The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘This is going to be a different kind of play,’ said the long-faced Lew through his teeth. ‘I’m going to get you, Reeder-you can go along and tell your boss, the Public Prosecutor. But I’ll get you sweet! There will be no evidence to swing me. And I’ll get that nice little stocking of yours, Reeder!’

      The legend of Reeder’s fortune was accepted even by so intelligent a man as Kohl.

      ‘You’ll get my stocking! Dear me, I shall have to go barefooted,’ said Mr. Reeder, with a faint show of humour.

      ‘You know what I mean-think that over. Some hour and day you’ll go out, and all Scotland Yard won’t catch me for the killing! I’ve thought it out-’

      ‘One has time to think in Dartmoor,’ murmured Mr. J.G. Reeder encouragingly. ‘You’re becoming one of the world’s thinkers, Kohl. Do you know Rodin’s masterpiece-a beautiful statue throbbing with life-’

      ‘That’s all.’ Lew Kohl rose, the smile still trembling at the comer of his mouth. ‘Maybe you’ll turn this over in your mind, and in a day or two you won’t be feeling so gay.’

      Reeder’s face was pathetic in its sadness. His untidy sandy-grey hair seemed to be standing on end; the large ears, that stood out at right angles to his face, gave the illusion of quivering movement.

      Lew Kohl’s hand was on the doorknob.

      ‘Womp!’

      It was the sound of a dull weight striking a board; something winged past his cheek, before his eyes a deep hole showed in the wall, and his face was stung by flying grains of plaster. He spun round with a whine of rage.

      Mr. Reeder had a long-barrelled Browning in his hand, with a barrel-shaped silencer over the muzzle, and he was staring at the weapon openmouthed.

      ‘Now how on earth did that happen?’ he asked in wonder.

      Lew Kohl stood trembling with rage and fear, his face yellow-white.

      ‘You-you swine!’ he breathed. ‘You tried to shoot me!’

      Mr. Reeder stared at him over his glasses.

      ‘Good gracious-you think that? Still thinking of killing me, Kohl?’

      Kohl tried to speak but found no words, and, flinging open the door, he strode down the stairs and through the front entrance. His foot was on the first step when something came hurtling past him and crashed to fragments at his feet. It was a large stone vase that had decorated the windowsill of Mr. Reeder’s bedroom. Leaping over the debris of stone and flower mould, he glared up into the surprised face of Mr. J.G. Reeder.

      ‘I’ll get you!’ he spluttered.

      ‘I hope you’re not hurt?’ asked the man at the window in a tone of concern. ‘These things happen. Some day and some hour-’

      As Lew Kohl strode down the street, the detective was still talking.

      Mr. Stan Bride was at his morning ablutions when his friend and sometime prison associate came into the little room that overlooked Fitzroy Square.

      Stan Bride, who bore no resemblance to anything virginal, being a stout and stumpy man with a huge, red face and many chins, stopped in the act of drying himself and gazed over the edge of the towel.

      ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked sharply. ‘You look as if you’d been chased by a busy. What did you go out so early for?’

      Lew told him, and the jovial countenance of his room-mate grew longer and longer —

      ‘You poor fish!’ he hissed. ‘To go after Reeder with that stuff! Don’t you think he was waiting for you? Do you suppose he didn’t know the very moment you left the Moor?’

      ‘I’ve scared him, anyway,’ said the other, and Mr. Bride laughed.

      ‘Good scout!’ he sneered. ‘Scare that old person!’ (He did not say ‘person.’) ‘If he’s as white as you, he is scared! But he’s not. Of course he shot past you-if he’d wanted to shoot you, you’d have been stiff by now. But he didn’t. Thinker, eh-he’s given you somep’n’ to think about.’

      ‘Where that gun came from I don’t-’

      There was a knock at the door and the two men exchanged glances.

      ‘Who’s there?’ asked Bride, and a familiar voice answered.

      ‘It’s that busy from the Yard,’ whispered Bride, and opened the door.

      The ‘busy’ was Sergeant Allford, C.I.D., an affable and portly man and a detective of some promise.

      ‘Morning, boys-not been to church, Stan?’

      Stan grinned politely.

      ‘How’s trade, Lew?’

      ‘Not so bad.’ The forger was alert, suspicious.

      ‘Come to see you about a gun-got an idea you’re carrying one. Lew-Colt automatic R.7/94318. That’s not right. Lew-guns don’t belong to this country.’

      ‘I’ve got no gun,’ said Lew sullenly.

      Bride had suddenly become an old man, for he also was a convict on licence, and the discovery might send him back to serve his unfinished sentence.

      ‘Will you come a little walk to the station, or will you let me go over you?’

      ‘Go over me,’ said Lew, and put out his arms stiffly whilst the detective rubbed him down.

      ‘I’ll have a look round,’ said the detective, and his ‘look round’ was very thorough.

      ‘Must have been mistaken,’ said Sergeant Allford. And then, suddenly: ‘Was that what you chucked into the river as you were walking along the Embankment?’

      Lew started. It was the first intimation he had received that he had been ‘tailed’ that morning.

      Bride waited till the detective was visible from the window crossing Fitzroy Square; then he turned in a fury on his companion.

      ‘Clever, ain’t you! That old hound knew you had a gun-knew the number. And if Allford had found it you’d have been “dragged” and me too!’

      ‘I threw it in the river,’ said Lew sulkily.

      ‘Brains-not many but some!’ said Bride, breathing heavily. ‘You cut out Reeder-he’s hell and poison, and if you don’t know it you’re deaf! Scared him? You big stiff! He’d cut your throat and write a hymn about it.’

      ‘I didn’t know they were tailing me,’ growled Kohl; ‘but I’ll get him! And his money too.’

      ‘Get him from another lodging,’ said Bride curtly. ‘A crook I don’t mind, being one; a murderer I don’t mind, but a talking jackass makes me sick. Get his stuff if you СКАЧАТЬ