THE TRENCH DAYS: The Collected War Tales of William Le Queux (WW1 Adventure Sagas, Espionage Thrillers & Action Classics). William Le Queux

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СКАЧАТЬ he had not verified his facts, and intended to do so before revealing the truth to you.”

      “Yes, he was most careful always to obtain corroboration of everything, before accepting it,” was Jack’s reply. “But certainly what you have just told me arouses a grave suspicion.”

      “Of what?”

      “Well — that our poor friend, having gained knowledge of Lewin Rodwell’s birth and antecedents, may, in all probability, have probed further into his past and — ”

      “Into his present, I think more likely,” exclaimed the great doctor. “Ah! I quite see the line of your argument,” he added quickly. “You suggest that Rodwell may have discovered that Jerrold knew the truth, and that, in consequence, death came suddenly and unexpectedly — eh?”

      Jack Sainsbury nodded in the affirmative. “But surely Trustram, who was one of Jerrold’s most intimate friends, could not have had any hand in foul play! He was the last man who saw him alive. No,” he went on. “My own experience shows me that poor Jerrold has died of poisoning, and as nobody has been here, or could have escaped from the room, it must have been administered by his own hand.”

      “But do you not discern the motive?” cried Sainsbury. “Rodwell has risen to a position of great affluence and notoriety. He is a bosom friend of Cabinet Ministers, and to him many secrets of State are confided. He, and his friend Sir Boyle Huntley, play golf with Ministers, and the name of Lewin Rodwell is everywhere to-day one to conjure with. He has, since the war, risen to be one of the most patriotic Englishmen — a man whose unselfish efforts are praised and admired from one end of Great Britain to another. Surely he would have become desperate if he had the least suspicion that Jerome Jerrold had discovered the truth, and intended to unmask him — as he had openly declared to you.”

      “Yes, yes, I see,” Sir Houston replied dubiously. “If there were any traces of foul play I should at once be of the same opinion. But you see they do not exist.”

      “Whether there are traces, or whether there are none, nothing will shake my firm opinion, and that is that poor Jerome has been assassinated, and the motive of the crime is what I have already suggested.”

      “Very well; we shall clear it up at the post-mortem,” was the doctor’s reply, while at that moment Thomasson re-entered, followed by a police-officer in plain clothes and two constables in uniform.

      On their entry, Sainsbury introduced Sir Houston Bird, and told them his own name and that of his dead friend.

      Then the officer of the local branch of the Criminal Investigation Department sat down at the dead man’s writing-table and began to write in his note-book the story of the strange affair, as dictated by Jack.

      Sir Houston also made a statement, this being followed by the man Thomasson, who detailed his master’s movements prior to his death — as far as he knew them.

      His master, he declared, had seemed in excellent spirits all day. He had seen patients in the morning, had lunched frugally at home, and had gone down to Guy’s in the car to see the wounded, as was his daily round. At six he had returned, dressed, and gone forth in a taxi to meet his friend, Mr Trustram of the Admiralty. They having dined together returned, and afterwards Mr Trustram had left and the doctor, smoking his pipe, had retired to his room to write. Nothing further was heard, Thomasson said, till the arrival of Mr Sainsbury, when the door of the room was found locked.

      “You heard no one enter the house — no sounds whatever?” asked the detective inspector, Rees by name, a tall, clean-shaven, fresh-complexioned man, with rather curly hair.

      “I didn’t hear a sound,” was the servant’s reply. “The others were all out, and, as a matter of fact, I was in the waiting-room, just inside the door, looking at the newspapers on the table. So I should have heard anyone go up or down the stairs.”

      Inspector Rees submitted Thomasson to a very searching cross-examination, but it was quite evident to all in the room that he knew nothing more than what he had already told. He and his wife had been in Dr Jerrold’s service for eight years. His wife, until her death, a year ago, had acted as cook-housekeeper.

      “Did you ever know of Mr Lewin Rodwell visiting the doctor?” asked Sir Houston.

      “Never, as far as I know, sir. He, of course, might have come to consult him professionally when I’ve been out, and the maid has sometimes opened the door and admitted patients.”

      “Have you ever heard Mr Rodwell’s name?”

      “Only on the telephone to-night — and of course very often in the papers,” replied the man.

      “Your master was very intimate with Mr Trustram?” inquired the detective.

      “Oh yes. They first met about three months ago, and after that Mr Trustram came here several times weekly. The doctor went to stay at his country cottage near Dorking for the week-end, about a fortnight ago.”

      “Did you ever discover the reason of those conferences?” Jack Sainsbury asked. “I mean, did you ever overhear any of their conversations?”

      “Sometimes, sir. But not very often,” was Thomasson’s discreet reply. “They frequently discussed the war, and the spy-peril, in which — as you know — the doctor was actively interesting himself.”

      Upon Jack Sainsbury’s countenance a faint smile appeared. He now discerned the reason of the visits of that Admiralty official to the man who had been so suddenly and mysteriously stricken down.

      He exchanged glances with Sir Houston, who, a moment before, had been searching a cigar cabinet which had hitherto escaped their notice.

      At Rees’s suggestion, Jack Sainsbury went to the telephone and rang up Charles Trustram, to whom he briefly related the story of the tragic discovery.

      Within twenty minutes Trustram arrived, and, to the detective, told the story of the events of the evening: how they had met by appointment at Prince’s Restaurant at half-past seven, had dined together, and then he had accompanied the doctor back to Wimpole Street about half-past nine, where they had sat smoking and chatting.

      “Jerrold seemed in quite good spirits over the result of an inquiry he had been making regarding a secret store of petrol established by the enemy’s emissaries somewhere on the Sussex coast,” Mr Trustram explained. “He had, he told me, disclosed it to the Intelligence Department, and they were taking secret measures to watch a certain barn wherein the petrol was concealed, and to arrest those implicated in the affair. He also expressed some anxiety regarding Mr Sainsbury, saying that he wished he could see him to-night.” Then, turning to Jack, he added: “At his request I rang up your flat at Hampstead, but you were not in.”

      “Why did he wish to see me?”

      “Ah! that I don’t know. He told me nothing,” was the Admiralty official’s reply. “While I was sitting here with him I was rung up three times — twice from my office, and once by a well-known man I had met for the first time that afternoon — Mr Lewin Rodwell.”

      At mention of Rodwell all present became instantly interested.

      “How did Mr Rodwell know that you were here?” inquired the detective quickly. “That’s a mystery. I did not tell him.”

      “He might have rung up your house, and your servant СКАЧАТЬ