The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
standing almost to attention, his keen eyes peering down at the little cards which he held in the fingertips of both hands. Then:
“Interesting,” he said. “You notice that the two figures are almost the same — which is rather extraordinary. Very interesting.”
“Well?” asked Tarling impatiently, almost savagely.
“Interesting,” said Whiteside again, “but none of these correspond to the thumb prints on the bureau.”
“Thank God for that!” said Tarling fervently “Thank God for that!”
XIX. Ling Chu Tells the Truth
The firm of Dashwood and Solomon occupied a narrow-fronted building in the heart of the City of London. Its reputation stood as high as any, and it numbered amongst its clients the best houses in Britain. Both partners had been knighted, and it was Sir Felix Solomon who received Tarling in his private office.
Sir Felix was a tall, goodlooking man, well past middle age, rather brusque of manner but kindly withal, and he looked up over his glasses as the detective entered.
“Scotland Yard, eh?” he said, glancing at Tarling’s card. “Well, I can give you exactly five minutes, Mr. Tarling. I presume you’ve come to see me about the Lyne accounts?”
Tarling nodded.
“We have not been able to start on these yet,” said Sir Felix, “though we are hoping to go into them tomorrow. We’re terribly rushed just now, and we’ve had to get in an extra staff to deal with this new work the Government has put on us — by-the-way, you know that we are not Lyne’s accountants; they are Messrs. Purbrake & Store, but we have taken on the work at the request of Mr. Purbrake, who very naturally wishes to have an independent investigation, as there seems to be some question of defalcation on the part of one of the employees. This, coupled with the tragic death of Mr. Lyne, has made it all the more necessary that an outside firm should be called in to look into the books.”
“That I understand,” said Tarling, “and of course, the Commissioner quite appreciates the difficulty of your task. I’ve come along rather to procure information for my own purpose as I am doubly interested—”
Sir Felix looked up sharply.
“Mr. Tarling?” he repeated, looking at the card again. “Why, of course! I understand that letters of administration are to be applied for on your behalf?”
“I believe that is so,” said Tarling quietly. “But my interest in the property is more or less impersonal at the moment. The manager of the business is a Mr. Milburgh.”
Sir Felix nodded.
“He has been most useful and helpful,” he said. “And certainly, if the vague rumours I have heard have any substantial foundation — namely, that Milburgh is suspected of robbing the firm — then he is assuredly giving us every assistance to convict himself.”
“You have all the books in your keeping?”
“Absolutely,” replied Sir Felix emphatically. “The last three books, unearthed by Mr. Milburgh himself, came to us only this morning. In fact, those are they,” he pointed to a brown paper parcel standing on a smaller table near the window. The parcel was heavily corded and was secured again by red tape, which was sealed.
Sir Felix leaned over and pressed a bell on the table, and a clerk came in.
“Put those books with the others in the strongroom,” he said, and when the man had disappeared, staggering under the weight of the heavy volumes he turned to Tarling.
“We’re keeping all the books and accounts of Lyne’s Stores in a special strongroom,” he said. “They are all under seal, and those seals will be broken in the presence of Mr. Milburgh, as an interested party, and a representative of the Public Prosecutor.”
“When will this be?” asked Tarling.
“Tomorrow afternoon, or possibly tomorrow morning. We will notify Scotland Yard as to the exact hour, because I suppose you will wish to be represented.”
He rose briskly, thereby ending the interview.
It was another dead end, thought Tarling, as he went out into St. Mary Axe and boarded a westward-bound omnibus. The case abounded in these culs-de-sac which seemed to lead nowhere. Cul-de-sac No. 1 had been supplied by Odette Rider; cul-de-sac No. 2 might very easily lead to the dead end of Milburgh’s innocence.
He felt a sense of relief, however, that the authorities had acted so promptly in impounding Lyne’s books. An examination into these might lead to the discovery of the murderer, and at any rate would dispel the cloud of suspicion which still surrounded Odette Rider.
He had gone to Dashwood and Solomon to make himself personally acquainted with that string in the tangled skein which he was determined to unravel; and now, with his mind at rest upon that subject, he was returning to settle matters with Ling Chu, that Chinese assistant of his who was now as deeply under suspicion as any suspect in the case.
He had spoken no more than the truth when he had told Inspector Whiteside that he knew the way to deal with Ling Chu. A Chinese criminal — and he was loath to believe that Ling Chu, that faithful servant, came under that description — is not to be handled in the Occidental manner; and he, who had been known throughout Southern China as the “Hunter of Men” had a reputation for extracting truth by methods which no code of laws would sanction.
He walked into his Bond Street flat, shut the door behind him and locked it, putting the key in his pocket. He knew Ling Chu would be in, because he had given him instructions that morning to await his return.
The Chinaman came into the hall to take his coat and hat, and followed Tarling into the sittingroom.
“Close the door, Ling Chu,” said Tarling in Chinese. “I have something to say to you.”
The last words were spoken in English, and the Chinaman looked at him quickly. Tarling had never addressed him in that language before, and the Chinaman knew just what this departure portended.
“Ling Chu,” said Tarling, sitting at the table, his chin in his hand, watching the other with steady eyes, “you did not tell me that you spoke English.”
“The master has never asked me,” said the Chinaman quietly, and to Tarling’s surprise his English was without accent and his pronunciation perfect.
“That is not true,” said Tarling sternly. “When you told me that you had heard of the murder, I said that you did not understand English, and you did not deny it.”
“It is not for me to deny the master,” said Ling Chu as coolly as ever. “I speak very good English. I was trained at the Jesuit School in Hangkow, but it is not good for a Chinaman to speak English in China, or for any to know that he understands. Yet the master must have known I spoke English and read the language, for why should I keep the little cuttings from the newspapers in the box which the master searched this morning?”
Tarling’s eyes narrowed.
“So you knew that, did you?” he said.
The Chinaman smiled. It was a most unusual circumstance, for Ling Chu had never smiled within Tarling’s recollection.
“The papers were in certain order — some turned one way and some turned the other. When I saw them after I came back from Scotland Yard they had been disturbed. They could not disturb themselves, master, and none but you would go to my box.”
There was a pause, awkward enough for Tarling, who felt for the moment a little foolish that his carelessness had led to Ling Chu discovering the search which had been made of his private property.
“I thought