The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Certainly!” He replied to some question, “but not Patagonia,” he paused again, and Fisher standing at the foot of the stairs wondered what had occurred to make the visitor so genial.
“I suppose your cheque will be honoured all right?” asked the visitor sardonically, and then burst into a little chuckle of laughter as he carefully closed the door.
He came down the corridor talking to himself, and greeted Fisher.
“Damn all Greeks,” he said jovially, and Fisher could do no more than smile reproachfully, the smile being his very own, the reproach being on behalf of the master who paid him.
The traveller touched the other on the chest with his right hand.
“Never trust a Greek,” he said, “always get your money in advance. Is that clear to you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Fisher, “but I think you will always find that Mr. Kara is always most generous about money.”
“Don’t you believe it, don’t you believe it, my poor man,” said the other, “you—”
At that moment there came from Kara’s room a faint “clang.”
“What’s that?” asked the visitor a little startled.
“Mr. Kara’s put down his steel latch,” said Fisher with a smile, “which means that he is not to be disturbed until—” he looked at his watch, “until eleven o’clock at any rate.”
“He’s a funk!” snapped the other, “a beastly funk!”
He stamped down the stairs as though testing the weight of every tread, opened the front door without assistance, slammed it behind him and disappeared into the night.
Fisher, his hands in his pockets, looked after the departing stranger, nodding his head in reprobation.
“You’re a queer old devil,” he said, and looked at his watch again.
It wanted five minutes to ten.
Chapter XIII
“If you would care to come in, sir, I’m sure Lexman would be glad to see you,” said T.X.; “it’s very kind of you to take an interest in the matter.”
The Chief Commissioner of Police growled something about being paid to take an interest in everybody and strolled with T.X. down one of the apparently endless corridors of Scotland Yard.
“You won’t have any bother about the pardon,” he said. “I was dining tonight with old man Bartholomew and he will fix that up in the morning.”
“There will be no necessity to detain Lexman in custody?” asked T.X.
The Chief shook his head.
“None whatever,” he said.
There was a pause, then,
“By the way, did Bartholomew mention Belinda Mary!”
The white-haired chief looked round in astonishment.
“And who the devil is Belinda Mary?” he asked.
T.X. went red.
“Belinda Mary,” he said a little quickly, “is Bartholomew’s daughter.”
“By Jove,” said the Commissioner, “now you mention it, he did — she is still in France.”
“Oh, is she?” said T.X. innocently, and in his heart of hearts he wished most fervently that she was. They came to the room which Mansus occupied and found that admirable man waiting.
Wherever policemen meet, their conversation naturally drifts to “shop” and in two minutes the three were discussing with some animation and much difference of opinion, as far as T.X. was concerned, a series of frauds which had been perpetrated in the Midlands, and which have nothing to do with this story.
“Your friend is late,” said the Chief Commissioner.
“There he is,” cried T.X., springing up. He heard a familiar footstep on the flagged corridor, and sprung out of the room to meet the newcomer.
For a moment he stood wringing the hand of this grave man, his heart too full for words.
“My dear chap!” he said at last, “you don’t know how glad I am to see you.”
John Lexman said nothing, then,
“I am sorry to bring you into this business, T.X.,” he said quietly.
“Nonsense,” said the other, “come in and see the Chief.”
He took John by the arm and led him into the Superintendent’s room.
There was a change in John Lexman. A subtle shifting of balance which was not readily discoverable. His face was older, the mobile mouth a little more grimly set, the eyes more deeply lined. He was in evening dress and looked, as T.X. thought, a typical, clean, English gentleman, such an one as any self-respecting valet would be proud to say he had “turned out.”
T.X. looking at him carefully could see no great change, save that down one side of his smooth shaven cheek ran the scar of an old wound; which could not have been much more than superficial.
“I must apologize for this kit,” said John, taking off his overcoat and laying it across the back of a chair, “but the fact is I was so bored this evening that I had to do something to pass the time away, so I dressed and went to the theatre — and was more bored than ever.”
T.X. noticed that he did not smile and that when he spoke it was slowly and carefully, as though he were weighing the value of every word.
“Now,” he went on, “I have come to deliver myself into your hands.”
“I suppose you have not seen Kara?” said T.X.
“I have no desire to see Kara,” was the short reply.
“Well, Mr. Lexman,” broke in the Chief, “I don’t think you are going to have any difficulty about your escape. By the way, I suppose it was by aeroplane?”
Lexman nodded.
“And you had an assistant?”
Again Lexman nodded.
“Unless you press me I would rather not discuss the matter for some little time, Sir George,” he said, “there is much that will happen before the full story of my escape is made known.”
Sir George nodded.
“We will leave it at that,” he said cheerily, “and now I hope you have come back to delight us all with one of your wonderful plots.”
“For the time being I have done with wonderful plots,” said John Lexman in that even, deliberate tone of his. “I hope to leave London next week for New York and take up such of the threads of life as remain. The greater thread has gone.”
The Chief Commissioner understood.
The silence which followed was broken by the loud and insistent ringing of the telephone bell.
“Hullo,” said Mansus rising quickly; “that’s Kara’s bell.”
With two quick strides he was at the telephone and lifted down the receiver.
“Hullo,” he cried. “Hullo,” he cried again. There was no reply, only the continuous buzzing, and when he hung up the receiver again, the bell continued ringing.
The three policemen looked at one another.
“There’s trouble there,”