MR. J. G. REEDER SERIES: 5 Mystery Novels & 4 Detective Stories. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
to a pulp, was Peter Kane, and he was asleep!
They dragged him to a chair, bathed his face with cold water, but even then he took a long time to recover.
“He has been drugged: that’s obvious,” said Mr. Reeder, and scrutinised the hands of the unconscious man for a sign of blood. But though they were covered with rust and grime, Reeder found not so much as one spot of blood; and the first words that Peter uttered, on recovering consciousness, confirmed the view that he was ignorant of the murder.
“Where is Emanuel?” he asked drowsily. “Have you got him?”
“No; but somebody has got him,” said Reeder gently, and the shock of the news brought Peter Kane wide awake.
“Murdered!” he said unbelievingly. “Are you sure? Of course, I’m mad to ask you that.” He passed his hand wearily across his forehead. “No, I know nothing about it. I suppose you suspect me, and I don’t mind telling you that I was willing to murder him if I could have found him.”
Briefly he related what had happened at the dinner.
“I knew that I was doped, but dope works slowly on me, and the only chance I had was to sham dead. Emanuel gave me a thump in the jaw, and that was my excuse for going out. They got me downstairs into the yard and put me into the car first. I slipped out the other side as soon as the nigger went up to get Johnny. There were a lot of old cement sacks lying about, and I threw a couple on to the floor, hoping that in the darkness they would mistake the bundle for me. Then I lay down amongst the packing-cases and waited. I guessed they’d brought down Johnny, but I was powerless to help him. When the car had gone, and Pietro had gone up again, I followed. I suppose the dope was getting busy, and if I’d had any sense, I should have got over the gate. My first thought was that they might have taken my gun away and left it in the room. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.”
“Are you sure of that, Peter?”
“Absolutely sure.”
“How long after was this?”
“About half an hour. It took me all that time to get up the stairs, because I had to fight the dope all the way. I heard somebody moving about, and slipped into one of the other rooms, and then I heard the window pulled down and locked. I didn’t want to go to sleep, for fear they discovered me; but I must have dozed, for when I woke up, it was dark and cold, and I heard no sound at all. I tried the door of thirteen again, but could make no impression on it. So I went to Emanuel’s office. I know the place very well: I used to go in there in the old days, before Emanuel went to jail, and I knew all about the spiral staircase to the roof. All along I suspected that the hut they’d put on the roof was the place where the slush was printed. But here I was mistaken, for I had no sooner got into the room than I saw that it was where the engraver worked. There was a plate on the edge of a shaft. I suppose I was still dizzy, because I fumbled at it. It slipped through my hand, and I heard a clang come up from somewhere below.”
“How did you get into this room?”
“The door was open,” was the surprising reply. “I have an idea that it is one of those doors that can only be opened and closed from the inside. The real door of the room is in the room in Emanuel’s office. It is the only way in, and the only way out, both from the basement and the room on the roof. I don’t know what happened after that. I must have lain down, for by now the dope was working powerfully. I ought to let Marney know I’m all right. She’ll be worried…”
He saw something in the detective’s face, something that made his heart sink.
“Marney! Is anything wrong with Marney?” he asked quickly.
“I don’t know. She went out last night – or rather, early this morning – and has not been seen since.”
Peter listened, stricken dumb by the news. It seemed to Mr. Reeder that he aged ten years in as few minutes.
“Now, Kane, you’ve got to tell me all you know about Legge,” said Reeder kindly. “I haven’t any doubt that Jeffrey’s taken her to the big printing place. Where is it?”
Peter shook his head.
“I haven’t the least idea,” he said. “The earlier slush was printed in this building; in fact, it was printed in Room 13. I’ve known that for a long time. But as the business grew, young Legge had to find another works. Where he has found it is a mystery to me, and to most other people.”
“But you must have heard rumours?” persisted Reeder.
Again Peter shook his head.
“Remember that I mix very little with people of my own profession, or my late profession,” he said. “Johnny and old Barney are about the only crooks I know, outside of the Legge family. And Stevens, of course – he was in jail ten years ago. I’ve lost touch with all the others, and my news has come through Barney, though most of Barney’s gossip is unreliable.”
They reached Barney by telephone, but he was unable to give any information that was of the slightest use. All that he knew was that the printing works were supposed to be somewhere in the West.
“Johnny knows more about it than I do, or than anybody. All the boys agree as to that,” said Barney. “They told him a lot in ‘boob’.”
Leaving Peter to return home, Mr. Reeder made a call at Johnny’s flat. Parker was up. He had been notified earlier in the morning of his master’s disappearance, but he had no explanation to offer.
He was preparing to give a list of the clothes that Johnny had been wearing, but Reeder cut him short impatiently.
“Try to think of Mr. Gray as a human being, and not as a tailor’s dummy,” he said wrathfully. “You realise that he is in very grave danger?”
“I am not at all worried, sir,” said the precise Parker. “Mr. Gray was wearing his new sock suspenders—”
For once Mr. Reeder forgot himself.
“You’re a damned fool, Parker,” he said.
“I hope not, sir,” said Parker as he bowed him out.
Chapter XXIX
It was five minutes past two in the morning when Marney, sitting in the drawingroom at the front of the house, heard the sound of a motorcar stop before the house. Going into the hall, she opened the door, and, standing on the step, peered into the darkness.
“Is that you, father?” she asked.
There was no reply, and she walked quickly up the garden path to the gate. The car was a closed coupe, and as she looked over the gate, she saw a hand come out and beckon her, and heard a voice whisper:
“Don’t make a noise. Come in here; I want to talk to you. I don’t want Barney to see me.”
Bewildered, she obeyed. Jerking open the door, she jumped into the dark interior, by the side of the man at the wheel.
“What is it?” she asked.
Then, to her amazement, the car began to move toward the main road. It had evidently circled before it had stopped.
“What is the matter, father?” she asked.
And then she heard a low chuckle that made her blood run cold.
“Go into the back and stay there. If you make a row, I’ll spoil that complexion of yours, Marney Legge!”
“Jeffrey!” she gasped.
She gripped the inside handle of the door and had half turned it when he caught her with his disengaged hand and flung her into the back of the car.
“I’ll kill you if you make