Kitabı oku: «Dead Men's Money», sayfa 17

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE BARGAIN

It may be that when one is placed in such a predicament as that in which I then found myself, one's wits are suddenly sharpened, and a new sense is given to one. Whether that is so or not, I was as certain as if I actually saw him that my assailant was the butler, Hollins. And I should have been infinitely surprised if any other voice than his had spoken—as he did speak when the last grumble of the thunder died out in a sulky, reluctant murmur.

"In at that door, and straight up the stairs, Moneylaws!" he commanded.

"And quick, if you don't want your brains scattering. Lively, now!"

He trailed the muzzle of the revolver round from my temple to the back of my head as he spoke, pressing it into my hair in its course in a fashion that was anything but reassuring. I have often thought since of how I expected the thing to go off at any second, and how I was—for it's a fact—more curious than frightened about it. But the sense of self-preservation was on me, self-assertive enough, and I obliged him, stumbling in at the door under the pressure of his strong arm and of the revolver, and beginning to boggle at the first steps—old and much worn ones, which were deeply hollowed in the middle. He shoved me forward.

"Up you go," he said, "straight ahead! Put your arms up and out—in front of you till you feel a door—push it open."

He kept one hand on the scruff of my neck—too tightly for comfort—and with the other pressed the revolver into the cavity just above it, and in this fashion we went up. And even in that predicament I must have had my wits about me, for I counted two-and-twenty steps. Then came the door—a heavy, iron-studded piece of strong oak, and it was slightly open, and as I pushed it wider in the darkness, a musty, close smell came from whatever was within.

"No steps," said he, "straight on! Now then, halt—and keep halting! If you move one finger, Moneylaws, out fly your brains! No great loss to the community, my lad—but I've some use for them yet."

He took his hand away from my neck, but the revolver was still pressed into my hair, and the pressure never relaxed. And suddenly I heard a snap behind me, and the place in which we stood was lighted up—feebly, but enough to show me a cell-like sort of room, stone-walled, of course, and destitute of everything in the furnishing way but a bit of a cranky old table and a couple of three-legged stools on either side of it. With the released hand he had snapped the catch of an electric pocket-lamp, and in its blue glare he drew the revolver away from my head, and stepping aside, but always covering me with his weapon, motioned me to the further stool. I obeyed him mechanically, and he pulled the table a little towards him, sat down on the other stool, and, resting his elbow on the table ledge, poked the revolver within a few inches of my nose.

"Now, we'll talk for a few minutes, Moneylaws," he said quietly, "Storm or no storm, I'm bound to be away on my business, and I'd have been off now if it hadn't been for your cursed peeping and prying. But I don't want to kill you, unless I'm obliged to, so you'll just serve your own interests best if you answer a question or two and tell no lies. Are there more of you outside or about?"

"Not to my knowledge!" said I.

"You came alone?" he asked.

"Absolutely alone," I replied.

"And why?" he demanded.

"To see if I could get any news of Miss Dunlop," I answered.

"Why should you think to find Miss Dunlop here—in this old ruin?" he argued; and I could see he was genuinely curious. "Come now—straight talk, Moneylaws!—and it'll be all the better for you."

"She's missing since last night," I replied. "It came to me that she likely took a short cut across these grounds, and that in doing so she fell in with Sir Gilbert—or with you—and was kept, lest she should let out what she'd seen. That's the plain truth, Mr. Hollins."

He was keeping his eyes on me just as steadily as he kept the revolver, and I saw from the look in them that he believed me.

"Aye!" he said. "I see you can draw conclusions, if it comes to it.

But—did you keep that idea of yours strictly to yourself, now?"

"Absolutely!" I repeated.

"You didn't mention it to a soul?" he asked searchingly.

"Not to a soul!" said I. "There isn't man, woman, or child knows I'm here."

I thought he might have dropped the muzzle of the revolver at that, but he still kept it in a line with my nose and made no sign of relaxing his vigilance. But, as he was silent for the moment, I let out a question at him.

"It'll do you no harm to tell me the truth, Mr. Hollins," I said. "Do you know anything about Miss Dunlop? Is she safe? You've maybe had a young lady yourself one time or another—you'll understand what I'm feeling about it?"

He nodded solemnly at that and in quite a friendly way.

"Aye!" he answered. "I understand your feelings well enough, Moneylaws—and I'm a man of sentiment, so I'll tell you at once that the lass is safe enough, and there's not as much harm come to her as you could put on a sixpence—so there! But—I'm not sure yet that you're safe yourself," he went on, still eyeing me consideringly. "I'm a soft-hearted man, Moneylaws—or else you wouldn't have your brains in their place at this present minute!"

"There's a mighty lot of chance of my harming you, anyway!" said I, with a laugh that surprised myself. "Not so much as a penknife on me, and you with that thing at my head."

"Aye!—but you've got a tongue in that head," said he. "And you might be using it! But come, now—I'm loth to harm you, and you'd best tell me a bit more. What's the police doing?"

"What police do you mean?" I inquired.

"Here, there, everywhere, anywhere!" he exclaimed. "No quibbles, now!—you'll have had plenty of information."

"They're acting on yours," I retorted. "Searching about Glasgow for Sir Gilbert and Lady Carstairs—you put us on to that, Mr. Hollins."

"I had to," he answered. "Aye, I put Lindsey on to it, to be sure—and he took it all in like it was gospel, and so did all of you! It gained time, do you see, Moneylaws—it had to be done."

"Then—they aren't in Glasgow?" I asked.

He shook his big head solemnly at that, and something like a smile came about the corners of his lips.

"They're not in Glasgow, nor near it," he answered readily, "but where all the police in England—and in Scotland, too, for that matter—'ll find it hard to get speech with them. Out of hand, Moneylaws!—out of hand, d'ye see—for the police!"

He gave a sort of chuckle when he said this, and it emboldened me to come to grips with him—as far as words went.

"Then what harm can I do you, Mr. Hollins?" I asked. "You're not in any danger that I know of."

He looked at me as if wondering whether I wasn't trying a joke on him, and after staring a while he shook his head.

"I'm leaving this part—finally," he answered. "That's Sir Gilbert's brand-new car that's all ready for me down the stairs; and as I say, whether it's storm or no storm, I must be away. And there's just two things I can do, Moneylaws—I can lay you out on the floor here, with your brains running over your face, or I can—trust to your honour!"

We looked at each other for a full minute in silence—our eyes meeting in the queer, bluish light of the electric pocket-lamp which he had set on the table before us. Between us, too, was that revolver—always pointing at me out of its one black eye.

"If it's all the same to you, Mr. Hollins," said I at length, "I'd prefer you to trust to my honour. Whatever quality my brains may have, I'd rather they were used than misused in the way you're suggesting! If it's just this—that you want me to hold my tongue—"

"I'll make a bargain with you," he broke in on me. "You'd be fine and glad to see your sweetheart, Moneylaws, and assure yourself that she's come to no harm, and is safe and well?"

"Aye! I would that!" I exclaimed. "Give me the chance, Mr. Hollins!"

"Then give me your word that whatever happens, whatever comes, you'll not mention to the police that you've seen me tonight, and that whenever you're questioned you'll know nothing about me!" he said eagerly. "Twelve hours' start—aye, six!—means safety to me, Moneylaws. Will you keep silence?"

"Where's Miss Dunlop?" asked I.

"You can be with her in three minutes," he answered, "if you'll give me your word—and you're a truthful lad, I think—that you'll both bide where you are till morning, and that after that you'll keep your tongue quiet. Will you do that?"

"She's close by?" I demanded.

"Over our heads," he said calmly. "And you've only to say the word—"

"It's said, Mr. Hollins!" I exclaimed. "Go your ways! I'll never breathe a syllable of it to a soul! Neither in six, nor twelve, nor a thousand hours!—your secret's safe enough with me—so long as you keep your word about her—and just now!"

He drew his free hand off the table, still watching me, and still keeping up the revolver, and from a drawer in the table between us pulled out a key and pushed it over.

"There's a door behind you in yon corner," he said. "And you'll find a lantern at its foot—you've matches on you, no doubt. And beyond the door there's another stair that leads up to the turret, and you'll find her there—and safe—and so—go your ways, now, Moneylaws, and I'll go mine!"

He dropped the revolver into a side pocket of his waterproof coat as he spoke, and, pointing me to the door in the corner, turned to that by which he had entered. And as he turned he snapped off the light of his electric lamp, while I myself, having fumbled for a box of matches, struck one and looked around me for this lantern he had mentioned. In its spluttering light I saw his big figure round the corner—then, just as I made for the lantern, the match went out and all was darkness again. As I felt for another match, I heard him pounding the stair—and suddenly there was a sort of scuffle and he cried out loudly once, and there was the sound of a fall, and then of lighter steps hurrying away, and then a heavy, rattling groan. And with my heart in my mouth and fingers trembling so that I could scarcely hold the match, I made shift to light the candle in the lantern, and went fearfully after him. There, in an angle of the stairway, he was lying, with the blood running in dark streams from a gap in his throat; while his hands, which he had instinctively put up to it, were feebly dropping away and relaxing on his broad chest. And as I put the lantern closer to him he looked up at me in a queer, puzzled fashion, and died before my very eyes.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE SWAG

I shrank back against the mouldy wall of that old stairway shivering as if I had been suddenly stricken with the ague. I had trembled in every limb before ever I heard the sound of the sudden scuffle, and from a variety of reasons—the relief of having Hollins's revolver withdrawn from my nose; the knowledge that Maisie was close by; the gradual wearing-down of my nerves during a whole day of heart-sickening suspense,—but now the trembling had deepened into utter shaking: I heard my own teeth chattering, and my heart going like a pump, as I stood there, staring at the man's face, over which a grey pallor was quickly spreading itself. And though I knew that he was as dead as ever a man can be, I called to him, and the sound of my own voice frightened me.

"Mr. Hollins!" I cried. "Mr. Hollins!"

And then I was frightened still more, for, as if in answer to my summons, but, of course, because of some muscular contraction following on death, the dead lips slightly parted, and they looked as if they were grinning at me. At that I lost what nerve I had left, and let out a cry, and turned to run back into the room where we had talked. But as I turned there were sounds at the foot of the stair, and the flash of a bull's-eye lamp, and I heard Chisholm's voice down in the gateway below.

"Hullo, up there!" he was demanding. "Is there anybody above?"

It seemed as if I was bursting my chest when I got an answer out to him.

"Oh, man!" I shouted, "come up! There's me here—and there's murder!"

I heard him exclaim in a dismayed and surprised fashion, and mutter some words to somebody that was evidently with him, and then there was heavy tramping below, and presently Chisholm's face appeared round the corner; and as he held his bull's-eye before him, its light fell full on Hollins, and he jumped back a step or two.

"Mercy on us!" he let out. "What's all this? The man's lying dead!"

"Dead enough, Chisholm!" said I, gradually getting the better of my fright. "And murdered, too! But who murdered him, God knows—I don't! He trapped me in here, not ten minutes ago, and had me at the end of a revolver, and we came to terms, and he left me—and he was no sooner down the stairs here than I heard a bit of a scuffle, and him fall and groan, and I ran out to find—that! And somebody was off and away—have you seen nobody outside there?"

"You can't see an inch before your eyes—the night's that black," he answered, bending over the dead man. "We've only just come—round from the house. But whatever were you doing here, yourself?"

"I came to see if I could find any trace of Miss Dunlop in this old part," I answered, "and he told me—just before this happened—she's in the tower above, and safe. And I'll go up there now, Chisholm; for if she's heard aught of all this—"

There was another policeman with him, and they stepped past the body and followed me into the little room and looked round curiously. I left them whispering, and opened the door that Hollins had pointed out. There was a stair there, as he had said, set deep in the thick wall, and I went a long way up it before I came to another door, in which there was a key set in the lock. And in a moment I had it turned, and there was Maisie, and I had her in my arms and was flooding her with questions and holding the light to her face to see if she was safe, all at once.

"You've come to no harm?—you're all right?—you've not been frightened out of your senses?—how did it all come about?" I rapped out at her. "Oh, Maisie, I've been seeking for you all day long, and—"

And then, being utterly overwrought, I was giving out, and I suddenly felt a queer giddiness coming over me; and if it had not been for her, I should have fallen and maybe fainted, and she saw it, and got me to a couch from which she had started when I turned the key, and was holding a glass of water to my lips that she snatched up from a table, and encouraging me, who should have been consoling her—all within the minute of my setting eyes on her, and me so weak, as it seemed, that I could only cling on to her hand, making sure that I had really got her.

"There, there, it's all right, Hugh!" she murmured, patting my arm as if I had been some child that had just started awake from a bad dream. "There's no harm come to me at all, barring the weary waiting in this black hole of a place!—I've had food and drink and a light, as you see—they promised me I should have no harm when they locked me in. But oh, it's seemed like it was ages since then!"

"They? Who?" I demanded. "Who locked you in?"

"Sir Gilbert and that butler of his—Hollins," she answered. "I took the short cut through the grounds here last night, and I ran upon the two of them at the corner of the ruins, and they stopped me, and wouldn't let me go, and locked me up here, promising I'd be let out later on."

"Sir Gilbert!" I exclaimed. "You're sure it was Sir Gilbert?"

"Of course I'm sure!" she replied. "Who else? And I made out they were afraid of my letting out that I'd seen them—it was Sir Gilbert himself said they could run no risks."

"You've seen him since?" I asked. "He's been in here?"

"No—not since last night," she answered. "And Hollins not since this morning when he brought me some food—I've not wanted for that," she went on, with a laugh, pointing to things that had been set on the table. "And he said, then, that about midnight, tonight, I'd hear the key turned, and after that I was free to go, but I'd have to make my way home on foot, for he wasn't wanting me to be in Berwick again too soon."

"Aye!" I said, shaking my head. "I'm beginning to see through some of it! But, Maisie, you'll be a good girl, and just do what I tell you?—and that's to stay where you are until I fetch you down. For there's more dreadfulness below—where Sir Gilbert may be, Heaven knows, but Hollins is lying murdered on the stair; and if I didn't see him murdered, I saw him take his last breath!"

She, too, shook a bit at that, and she gripped me tighter.

"You're not by yourself, Hugh?" she asked anxiously. "You're in no danger?"

But just then Chisholm called up the stair of the turret, asking was Miss Dunlop safe, and I bade Maisie speak to him.

"That's good news!" said he. "But will you tell Mr. Hugh to come down to us?—and you'd best stop where you are yourself, Miss Dunlop—there's no very pleasant sight down this way. Have you no idea at all who did this?" he asked, as I went down to him. "You were with him?"

"Man alive, I've no more idea than you have!" I exclaimed. "He was making off somewhere in yon car that's below—he threatened me with the loss of my life if I didn't agree to let him get away in peace, and he was going down the stairs to the car when it happened. But I'll tell you this: Miss Dunlop says Sir Gilbert was here last night!—and it was he and Hollins imprisoned her above there—frightened she'd let out on them if she got away."

"Then the Glasgow tale was all lies?" he exclaimed. "It came from this man, too, that's lying dead—it's been a put-up thing, d'ye think, Mr. Hugh?"

"It's all part of a put-up thing, Chisholm," said I. "Hadn't we better get the man in here, and see what's on him? And what made you come here yourselves?—and are there any more of you about?"

"We came asking some information at the house," he answered, "and we were passing round here, under the wall, on our way to the road, when we heard that car throbbing, and then saw your bit of a light. And that's a good idea of yours, and we'll bring him into this place and see if there's aught to give us a clue. Slip down," he went on, turning to the other man, "and bring the headlights off the car, so that we can see what we're doing. Do you think this is some of Sir Gilbert's work, Mr. Hugh?" he whispered when we were alone. "If he was about here, and this Hollins was in some of his secrets—?"

"Oh, don't ask me!" I exclaimed. "It seems like there was nothing but murder on every hand of us! And whoever did this can't be far away—only the night's that black, and there's so many holes and corners hereabouts that it would be like searching a rabbit-warren—you'll have to get help from the town."

"Aye, to be sure!" he agreed. "But we'll take a view of things ourselves, first. There may be effects on him that'll suggest something."

We carried the body into the room when the policeman came up with the lamps from the car, and stretched it out on the table at which Hollins and I had sat not so long before; though that time, indeed, now seemed to me to belong to some other life! And Chisholm made a hasty examination of what there was in the man's pockets, and there was little that had any significance, except that in a purse which he carried in an inner pocket of his waistcoat there was a considerable sum of money in notes and gold.

The other policeman, who held one of the lamps over the table while Chisholm was making this search, waited silently until it was over, and then he nodded his head at the stair.

"There's some boxes, or cases, down in yon car," he remarked. "All fastened up and labelled—it might be worth while to take a look into them, sergeant. What's more, there's tools lying in the car that looks like they'd been used to fasten them up."

"We'll have them up here, then," said Chisholm. "Stop you here, Mr. Hugh, while we fetch them—and don't let your young lady come down while that's lying here. You might cover him up," he went on, with a significant nod. "It's an ill sight for even a man's eyes, that!"

There were some old, moth-eaten hangings about the walls here and there, and I took one down and laid it over Hollins, wondering while I did this office for him what strange secret it was that he had carried away into death, and why that queer and puzzled expression had crossed his face in death's very moment. And that done, I ran up to Maisie again, bidding her be patient awhile, and we talked quietly a bit until Chisholm called me down to look at the boxes. There were four of them—stout, new-made wooden cases, clamped with iron at the corners, and securely screwed down; and when the policemen invited me to feel the weight, I was put in mind, in a lesser degree, of Gilverthwaite's oak-chest.

"What do you think's like to be in there, now, Mr. Hugh?" asked Chisholm. "Do you know what I think? There's various heavy metals in the world—aye, and isn't gold one of the heaviest?—it'll not be lead that's in here! And look you at that!"

He pointed to some neatly addressed labels tacked strongly to each lid—the writing done in firm, bold, print-like characters:

John Harrison, passenger, by S.S. Aerolite. Newcastle to Hamburg.

I was looking from one label to the other and finding them all alike, when we heard voices at the foot of the stair, and from out of them came Superintendent Murray's, demanding loudly who was above.