The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ shook his head. ‘Or unusual possession?’

      ‘Only these.’

      By the side of the case was a pair of large gloves. These also were soiled, and their surfaces cut in a hundred places.

      ‘These have been used frequently for the same purpose,’ murmured Mr. J.G. ‘She evidently makes-er-a collection of marble shavings. Nothing in her pocketbook?’

      ‘Only the banknotes: they have the stamp of the Central Bank on their backs. We should be able to trace ’em easily.’

      Mr. Reeder returned to his office and, locking the door, produced a worn pack of cards from a drawer and played patience-which was his method of thinking intensively. Late in the afternoon his telephone bell rang, and he recognised the voice of Sergeant Mills.

      ‘Can I come along and see you? Yes, it is about the banknotes.’

      Ten minutes later the sergeant presented himself.

      ‘The notes were issued three months ago to Mr. Telfer,’ said the officer without preliminary, ‘and they were given by him to his housekeeper, Mrs. Welford.’

      ‘Oh, indeed?’ said Mr. Reeder softly, and added, after reflection: ‘Dear me!’

      He pulled hard at his lip.

      ‘And is “Mrs. Jackson” that lady?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes. Telfer-poor little devil-nearly went mad when I told him she was under remand-dashed up to Holloway in a taxi to identify her. The magistrate has granted bail, and she’ll be bound over tomorrow. Telfer was bleating like a child-said she was mad. Gosh! that fellow is scared of her-when I took him into the waiting-room at Holloway Prison she gave him one look and he wilted. By the way, we have had a hint about Billingham that may interest you. Do you know that he and Telfer’s secretary were very good friends?’

      ‘Really?’ Mr. Reeder was indeed interested. ‘Very good friends? Well, well!’

      ‘The Yard has put Miss Belman under general observation: there may be nothing to it, but in cases like Billingham’s it is very often a matter of cherchez la femme.’

      Mr. Reeder had given his lip a rest and was now gently massaging his nose.

      ‘Dear me!’ he said. ‘That is a French expression, is it not?’

      He was not in court when the marble stealer was sternly admonished by the magistrate and discharged. All that interested Mr. J.G. Reeder was to learn that the woman had paid the mason and had carried away her marble chips in triumph to the pretty little detached residence in the Outer Circle of Regent’s Park. He had spent the morning at Somerset House, examining copies of wills and the like; his afternoon he gave up to the tracing of Mrs. Rebecca Alamby Mary Welford.

      She was the relict of Professor John Welford of the University of Edinburgh, and had been left a widow after two years of marriage. She had then entered the service of Mrs. Telfer, the mother of Sidney, and had sole charge of the boy from his fourth year. When Mrs. Telfer died she had made the woman sole guardian of her youthful charge. So that Rebecca Welford had been by turns nurse and guardian, and was now in control of the young man’s establishment.

      The house occupied Mr. Reeder’s attention to a considerable degree. It was a redbrick modern dwelling consisting of two floors and having a frontage on the Circle and a side road. Behind and beside the house was a large garden which, at this season of the year, was bare of flowers. They were probably in snug quarters for the winter, for there was a long greenhouse behind the garden.

      He was leaning over the wooden palings, eyeing the grounds through the screen of box hedge that overlapped the fence with a melancholy stare, when he saw a door open and the big woman come out. She was bare-armed and wore an apron. In one hand she carried a dust box, which she emptied into a concealed ash-bin, in the other was a long broom.

      Mr. Reeder moved swiftly out of sight. Presently the door slammed and he peeped again. There was no evidence of a marble path. All the walks were of rolled gravel.

      He went to a neighbouring telephone booth, and called his office.

      ‘I may be away all day,’ he said.

      There was no sign of Mr. Sidney Telfer, though the detective knew that he was in the house.

      Telfer’s Trust was in the hands of the liquidators, and the first meeting of creditors had been called. Sidney had, by all accounts, been confined to his bed, and from that safe refuge had written a note to his secretary asking that ‘all papers relating to my private affairs’ should be burnt. He had scrawled a postscript: ‘Can I possibly see you on business before I go?’ The word ‘go’ had been scratched out and ‘retire’ substituted. Mr. Reeder had seen that letter-indeed, all correspondence between Sidney and the office came to him by arrangement with the liquidators. And that was partly why Mr. J.G. Reeder was so interested in 904, The Circle.

      It was dusk when a big car drew up at the gate of the house. Before the driver could descend from his seat, the door of 904 opened, and Sidney Telfer almost ran out. He carried a suitcase in each hand, and Mr. Reeder recognised that nearest him as the grip in which the housekeeper had carried the stolen marble.

      Reaching over, the chauffeur opened the door of the machine and, flinging in the bags, Sidney followed hastily. The door closed, and the car went out of sight round the curve of the Circle.

      Mr. Reeder crossed the road and took up a position very near the front gate, waiting.

      Dusk came and the veil of a Regent’s Park fog. The house was in darkness, no flash of light except a faint glimmer that burnt in the hall, no sound. The woman was still there-Mrs. Sidney Telfer, nurse, companion, guardian and wife. Mrs. Sidney Telfer, the hidden director of Telfers Consolidated, a masterful woman who, not content with marrying a weakling twenty years her junior, had applied her masterful but ill-equipped mind to the domination of a business she did not understand, and which she was destined to plunge into ruin. Mr. Reeder had made good use of his time at the Records Office: a copy of the marriage certificate was almost as easy to secure as a copy of the will.

      He glanced round anxiously. The fog was clearing, which was exactly what he did not wish it to do, for he had certain acts to perform which required as thick a cloaking as possible.

      And then a surprising thing happened. A cab came slowly along the road and stopped at the gate.

      ‘I think this is the place, miss,’ said the cabman, and a girl stepped down to the pavement.

      It was Miss Margaret Belman.

      Reeder waited until she had paid the fare and the cab had gone, and then, as she walked towards the gate, he stepped from the shadow.

      ‘Oh!-Mr. Reeder, how you frightened me!’ she gasped. ‘I am going to see Mr. Telfer-he is dangerously ill-no, it was his housekeeper who wrote asking me to come at seven.’

      ‘Did she now! Well, I will ring the bell for you.’

      She told him that that was unnecessary-she had the key which had come with the note.

      ‘She is alone in the house with Mr. Telfer, who refuses to allow a trained nurse near him,’ said Margaret, ‘and-’

      ‘Will СКАЧАТЬ