MR. J. G. REEDER SERIES: 5 Mystery Novels & 4 Detective Stories. Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ you’ve got to go very slow on this case, and not talk such a darned lot. You’re under suspicion too, old man. You were seen in the vicinity of the club.”

      “Yes, I was seen in the vicinity of the club,” repeated Peter, nodding. “I was waiting there – well, I was waiting there for a purpose. I went to the Charlton, but my girl had gone – I suppose they told you – and then I went on to the Highlow, and saw that infernal Lila – by the way, she’s one of Jeff’s women, isn’t she?”

      “To be exact,” said the other quietly, “she’s his wife.”

      Peter Kane stopped dead.

      “His wife?” he whispered. “Thank God for that! Thank God for that! I forgive her everything. Though she is a brute – how a woman could allow – but I can’t judge her. That graft has always been dirty to me. It is hateful and loathsome. But, thank God she’s his wife, Craig!” Then: “Who shot this fellow?”

      “I don’t know. I’m going to pull Johnny for it.”

      They were in the hall, and Peter Kane spun round, openmouthed, terror in his eyes.

      “You’re going to pull Johnny?” he said. “Do you know what you’re saying, Craig? You’re mad! Johnny didn’t do it. Johnny was nowhere near—”

      “Johnny was there. And, what is more, Johnny was in the room, either at the moment of the shooting or immediately after. The elevator boy has spoken what’s in his mind, which isn’t much, but enough to convict Johnny if this fellow dies.”

      “Johnny there!” Peter’s voice did not rise above a whisper.

      “I tell you frankly, Peter, I thought it was you.”

      Craig was facing him squarely, his keen eyes searching the man’s pallid face. “When I heard you were around, and that you had got to know that this fellow was a fake. Why were you waiting?”

      “I can’t tell you that – not now,” said the other, after turning the matter over in his mind. “I should have seen Johnny if he was there. I saw this girl Lila, and I was afraid she’d recognise me. I think she did, too. I went straight on into Shaftesbury Avenue, to a bar I know. I was feeling queer over this – this discovery of mine. I can prove I was there from a quarter to ten till ten, if you want any proof. Oh, Johnny, Johnny!”

      All this went on in the hall. Then came a quick patter of footsteps, and Marney appeared in the doorway.

      “Who is it – Johnny? Oh, it is you, Mr. Craig? Has anything happened?” She looked in alarm from face to face. “Nothing has happened to Johnny?”

      “No, nothing has happened to Johnny,” said Craig soothingly. He glanced at Peter. “You ought to know this, Marney,” he said. “I can call you Marney – I’ve known you since you were five. Jeff Legge has been shot.”

      He thought she was going to faint, and sprang to catch her, but with an effort of will she recovered.

      “Jeff shot?” she asked shakily. “Who shot him?”

      “I don’t know. That’s just what we are trying to discover. Perhaps you can help us. Why did you leave the hotel? Was Johnny with you?”

      She shook her head. “I haven’t seen Johnny,” she said, “but I owe him – everything. There was a woman in the hotel.” She glanced timidly at her father. “I think she was an hotel thief or something of the sort. She was there to – to steal. A big Welsh woman.”

      “A Welsh woman?” said Craig quickly. “What is her name?”

      “Mrs. Gwenda Jones. Johnny knew about her, and telephoned her to tell her to take care of me until he could get to me. She got me out of the hotel, and then we walked down the Duke of York steps into the Mall. And then a curious thing happened – I was just telling daddy when you came. Mrs. Jones – she’s such a big woman—”

      “I know the lady,” said Craig.

      “Well, she disappeared. She wasn’t exactly swallowed up by the earth,” she said with a faint smile, “and she didn’t go without warning. Suddenly she said to me: ‘I must leave you now, my dear. I don’t want that man to see me.’ I looked round to find who it was that she was so terribly afraid of, and there seemed to be the most harmless lot of people about. When I turned, Mrs. Jones was running up the steps. I didn’t wish to call her back, I felt so ridiculous. And then a man came up to me, a middle-aged man with the saddest face you could imagine. I told you that, daddy?”

      He nodded.

      “He took his hat off – his hair was almost white – and asked me if my name was Kane. I didn’t tell him the other name,” she said with a shiver. “‘May I take you to a place of safety, Miss Kane?’ he said. ‘I don’t think you ought to be seen with that rawboned female.’ I didn’t know what to do, I was so frightened, and I was glad of the company and protection of any man, and, when he called a cab, I got in without the slightest hesitation. He was such a gentle soul, Mr. Craig. He talked of nothing but the weather and chickens! I think we talked about chickens all the way to Lewisham.”

      “Are you sure it was Lewisham?”

      “It was somewhere in that neighbourhood. What other places are there there?

      “New Cross, Brockley—” began Craig.

      “That’s the place – Brockley. It was the Brockley Road. I saw it printed on the corner of the street. He took me into his house. There was a nice, motherly old woman whom he introduced to me as his housekeeper.”

      “And what did he talk about?” asked the fascinated Craig.

      “Chickens,” she said solemnly. “Do you know what chickens lay the best eggs? I’m sure you don’t. Do you know the best breed for England and the best for America? Do you know the most economical chickens to keep? I do! I wondered what he was going to do with me. I tried to ask him, but he invariably turned me back to the question of incubators and patent feeds, and the cubic space that a sitting hen requires as compared with an ordinary hen. It was the quaintest, most fantastic experience. It seems now almost like one of Alice’s dreams! Then, at ten o’clock, I found a motorcar had come for me. ‘I’m sending you home, young lady,’ he said.”

      “Were you with him all the time, by the way?” asked Craig.

      She shook her head.

      “No, some part of the time I was with his housekeeper, who didn’t even talk about chickens, but knitted large and shapeless jumpers, and sniffed. That was when he was telephoning. I knew he was telephoning because I could hear the drone of his voice.”

      “He didn’t bring you back?”

      “No, he just put me into the car and told me that I should be perfectly safe. I arrived just a few minutes ahead of daddy.”

      The detective scratched his chin, irritated and baffled.

      “That’s certainly got me,” he said. “The rawboned lady I know, but the chicken gentleman is mysterious. You didn’t hear his name, by any chance?”

      She shook her head.

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