The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I want you to carry out your promise, Mr. Tarling,” said Milburgh smoothly.
Tarling stared at him.
“My promise,” he said, “what promise?”
“To protect, not only the evildoer, but those who have compromised themselves in an effort to shield the evildoer from his or her own wicked act.”
Tarling started.
“Do you mean to say—” he said hoarsely. “Do you mean to accuse — ?”
“I accuse nobody,” said Milburgh with a wide sweep of his hands. “I merely suggest that both Miss Rider and myself are in very serious trouble and that you have it in your power to get us safely out of this country to one where extradition laws cannot follow.”
Tarling took one step towards him and Milburgh shrank back.
“Do you accuse Miss Rider of complicity in this murder?” he demanded.
Milburgh smiled, but it was an uneasy smile.
“I make no accusation,” he said, “and as to the murder?” he shrugged his shoulders. “You will understand better when you read the contents of that wallet which I was endeavouring to remove to a place of safety.”
Tarling picked up the wallet from the table and looked at it.
“I shall see the contents of this wallet tomorrow,” he said. “Locks will present very little difficulty—”
“You can read the contents tonight,” said Milburgh smoothly, and pulled from his pocket a chain, at the end of which dangled a small bunch of keys. “Here is the key,” he said. “Unlock and read tonight.”
Tarling took the key in his hand, inserted it in first one tiny lock and then in the other. The catches snapped open and he threw back the flap. Then a hand snatched the portfolio from him and he turned to see the girl’s quivering face and read the terror in her eyes.
“No, no!” she cried, almost beside herself, “no, for God’s sake, no!”
Tarling stepped back. He saw the malicious little smile on Milburgh’s face and could have struck him down.
“Miss Rider does not wish me to see what is in this case,” he said.
“And for an excellent reason,” sneered Milburgh.
“Here!”
It was the girl’s voice, surprisingly clear and steady. Her shaking hands held the paper she had taken from the wallet and she thrust it toward the detective.
“There is a reason,” she said in a low voice. “But it is not the reason you suggest.”
Milburgh had gone too far. Tarling saw his face lengthen and the look of apprehension in his cold blue eyes. Then, without further hesitation, he opened the paper and read.
The first line took away his breath.
“THE CONFESSION OF ODETTE RIDER.”
“Good God!” he muttered and read on. There were only half a dozen lines and they were in the firm caligraphy of the girl.
“I, Odette Rider, hereby confess that for three years I have been robbing the firm of Lyne’s Stores, Limited, and during that period have taken the sum of £25,000.”
Tarling dropped the paper and caught the girl as she fainted.
XXV. Milburgh’s Last Bluff
Milburgh had gone too far. He had hoped to carry through this scene without the actual disclosure of the confession. In his shrewd, clever way he had realised before Tarling himself, that the detective from Shanghai, this heir to the Lyne millions, had fallen under the spell of the girl’s beauty, and all his conjectures had been confirmed by the scene he had witnessed, no less than by the conversation he had overheard before the door was opened.
He was seeking immunity and safety. The man was in a panic, though this Tarling did not realise, and was making his last desperate throw for the life that he loved, that life of ease and comfort to secure which he had risked so much.
Milburgh had lived in terror that Odette Rider would betray him, and because of his panicky fear that she had told all to the detective that night he brought her back to London from Ashford, he had dared attempt to silence the man whom he believed was the recipient of the girl’s confidence.
Those shots in the foggy night which had nearly ended the career of Jack Tarling had their explanation in Milburgh’s terror of exposure. One person in the world, one living person, could place him in the felon’s dock, and if she betrayed him —
Tarling had carried the girl to a couch and had laid her down. He went quickly into his bedroom, switching on the light, to get a glass of water. It was Milburgh’s opportunity. A little fire was burning in the sittingroom. Swiftly he picked the confession from the floor and thrust it into his pocket.
On a little table stood a writing cabinet. From this he took a sheet of the hotel paper, crumpled it up and thrust it into the fire. It was blazing when Tarling returned.
“What are you doing?” he asked, halting by the side of the couch.
“I am burning the young lady’s confession,” said Milburgh calmly. “I do not think it is desirable in the interests—”
“Wait,” said Tarling calmly.
He lowered the girl’s head and sprinkled some of the water on her face, and she opened her eyes with a little shudder.
Tarling left her for a second and walked to the fire. The paper was burnt save a scrap of the edge that had not caught, and this he lifted gingerly, looked at it for a moment, then cast his eyes round the room. He saw that the stationery cabinet had been disturbed and laughed. It was neither a pleasant nor an amused laugh.
“That’s the idea, eh?” he said, walked to the door, closed it and stood with his back to it.
“Now, Milburgh, you can give me that confession you’ve got in your pocket.”
“I’ve burnt it, Mr. Tarling.”
“You’re a liar,” said Tarling calmly. “You knew very well I wouldn’t let you go out of this room with that confession in your pocket and you tried to bluff me by burning a sheet of writing-paper. I want that confession.”
“I assure you—” began Milburgh.
“I want that confession,” said Tarling, and with a sickly smile. Milburgh put his hand in his pocket and drew out the crumpled sheet.
“Now, if you are anxious to see it burn,” said Tarling, “you will have an opportunity.”
He read the statement again and put it into the fire, watched it until it was reduced to ashes, then beat the ashes down with a poker.
“That’s that,” said Tarling cheerfully.
“I suppose you know what you’ve done,” said Milburgh. “You’ve destroyed evidence which you, as an officer of the law—”
“Cut that out,” replied Tarling shortly.
For the second time that night he unlocked the door and flung it wide open.
“Milburgh, you can go. I know where I can find you when I want you,” he said.
“You’ll be sorry for this,” said Milburgh.
“Not half as sorry as you’ll be by the time I’m through with you,” retorted Tarling.
“I shall go straight to Scotland Yard,”