The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
covered you,” said Tarling, “and kept your name out of the business altogether.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Milburgh, as though the idea had not struck him before, “yes, it did that. I had sent Miss Rider off in a hurry. I begged that she would not go near the flat, and I promised that I myself would go there, pack the necessary articles for the journey and take them down in a taxi to Charing Cross.”
“I see,” said Tarling, “so it was you who packed the bag?”
“Half-packed it,” corrected Mr. Milburgh. “You see, I’d made a mistake in the time the train left. It was only when I was packing the bag that I realised it was impossible for me to get down to the station in time. I had made arrangements with Miss Rider that if I did not turn up I would telephone to her a quarter of an hour before the train left. She was to await me in the lounge of a near-by hotel. I had hoped to get to her at least an hour before the train left, because I did not wish to attract attention to myself, or,” he added, “to Miss Rider. When I looked at my watch, and realised that it was impossible to get down, I left the bag as it was, half-packed and went outside to the tube station and telephoned.”
“How did you get in and out?” asked Tarling. “The porter on duty at the door said he saw nobody.”
“I went out the back way,” explained Mr. Milburgh. “It is really the simplest thing in the world to get into Miss Rider’s basement flat by way of the mews behind. All the tenants have keys to the back door so that they can bring their cycles in and out, or get in their coals.”
“I know that,” said Tarling. “Go on.”
“I am a little in advance of the actual story,” said Milburgh. “The business of packing the bag takes my narrative along a little farther than I intended it to go. Having said goodbye to Miss Rider, I passed the rest of the evening perfecting my plans. It would serve no useful purpose,” said Milburgh with an airy wave of his hand, “if I were to tell you the arguments I intended putting before him.”
“If they did not include the betrayal of Miss Rider, I’m a Dutchman,” said Tarling. “I pretty well know the arguments you intended using.”
“Then, Mr. Tarling, allow me to congratulate you upon being a thought-reader,” said Milburgh, “because I have not revealed my secret thoughts to any human being. However, that is beside the point. I intended to plead with Mr. Lyne. I intended to offer him the record of years of loyal service to his sainted father; and if the confession was not accepted, and if he still persisted in his revengeful plan, then, Mr. Tarling, I intended shooting myself before his eyes.”
He said this with rare dramatic effect; but Tarling was unimpressed, and Whiteside looked up from his notes with a twinkle in his eye.
“You hobby seems to be preparing for suicide and changing your mind,” he said.
“I am sorry to hear you speak so flippantly on a solemn subject,” said Milburgh. “As I say, I waited a little too long; but I was anxious for complete darkness to fall before I made my way into the flat. This I did easily because Odette had lent me her key. I found her bag with no difficulty — it was in the diningroom on a shelf, and placing the case upon her bed, I proceeded, as best I could, for I am not very familiar with the articles of feminine toilette, to put together such things as I knew she would require on the journey.
“I was thus engaged when, as I say, it occurred to me that I had mistaken the time of the train, and, looking at my watch, I saw to my consternation that I should not be able to get down to the station in time. Happily I had arranged to call her up, as I have already told you.”
“One moment,” said Tarling. “How were you dressed?”
“How was I dressed? Let me think. I wore a heavy overcoat, I know,” said Mr. Milburgh, “for the night was chilly and a little foggy, if you remember.”
“Where was the revolver?”
“In the overcoat pocket,” replied Milburgh immediately.
“Had you your overcoat on?”
Milburgh thought for a moment.
“No, I had not. I had hung it up on a hook at the foot of the bed, near the alcove which I believe Miss Rider used as a wardrobe.”
“And when you went out to telephone, had you your overcoat?”
“No, that I am perfectly certain about,” said Milburgh readily. “I remember thinking later how foolish it was to bring an overcoat out and not use it.”
“Go on,” said Tarling.
“Well, I reached the station, called up the hotel, and to my surprise and annoyance Miss Rider did not answer. I asked the porter who answered my ‘phone call whether he had seen a young lady dressed in so-and-so waiting in the lounge, and he replied ‘no.’ Therefore,” said Mr. Milburgh emphatically, “you will agree that it is possible that Miss Rider was not either at the station or at the hotel, and there was a distinct possibility that she had doubled back.”
“We want the facts,” interrupted Whiteside. “We have enough theories. Tell us what happened. Then we will draw our own conclusions.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Milburgh courteously. “By the time I had telephoned it was half-past nine o’clock. You will remember that I had wired to Mr. Lyne to meet me at the flat at eleven. Obviously there was no reason why I should go back to the flat until a few minutes before Mr. Lyne was due, to let him in. You asked me just now, sir,” he turned to Tarling, “whether I had my overcoat on, and I can state most emphatically that I had not. I was going back to the flat with the intention of collecting my overcoat, when I saw a number of people walking about the mews behind the block. I had no desire to attract attention, as I have told you before, so I stood waiting until these people, who were employees of a motorcar company which had a garage behind the flat, had dispersed.
“Now, waiting at the corner of a mews on a cold spring night is a cold business, and seeing that it would be some time before the mews would be clear, I went back to the main street and strolled along until I came to a picture palace. I am partial to cinematograph displays,” explained Mr. Milburgh, “and, although I was not in the mood for entertainment, yet I thought the pictures would afford a pleasant attraction. I forget the name of the film—”
“It is not necessary that you should tell us for the moment,” said Tarling. “Will you please make your story as short as possible?”
Milburgh was silent for a moment.
“I am coming now to the most extraordinary fact,” he said, “and I would ask you to bear in mind every detail I give you. It is to my interest that the perpetrator of this terrible crime should be brought to justice—”
Tarling’s impatient gesture arrested his platitudes, but Mr. Milburgh was in no way abashed.
“When I got back to the mews I found it deserted. Standing outside the door leading to the storerooms and cellars was a two-seater car. There was nobody inside or in attendance and I looked at it curiously, not realising at the moment that it was Mr. Thornton Lyne’s. What did interest me was the fact that the back gate, which I had left locked, was open. So, too, was the door leading to what I would call the underground room — it was little better — through which one had to pass to reach Odette’s flat by the back way.
“I opened the door of the flat,” said Mr. Milburgh impressively, “and walked in. I had extinguished the light when I went, but to my surprise I saw through the transom of Odette’s bedroom that a light was burning within. I turned the handle, and even before I saw into the room, my nose was assailed by a smell of burning powder.
“The first sight which met my gaze was a man lying on the floor. He was on his face, but I turned him over, and to my horror it was Mr. Thornton Lyne. He was unconscious and bleeding from a wound in the chest,” said Mr. Milburgh, “and at the moment I thought he was dead. To say that I was shocked would be mildly to describe my