Murderer’s Trail. J. Farjeon Jefferson

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      ‘Rumours are dangerous things, Mr Holbrooke,’ he remarked. ‘You may remember that, during the early part of the war, there was a rumour of Russians passing through London. Take my advice, and pay no attention to this one. Or, if you must, don’t pass it on with additions from your own imagination. I think, if you don’t mind, we will confine ourselves to facts rather than fancies, and get back to the facts of your own case. You suspect some particular enemy?’

      ‘I didn’t say that.’

      ‘Then I’ll put it another way. Has your successful business been of a kind to produce a special type of enemy?’

      ‘I’m not sure that I rightly understand you.’

      ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps it is time you did. You’ve asked me for special protection, Mr Holbrooke. You have been, if I may say so, unusually—persistent. You’ve asked me to make inquiries and to take precautions that could only be justified in a case of the most extreme urgency. When I ask for reasons, you give me general ones, and you call me slow and short-sighted when I do not organise an elaborate plan for circumventing a shadow. Materialise the shadow for me, and perhaps there will be something I can arrange to hit. But if you don’t materialise the shadow, I can only conclude—’ He paused, and his eyes fell vaguely on the note still in his hand. ‘I can only conclude that you have some special reason for withholding the necessary information.’

      ‘Such as?’ demanded Mr Holbrooke.

      ‘Well—I take it your success has depended on the failures of others?’

      ‘All success does that.’

      ‘Oh, no. Not necessarily.’

      ‘Yes, sir. Necessarily. The pound I make, you lose.’

      The captain bent forward.

      ‘Not, Mr Holbrooke,’ he suggested, ‘if you give me full value for the pound.’

      Mr Holbrooke took it well.

      ‘I see,’ he said. ‘That’s not too bad, captain. You’re not as slow as I took you for. I get you.’ He looked at his well-manicured finger-nails. ‘Well, sir, I expect I’ve made a few people sore.’

      ‘Quite a number, perhaps?’

      ‘Sure thing.’ All at once, as though humanised by the admission, Mr Holbrooke smiled. ‘Business men aren’t saints, and I make no claim to wings. I got some good knocks when I started out. Well, I’ve knocked back. Way of the world, isn’t it? But I’ve never run foul of legislation. Barring Prohibition, of course, and that don’t count.’

      ‘I don’t disbelieve you, Mr Holbrooke,’ answered the captain, and now his tone lost a degree of its coldness. ‘As you say, business is business. But, played in that spirit, it undoubtedly creates enemies—and I expect some of yours have sworn to get even with you?’

      ‘Sworn black and blue,’ nodded Mr Holbrooke. ‘They’ve none of ’em done it yet, but the swearing just goes steadily on! Now, sit right down on your next question, because I guess I know it. Which particular enemies are on this ship? There I’m beaten. I don’t know. There’s too many! But I’ve had more threats lately than I’ve ever had before, and—darn it, sir—I’ve got my daughter on board with me, and I don’t like it!’ He didn’t like admitting it, either. It wounded his pride. ‘Darn it, this is supposed to be a pleasure trip for us!’

      ‘About these threats,’ said the captain. ‘When did the last occur?’

      Mr Holbrooke hesitated, then pulled a small sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to the captain. ‘Found it slipped under my door an hour ago,’ he grunted shortly. ‘This is really what brought me here.’

      The paper bore the words, ‘You’re for it!’

      ‘Does your business touch Chicago?’ asked the captain, after a pause.

      ‘And a few other places in the globe,’ answered Mr Holbrooke.

      But it was easy to see from his expression that the question stayed in his mind.

      The captain waited a few seconds to see whether anything useful materialised from the expression. Nothing did. He rose, and took six slow paces to a window.

      Gazing out, he caught a glimpse of a white-clad figure on the boat-deck. There were plenty of other figures about, but none more attractive. Mr Holbrooke’s millions had done all that millions could do to produce a highly polished and highly finished article in daughters.

      A young man was by the white-clad figure’s side, and both were leaning over the rail, watching the waves.

      Then the captain returned to his chair, and touched a button. Almost instantly, the steward Jenks appeared.

      ‘Now I’ll see Mr Greene,’ said the captain. And added, as Mr Holbrooke rose, ‘Don’t go. Mr Greene is my third officer, and he’s bringing some news that may be of interest to you.’

       9

       Cross-Examination

      The third officer entered the captain’s sanctum and saluted. He was a model of nautical smartness, and exuded duty and efficiency.

      ‘So you’ve found a stowaway, Mr Greene,’ began the captain.

      ‘Yes, sir,’ replied the third officer.

      ‘Well, that’s not an exceptional circumstance,’ observed the captain, with a glance at Mr Holbrooke. The word ‘stowaway’ had acted on the American millionaire like an electric shock. ‘Plenty of people like to get sea-trips for nothing. But we generally disappoint them.’

      ‘How so, when the ship’s under way?’ inquired Mr Holbrooke.

      ‘Make them work for their living,’ answered the captain, and turned back to the third officer. ‘Though I understand you may recommend stronger measures in this case?’

      ‘The fellow’s dangerous,’ responded Greene.

      ‘In what way?’

      ‘Tell by the look of him, sir?’

      ‘He put up a fight, eh?’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ said the third officer.

      ‘Anything else?’

      Greene hesitated. Then he answered quickly, as though to wipe out the hesitation.

      ‘Yes, sir. He had a bottle of chloroform on him.’

      ‘Hey, what’s that?’ exclaimed Mr Holbrooke, his eyes growing big.

      The captain was equally interested in the information, but showed more composure.

      ‘Chloroform, СКАЧАТЬ