight,” he said. “Send a couple of men to pull him in. He lives at Albert Mansions. I’ll go along and break the news to the girl, and somebody’ll have to tell Peter – I hope there’s need for Peter to be told,” he added grimly.
Chapter XVI
A surprise awaited him when he came to the Charlton. Mrs. Floyd had gone – nobody knew whither. Her husband had followed her some time afterwards, and neither had returned. Somebody had called her on the telephone, but had left no name.
“I know all about her husband not returning,” said Craig. “But haven’t you the slightest idea where the lady is?”
“No.”
The negative reply was uncompromising.
“Her father hasn’t been here?”
His informant hesitated.
“Yes, sir; he was on Mrs. Floyd’s floor when she was missing – in fact, when Major Floyd was down here making inquiries. The floor waiter recognised him, but did not see him come or go.”
Calling up the house at Horsham he learnt, what he already knew, that Peter was away from home. Barney, who answered him, had heard nothing of the girl; indeed, this was the first intimation he had had that all was not well. And a further disappointment lay in store for him. The detective he had sent to find Johnny returned with the news that the quarry had gone. According to the valet, his master had returned and changed in a hurry, and, taking a small suitcase, had gone off to an unknown destination.
An inquiry late that night elicited the fact that Jeff was still living, but unconscious. The bullet had been extracted, and a hopeful view was taken of the future. His father had arrived early in the evening, and was half mad with anxiety and rage. “And if he isn’t quite mad by the morning, I shall be surprised,” said the surgeon. “I’m going to keep him here and give him a little bromide to ease him down.”
“Poison him,” suggested Craig.
When the old detective was on the point of going home, there arrived a telephone message from the Horsham police, whom he had enlisted to watch Peter’s house.
“Mr. Kane and his daughter arrived in separate motorcars at a quarter past twelve,” was the report. “They came within a few minutes of one another.”
Craig was on the point of getting through to the house, but thought better of it. A fast police car got him to Horsham under the hour, the road being clear and the night a bright one. Lights were burning in Peter’s snuggery, and it was he himself who, at the sound of the motor wheels, came to the door.
“Who’s that?” he asked, as Craig came up the dark drive, and, at the sound of the detective’s voice, he came halfway down the drive to meet him. “What’s wrong, Craig? Anything special?”
“Jeff’s shot. I suppose you know who Jeff is?”
“I know, to my sorrow,” said Peter Kane promptly. “Shot? How? Where?”
“He was shot this evening between a quarter to ten and ten o’clock, at the Highlow Club.”
“Come in. You’d better not tell my girl – she’s had as much as she can bear tonight. Not that I’m worrying a damn about Jeff Legge. He’d better die, and die quick, for if I get him—”
He did not finish his sentence, and the detective drew the man’s arm through his.
“Now, listen, Peter, you’ve got to go very slow on this case, and not talk such a darned lot. You’re under suspicion too, old man. You were seen in the vicinity of the club.”
“Yes, I was seen in the vicinity of the club,” repeated Peter, nodding. “I was waiting there – well, I was waiting there for a purpose. I went to the Charlton, but my girl had gone – I suppose they told you – and then I went on to the Highlow, and saw that infernal Lila – by the way, she’s one of Jeff’s women, isn’t she?”
“To be exact,” said the other quietly, “she’s his wife.”
Peter Kane stopped dead.
“His wife?” he whispered. “Thank God for that! Thank God for that! I forgive her everything. Though she is a brute – how a woman could allow – but I can’t judge her. That graft has always been dirty to me. It is hateful and loathsome. But, thank God she’s his wife, Craig!” Then: “Who shot this fellow?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to pull Johnny for it.”
They were in the hall, and Peter Kane spun round, openmouthed, terror in his eyes.
“You’re going to pull Johnny?” he said. “Do you know what you’re saying, Craig? You’re mad! Johnny didn’t do it. Johnny was nowhere near—”
“Johnny was there. And, what is more, Johnny was in the room, either at the moment of the shooting or immediately after. The elevator boy has spoken what’s in his mind, which isn’t much, but enough to convict Johnny if this fellow dies.”
“Johnny there!” Peter’s voice did not rise above a whisper.
“I tell you frankly, Peter, I thought it was you.”
Craig was facing him squarely, his keen eyes searching the man’s pallid face. “When I heard you were around, and that you had got to know that this fellow was a fake. Why were you waiting?”
“I can’t tell you that – not now,” said the other, after turning the matter over in his mind. “I should have seen Johnny if he was there. I saw this girl Lila, and I was afraid she’d recognise me. I think she did, too. I went straight on into Shaftesbury Avenue, to a bar I know. I was feeling queer over this – this discovery of mine. I can prove I was there from a quarter to ten till ten, if you want any proof. Oh, Johnny, Johnny!”
All this went on in the hall. Then came a quick patter of footsteps, and Marney appeared in the doorway.
“Who is it – Johnny? Oh, it is you, Mr. Craig? Has anything happened?” She looked in alarm from face to face. “Nothing has happened to Johnny?”
“No, nothing has happened to Johnny,” said Craig soothingly. He glanced at Peter. “You ought to know this, Marney,” he said. “I can call you Marney – I’ve known you since you were five. Jeff Legge has been shot.”
He thought she was going to faint, and sprang to catch her, but with an effort of will she recovered.
“Jeff shot?” she asked shakily. “Who shot him?”
“I don’t know. That’s just what we are trying to discover. Perhaps you can help us. Why did you leave the hotel? Was Johnny with you?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen Johnny,” she said, “but I owe him – everything. There was a woman in the hotel.” She glanced timidly at her father. “I think she was an hotel thief or something of the sort. She was there to – to steal. A big Welsh woman.”
“A Welsh woman?” said Craig quickly. “What is her name?”
“Mrs. Gwenda Jones. Johnny knew about her, and telephoned her to tell her to take care of me until he could get to me. She got me out of the hotel, and then we walked down the Duke of York steps into the Mall. And then a curious thing happened – I was just telling daddy when you came. Mrs.