Inspector French: Sir John Magill’s Last Journey. Freeman Crofts Wills

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I shall have to see your servants now and also to go through Sir John’s papers.’

      She raised her hand.

      ‘Just a moment. Now, Mr Inspector, you’ve been asking me a lot of questions and I’m going to ask you one in return. Quite honestly, what do you think has happened to my poor father?’

      French was accustomed in such circumstances to this demand. He always answered it as truthfully as he could.

      ‘Honestly, Miss Magill, I don’t know. I haven’t enough information to say. Everything is being done to find out.’

      ‘Still,’ she persisted, ‘you must have some idea?’

      French shrugged. He was sorry for this kindly lady, who evidently felt her position so keenly, yet who had eased his task by so sternly controlling her feelings. There was real sympathy in his voice as he replied: ‘Well, we must admit things don’t look too well. I don’t want to buoy you up with false hopes; all the same I don’t think you need necessarily accept the worst.’

      She nodded.

      ‘I suppose that’s all you can say, and thank you for saying it.’ She rang the bell. ‘Do everything you can to assist Mr French,’ she told the butler. Then shaking hands with French, she left the room.

      ‘Well, Myles,’ French began, ‘this is a sad business about Sir John.’

      The butler closed the door and came forward, standing respectfully before French.

      ‘I have heard no details, sir, except that he has disappeared. I should like to know—Sir John has been a good master to me—I should like to know if anything further has been learned?’

      ‘I’ll tell you all I know myself, which isn’t much,’ French said kindly. ‘But first, I wonder if you could give me a little information.’ He unpacked the hat and held it out. ‘Did you ever see that before?’

      ‘Sir John’s!’ the man said instantly. Then he took the hat and examined it carefully. ‘Yes, sir,’ he declared firmly, ‘there is no doubt whatever about it. It is the hat Sir John was wearing when he left here. I brushed it for him and I am quite certain.’ He turned it over and stared at the blood stains. ‘This is terrible, sir,’ he went on in a lower tone. ‘Does this mean—an accident? That he is dead?’

      French shrugged.

      ‘It certainly doesn’t look too well, does it?’ he admitted. ‘It was found on a lonely road a mile from where Sir John was last seen.’

      ‘And there was no sign of the body? Excuse me, sir, but as I said, Sir John was a good master to me indeed, if I might say it without presumption, a good friend. I should be sorry if anything were to happen to him.’

      There was genuine feeling in the man’s tones and French at once told him all that was known.

      Myles was a good deal upset by the recital. That Sir John was the victim of foul play he seemed to have no doubt. ‘I hope you’ll get them, sir,’ he said earnestly. ‘I hope they’ll hang, whoever did this. He was a good master.’ He shook his head sadly.

      ‘Well, Myles, the best thing you can do to help that on is to answer my questions. And first of all, can you get me a photograph of Sir John? And, wait a minute, of Major Magill and Mr Victor as well?’

      ‘Certainly, sir. He left the room and in a moment returned with three cabinet portraits. One showed the head of the house of Magill as a rather fine-looking old man with a large nose, jaws bordering on the nutcracker, a high forehead and very intelligent eyes. Between him and his son and nephew as well as Miss Magill there was a certain family resemblance, on which French commented.

      ‘Yes, sir, all the family are somewhat alike in appearance. But it’s coming out more strongly in the second generation. Mr Victor’s son is Sir John over again.’

      ‘Wonderful thing, heredity,’ French remarked, and he went on to question the butler as to the family relations and to possible enemies of Sir John. But he did not get much information. According to Myles the missing man, while thoroughly good-hearted, had been somewhat distant in manner and a trifle secretive in disposition. Intercourse with his associates was therefore restrained in cordiality. But with no one was Sir John on bad terms, in fact, it was rather the other way about.

      One point French noted as possibly important. When questioning Myles as to Sir John’s recent letters, telegrams and visitors, the man stated that on two recent occasions a stranger had called. His card showed that he was a Mr Coates and that he came from Belfast. Unfortunately Myles could not remember the remainder of the address. The man was tall and well-built, with very bright red hair. Quite a remarkable-looking man. On the occasion of each call he had stayed with Sir John for about half an hour.

      ‘I suppose you’d know him if you saw him again?’

      Myles declared he couldn’t be mistaken and French, having indicated that the interview was at an end, asked for Mr Breene.

      The secretary was a somewhat striking-looking man of about five and thirty. Tall and spare without being actually thin, he gave the impression of extreme physical strength and fitness. His head was small, altogether out of proportion to his height. His face suggested a curious blend of the Red Indian and the Scandinavian; high cheekbones and ruggedly chiselled features combined with fair hair and the lightest of blue eyes. Energy, ambition and decision were written on every line of the man’s features. In fact before he opened his lips French realised that here was one who would get what he wanted or know the reason why.

      ‘I crossed over last night,’ he explained in answer to French’s question. ‘There was nothing to keep me in Belfast and things were getting behind here.’

      ‘I should be glad, Mr Breene, if you would tell me all you can about this unhappy affair. And first as to yourself. Have you been long with Sir John?’

      ‘Eight years. He appointed me private secretary while he was still running his mills in Belfast. When he gave them up and moved over here he asked would I care to remain with him as general confidential secretary and assistant. He made me a liberal offer and I accepted.’

      ‘You’re an Irishman yourself?’

      ‘A Belfast man. My brother and sister still live near Belfast.’

      ‘There can’t be much for a secretary to do here?’

      ‘There isn’t. It is simply that Sir John likes to amuse himself in his workshop and can’t be bothered with correspondence.’

      French nodded and asked what sort of man Sir John was. He invariably repeated his questions to as many witnesses as possible in order to discount individual idiosyncrasies.

      ‘Well,’ Breene returned, ‘he is not what Americans call a good mixer. He is dry in manner and retiring in disposition and doesn’t make friends easily. And between ourselves, though I’ve no complaint to make, he is not particularly liberal about money. But when you’ve said that you’ve said everything. He is straight and honourable, and in his own way kindly. He is the type of man that the better you know him, the better you like him.’

      ‘Is he on quite good terms with all the other members of his family?’

      French asked the question perfunctorily, СКАЧАТЬ