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

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СКАЧАТЬ Kane, you’ve got to tell me all you know about Legge,” said Reeder kindly. “I haven’t any doubt that Jeffrey’s taken her to the big printing place. Where is it?”

      Peter shook his head.

      “I haven’t the least idea,” he said. “The earlier slush was printed in this building; in fact, it was printed in Room 13. I’ve known that for a long time. But as the business grew, young Legge had to find another works. Where he has found it is a mystery to me, and to most other people.”

      “But you must have heard rumours?” persisted Reeder.

      Again Peter shook his head.

      “Remember that I mix very little with people of my own profession, or my late profession,” he said. “Johnny and old Barney are about the only crooks I know, outside of the Legge family. And Stevens, of course – he was in jail ten years ago. I’ve lost touch with all the others, and my news has come through Barney, though most of Barney’s gossip is unreliable.”

      They reached Barney by telephone, but he was unable to give any information that was of the slightest use. All that he knew was that the printing works were supposed to be somewhere in the West.

      “Johnny knows more about it than I do, or than anybody. All the boys agree as to that,” said Barney. “They told him a lot in ‘boob’.”

      Leaving Peter to return home, Mr. Reeder made a call at Johnny’s flat. Parker was up. He had been notified earlier in the morning of his master’s disappearance, but he had no explanation to offer.

      He was preparing to give a list of the clothes that Johnny had been wearing, but Reeder cut him short impatiently.

      “Try to think of Mr. Gray as a human being, and not as a tailor’s dummy,” he said wrathfully. “You realise that he is in very grave danger?”

      “I am not at all worried, sir,” said the precise Parker. “Mr. Gray was wearing his new sock suspenders—”

      For once Mr. Reeder forgot himself.

      “You’re a damned fool, Parker,” he said.

      “I hope not, sir,” said Parker as he bowed him out.

Chapter XXIX

       Table of Contents

      It was five minutes past two in the morning when Marney, sitting in the drawingroom at the front of the house, heard the sound of a motorcar stop before the house. Going into the hall, she opened the door, and, standing on the step, peered into the darkness.

      “Is that you, father?” she asked.

      There was no reply, and she walked quickly up the garden path to the gate. The car was a closed coupe, and as she looked over the gate, she saw a hand come out and beckon her, and heard a voice whisper:

      “Don’t make a noise. Come in here; I want to talk to you. I don’t want Barney to see me.”

      Bewildered, she obeyed. Jerking open the door, she jumped into the dark interior, by the side of the man at the wheel.

      “What is it?” she asked.

      Then, to her amazement, the car began to move toward the main road. It had evidently circled before it had stopped.

      “What is the matter, father?” she asked.

      And then she heard a low chuckle that made her blood run cold.

      “Go into the back and stay there. If you make a row, I’ll spoil that complexion of yours, Marney Legge!”

      “Jeffrey!” she gasped.

      She gripped the inside handle of the door and had half turned it when he caught her with his disengaged hand and flung her into the back of the car.

      “I’ll kill you if you make me do that again.” There was a queer little sob of pain in his voice, and she remembered his wound.

      “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

      “I’m taking you to your father,” was the unexpected reply. “Will you sit quiet? If you try to get away, or attempt to call assistance, I’ll drive you at full speed into the first tree I see and we’ll finish the thing together.”

      From the ferocity of his tone she did not doubt that he would carry his threat into execution. Mile after mile the car sped on, flashing through villages, slowing through the sparsely peopled streets of small towns. It was nearing three o’clock when they came into the street of a town and, looking through the window, she saw a grey facade and knew she was in Oxford.

      In ten minutes they were through the city and traversing the main western road. And now, for the first time, Jeffrey Legge became communicative.

      “You’ve never been in ‘boob’, have you, angel?” he asked.

      She did not answer.

      “Never been inside the little bird-house with the other canaries, eh? Well, that’s an experience ahead of you. I am going to put you in jail, kid. Peter’s never been in jail either, but he nearly had the experience tonight.”

      “I don’t believe you,” she said. “My father has not broken the law.”

      “Not for a long time, at any rate,” agreed Jeffrey, dexterously lighting a cigarette with one hand. “But there’s a little ‘boob’ waiting for him all right now.”

      “A prison,” she said, incredulously. “I don’t believe you.”

      “You’ve said that twice, and you’re the only person living that’s called me a liar that number of times.”

      He turned off into a side road, and for a quarter of an hour gave her opportunity for thought.

      “It might interest you to know that Johnny is there,” he said. “Dear little Johnny! The easiest crook that ever fell – and this time he’s got a lifer.”

      The car began to move down a sharp declivity, and, looking through the rain-spattered windscreen, she saw a squat, dark building ahead.

      “Here we are,” he said, as the car stopped.

      Looking through the window she saw, with a gasp of astonishment, that he had spoken the truth. They were at the door of a prison. The great, black, iron-studded gates were opening as she looked, and the car passed through under the deep archway and stopped.

      “Get down,” said Jeff, and she obeyed.

      A narrow black door led from the archway, and, following her, he caught her by the arm and pushed her through. She was in a narrow room, the walls of which were covered with stained and discoloured whitewash. A large fireplace, overflowing with ashes, a rickety chair and a faded board screwed to the wall were the only furniture. In the dim light of a carbon lamp she saw the almost indistinguishable СКАЧАТЬ