THE CROW'S INN TRAGEDY (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ see his dear nephew."

      "Mr. Anthony--you must not, indeed--I cannot allow--"

      Anthony put up his hand.

      "Hush--sh! You will know nothing about it! Keep your hair on, Thompson!" With a laughing nod round at the grinning clerks he vanished, pulling the door to behind him with a cheerful bang.

      A titter ran round the office. Anthony Collyer with his D.S.O. and his gay, irresponsible manners was somewhat of a hero to the younger clerks.

      Amos Thompson looked grave. He knew that Luke Bechcombe had been intensely proud of his nephew's prowess in the War, he guessed that his patience had been sorely tried of late, and he feared that the young man might be doing himself serious harm with his uncle this morning. But he was powerless. There was no holding Tony Collyer back in this mood. Presently Thompson, listening intently, caught the sound of a distant knocking at his chief's door, twice repeated, then there was silence.

      He shrugged his shoulders, imagining Mr. Bechcombe's wrath at the intrusion. After a smothered laugh or two the clerks applied themselves to their work again and silence reigned in the office. The managing clerk watched the clock anxiously. He could imagine Mr. Bechcombe's reception of his nephew, but, knowing Tony as he did, he felt surprised that he had not returned to report proceedings. Then just as the office clock was nearing the half-hour a messenger from the Bank arrived. The waiting-room was reserved for clients, so the Bank clerk was shown into a little office that Amos Thompson used sometimes when there was a press of work, and the managing clerk went to him there.

      "Is there anything I can do? Mr. Bechcombe is unfortunately engaged until one o'clock."

      "No, thank you!" the young man returned. "I was charged most particularly to give my message to no one but Mr. Bechcombe himself. I suppose I must wait till one o'clock if you are sure I cannot see him before."

      The managing clerk looked undecided. His eyes wandered from side to side beneath his horn-rimmed spectacles.

      "I will see what I can do," he said at last.

      He went back to his own desk, selected a couple of papers, put them in his pocket, and went through the outer office. In the lobby he picked up his hat, then after one long backward glance he went towards the outer door.

      The time wore on. The first contingent of clerks returned from their luncheon. Their place was taken by a second band. The clock struck half-past one; and still there was no sign of either the principal or his managing clerk. The messenger from the Bank went away, came back, and waited.

      At last the senior clerks began to look uncomfortable. John Walls, the second in command, went over to one of his confreres.

      "I understood the governor said he was not to be disturbed, until one o'clock, Spencer, but it's a good bit after two now, and Mr. Thompson isn't here either. The waiting-room is full and here's this man from the Bank back again. What are we to do?"

      Mr. Spencer rubbed the side of his nose reflectively.

      "How would it be to knock at the governor's door, Walls? He couldn't be annoyed after all this time."

      John Walls was of the opinion that he couldn't either. Together they made up their minds to beard the lion in his den. They went through the anteroom and knocked gently at Mr. Bechcombe's door. There came no response.

      After a moment's pause Mr. Walls applied his knuckles more loudly, again without reply.

      He turned to his companion.

      "He must have gone out."

      The fact seemed obvious, and yet Spencer hesitated.

      "You didn't hear anyone moving about when you first knocked?"

      "No, I didn't," responded John Walls, staring at him. "Did you?"

      "Well, I expect it was just fancy, because why shouldn't the governor answer if he was there? But I did think I heard a slight sound--a sort of stealthy movement just on the other side of the door," Spencer said slowly.

      "I don't believe you could hear any movement except a pretty loud one through that door," the other said unbelievingly. "But it is very awkward, Mr. Thompson going out too. I don't know what to do."

      "The governor did say something about Mr. Thompson going to the Bank with him," Spencer went on. "I wonder now if Mr. Bechcombe went out by the private door, and Mr. Thompson and he met in the passage and they went off to the Bank together."

      "I don't know," John Walls said slowly. "It is a funny sort of thing anyway. I tell you what, Spencer, I shall go round and knock at the private door."

      "What's the good of that?" Spencer objected sensibly. "If he's out it will make no difference. And if he is in and won't answer at one door he won't at the other."

      "Well, anyway, I shall try," John Walls persisted. His rather florid face was several degrees paler than usual as he went through the clerks' office. Man and boy, all his working life had been spent in the Bechcombes' office, and he had become through long years of association personally attached to Luke Bechcombe. Within the last few minutes, though there seemed no tangible ground for it, he had become oppressed by a strange feeling, a prevision of some evil, a certainty that all was not well with his chief.

      The private door into Mr. Bechcombe's office opened into a passage at right angles with the door by which clients were admitted to the waiting-rooms and to the clerks' offices.

      John Walls knocked first tentatively, then louder, still without the slightest response.

      By this time he had been joined by Spencer, who seemed to have caught the infection of the elder man's pallor. He looked at the keyhole.

      "Of course the governor has gone out. But I wonder whether the key is in its place?"

      He stooped and somewhat gingerly applied his eye to the hole. Then he jerked his head up with an inaudible exclamation.

      "What--what do you see?" Walls questioned with unconscious impatience. Then as he gazed at the bent back of his junior that queer foreboding of his grew stronger.

      At last Spencer raised himself.

      "No, the key isn't in its hole," he said slowly. "But I thought--I thought--"

      "Yes, yes; you thought what?"

      Both men's voices had instinctively sunk to a whisper.

      Spencer was shorter than his senior. As he looked up his eyes were dark with fear, his words came with an odd little stutter between them.

      "I--I expect I was mistaken--I must have been. You look yourself, Walls. But I thought I saw a queer-looking heap over there by the window."

      "A queer-looking heap!" Without further ado the other man pushed him aside.

      As he knelt down Spencer went on:

      "It--there is something sticking out at the side--it looks like a leg--a leg in a grey trouser--do you see?"

      There was a moment's tense silence. Then Mr. Walls raised himself.

      "It is a leg. Suppose--suppose it is the governor's leg! Suppose that СКАЧАТЬ