The Just Men of Cordova. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
have visitors,” said Manfred with a little smile. “Sometimes the begging profession becomes an intolerable burden to our Leon and he enters Cordova by rail, a most respectable member of society, full of a desire for the luxury of life—and stories. Go on with yours, Poiccart; I am interested.”
The “tourist” seated himself in a deep arm-chair. “Where was I?” he asked. “Oh, yes. Dr. Essley disappeared from Coolgardie, and after an obliteration of eight years reappeared in London.”
“In any exceptional circumstances?”
“No, very ordinarily. He seems to have been taken up by the newest kind of Napoleon.”
“A Colonel Black?” asked Manfred, raising his eyebrows.
Poiccart nodded.
“That same meteor,” he said. “At any rate, Essley, thanks to what practice he could steal from other practitioners in his own suburb—somewhere in the neighbourhood of Forest Hill—and what practice Napoleon’s recommendation gives him, seems to be fairly well off. He first attracted my attention—”
There came a tap at the door, and Manfred raised his finger warningly. He crossed the room and opened the door. The concierge stood outside, cap in hand; behind him and a little way down the stairs was a stranger—obviously an Englishman.
“A señor to see your excellency,” said the concierge.
“My house is at your disposal,” said Manfred, addressing the stranger in Spanish.
“I am afraid I do not speak good Spanish,” said the man on the stairs.
“Will you come up?” asked Manfred, in English.
The other mounted the stairs slowly.
He was a man of fifty. His hair was grey and long. His eyebrows were shaggy, and his under-jaw stuck out and gave his face an appearance which was slightly repulsive. He wore a black coat and carried a big, soft wideawake in his gloved hand.
He peered round the room from one to the other.
“My name,” he said, “is Essley.”
He pronounced the word, lingering upon the double “ss” till it sounded like a long hiss.
“Essley,” he repeated as though he derived some satisfaction from the repetition—“Dr. Essley.”
Manfred motioned him to a chair, but he shook his head.
“I’ll stand,” he said harshly. “When I have business, I stand.” He looked suspiciously at Poiccart. “I have private business,” he said pointedly.
“My friend has my complete confidence,” said Manfred.
He nodded grudgingly. “I understand,” he said, “that you are a scientist and a man of considerable knowledge of Spain.”
Manfred shrugged his shoulders. In his present role he enjoyed some reputation as a quasi-scientific litterateur, and under the name of “de la Monte” had published a book on Modern Crime.
“Knowing this,” said the man, “I came to Cordova, having other business also—but that will keep.”
He looked round for a chair and Manfred offered one, into which he sat, keeping his back to the window.
“Mr. de la Monte,” said the doctor, leaning forward with his hands on his knees and speaking very deliberately, “you have some knowledge of crime.”
“I have written a book on the subject,” said Manfred, “which is not necessarily the same thing.”
“I had that fear,” said the other bluntly. “I was also afraid that you might not speak English. Now I want to ask you a plain question and I want a plain answer.”
“So far as I can give you this, I shall be most willing,” said Manfred.
The doctor twisted his face nervously, then—“Have you ever heard of the Four Just Men?” he asked.
There was a little silence.
“Yes,” said Manfred calmly, “I have heard of them.”
“Are they in Spain?” The question was put sharply.
“I have no exact knowledge,” said Manfred. “Why do you ask?”
“Because—” The doctor hesitated. “Oh, well—I am interested. It is said that they unearth villainy that the law does not punish; they—they kill—eh?” His voice was sharper, his eyelids narrowed till he peered from one to the other through slits.
“Such an organization is known to exist,” said Manfred, “and one knows that they do happen upon unpunished crime—and punish.”
“Even to—to killing?”
“They even kill,” said Manfred gravely.
“And they go free!”—the doctor leapt to his feet with a snarl and flung out his hands in protest—“they go free! All the laws of all nations cannot trap them! A self-appointed tribunal—who are they to judge and condemn? Who gave them the right to sit in judgment? There is a law, if a man cheats it—”
He checked himself suddenly, shook his shoulders and sank heavily into the chair again.
“So far as I can secure information upon the subject,” he said roughly, “these men are no longer an active force—they are outlawed—there are warrants for them in every country.”
Manfred nodded.
“That is very true,” he said gently; “but whether they are an active force, time must reveal.”
“There were three?”—the doctor looked up quickly—“and they usually find a fourth—an influential fourth.”
Manfred nodded again. “So I understand.”
Dr. Essley twisted uncomfortably in his chair. It was evident that the information or assurance he expected to receive from this expert in crime was not entirely satisfactory to him.
“And they are in Spain?” he asked.
“So it is said.”
“They are not in France; they are not in Italy; they are not in Russia; nor in any of the German States,” said the doctor resentfully. “They must be in Spain.”
He brooded awhile in silence.
“Pardon me,” said Poiccart, who had been a silent listener, “but you seem very interested in these men. Would it be offensive to you if I asked you to satisfy my curiosity as to why you should be anxious to discover their whereabouts?”
“Curiosity also,” said the other quickly; “in a sense I am a modest student of crime, as our friend de la Monte is.”
“An enthusiastic student,” said Manfred quietly.
“I hoped that you would be able to give me some help,” Essley went on, unmindful of the significant emphasis of the other’s tones; “beyond the fact that they may be in Spain, which, after all, is conjectural, I have learnt nothing.”
“They may not even be in Spain,” said Manfred, as he accompanied his visitor to the door; “they may not even be in existence—your fears may be entirely groundless.”
The doctor whipped round, white to the lips. “Fears?” he said, breathing quickly. “Did you say fears?”
“I am sorry,” laughed Manfred easily; my English is perhaps not good.”
“Why should I fear them?” demanded the doctor aggressively. “Why should I? Your words are chosen very unwisely, sir. I have nothing to fear from the Four Just Men—or from any other source.”
He stood panting in the doorway like a man who is suddenly deprived of breath. With an effort he collected himself, hesitated a