Inspector French and the Cheyne Mystery. Freeman Crofts Wills

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       2

       Burglary!

      The discovery that his pockets had been gone through while he was under the influence of the drug reduced Cheyne to a state of even more complete mystification than ever. What had the unknown been looking for? He, Cheyne, had nothing with him that, so far as he could imagine, could possibly have interested any other person. Indeed, money being ruled out, he did not know that he possessed anywhere any paper or small object which it would be worth a stranger’s while to steal.

      Novels he had read recurred to him in which desperate enterprises were undertaken to obtain some document of importance. Plans of naval or military inventions which would give world supremacy to the power possessing them were perhaps the favourite instruments in these romances, but treaties which would mean war if disclosed to the wrong power, maps of desert islands on which treasure was buried, wills of which the existence was generally unknown and letters compromising the good name of wealthy personages had all been used time and again. But Cheyne had no plans or treaties or compromising letters from which an astute thief might make capital. Think as he would, he could frame no theory to account for Parkes’s proceedings.

      He yawned, and getting up, began to pace the deserted lounge. The effects of the drug had not entirely worn off, for though he had slept all the afternoon he still felt slack and drowsy. In spite of its being scarcely ten o’clock, he thought he would have a whisky and go up to bed, in the hope that a good night’s rest would drive the poison out of his system and restore his usual feeling of mental and physical well being.

      But Fate, once more in the guise of an approaching page, decreed otherwise. As he turned lazily towards the bar a voice sounded in his ear.

      ‘Wanted on the telephone, sir.’

      Cheyne crossed the hall and entered the booth.

      ‘Well?’ he said shortly. ‘Cheyne speaking.’

      A woman’s voice replied, a voice he recognised. It belonged to Ethel Hazelton, the grown up daughter of that Mrs Hazelton whom he had asked to inform Mrs Cheyne of his change of plans. She spoke hurriedly and he could sense perturbation in her tones.

      ‘Oh, Mr Cheyne, I’m afraid I have rather disturbing news for you. When you rang up we sent James over to Warren Lodge. He found Mrs Cheyne and Agatha on the doorstep trying to get in. They had been ringing for some time, but could not attract attention. He rang also, and then eventually found a ladder and got in through one of the upper windows. He opened the door for Mrs Cheyne and Agatha. Can you hear me all right?’

      ‘Yes, clearly. Go on, please, Miss Hazelton.’

      ‘They searched the house and they discovered cook and Susan in their bedrooms, both tied up and gagged, but otherwise none the worse. They released them, of course, and then they found that the house had been burgled.’

      ‘Burgled!’ Cheyne ejaculated sharply. ‘Great Scott!’ He was considerably startled and paused in some consternation, asking then if much stuff was missing.

      ‘They don’t know,’ the distant voice answered. ‘Your safe had been opened, but they hadn’t had time to make an examination when James left. The silver seems to be all there, so that’s something. James came back here with a message from Mrs Cheyne asking us to let you know, and I have been ringing up hotels in Plymouth for the last half hour. You know, you only said you were staying the night in your message; you didn’t say where. Mrs Cheyne would like you to come back if you can manage it.’

      There was no hesitation about Cheyne’s reply.

      ‘Of course I shall,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll start at once on my bicycle. What about telling the police?’

      ‘I rang them up immediately. They said they would go out at once. James has gone back also. He will stay and lend a hand until you arrive.’

      ‘Splendid! It’s more than good of you both, Miss Hazelton. I can’t thank you enough. I’ll be there in less than an hour.’

      He delayed only to tell the news to the manager.

      ‘There’s the explanation of this afternoon’s affair at all events,’ he declared. ‘I was evidently fixed up so that I couldn’t butt in and spoil sport. But it’s good-bye to your keeping it quiet. The police have been called in already and the whole thing is bound to come out.’

      The manager made a gesture of concern.

      ‘I’m sorry to hear your news,’ he said gravely. ‘Are you properly insured?’

      ‘Partially. I don’t know if it will cover the loss because I don’t know what’s gone. But I must be getting away.’

      He was moving off, but the manager laid a detaining hand on his arm.

      ‘Well, I’m extremely sorry about it. But see here, Mr Cheyne, it may not prove to be necessary to bring in about the drugging. It would injure the hotel. I sincerely trust you’ll do what you can in the matter, and if you find the private detective sufficient, you’ll let our arrangement stand.’

      ‘I’ll decide when I hear just what has happened. You’ll let me have a copy of the analyst’s report?’

      ‘Of course. Directly I get it I shall send it on.’

      Fifteen minutes later Cheyne was passing through the outskirts of Plymouth on his way east. The night was fine, the mists of the day having cleared away, and a three-quarter moon shone brilliantly out of a blue-black sky. Keenly anxious to reach home and learn the details of the burglary and the extent of his loss, Cheyne crammed on every ounce of power, and his machine snored along the deserted road at well over forty miles an hour. In spite of slacks for villages and curves he made a record run, turning into the gate of Warren Lodge at just ten minutes before eleven.

      As he СКАЧАТЬ