MAX CARRADOS MYSTERIES - Complete Series in One Volume. Bramah Ernest
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“I am afraid the list is only beginning,” said Carrados. “We must go through your renters’ book.”
The manager roused himself to protest.
“That cannot be done. No one but myself or my deputy ever sees the book. It would be—unprecedented.”
“The circumstances are unprecedented,” replied Carrados.
“If any difficulties are placed in the way of these gentlemen’s investigations, I shall make it my duty to bring the facts before the Home Secretary,” announced the professor; speaking up to the ceiling with the voice of a brazen trumpet.
Carrados raised a deprecating hand.
“May I make a suggestion?” he remarked. “Now; I am blind. If, therefore——?”
“Very well,” acquiesced the manager. “But I must request the others to withdraw.”
For five minutes Carrados followed the list of safe-renters as the manager read them to him. Sometimes he stopped the catalogue to reflect a moment; now and then he brushed a finger-tip over a written signature and compared it with another. Occasionally a password interested him. But when the list came to an end he continued to look into space without any sign of enlightenment.
“So much is perfectly clear and yet so much is incredible,” he mused. “You insist that you alone have been in charge for the last six months?”
“I have not been away a day this year.”
“Meals?”
“I have my lunch sent in.”
“And this room could not be entered without your knowledge while you were about the place?”
“It is impossible. The door is fitted with a powerful spring and a feather-touch self-acting lock. It cannot be left unlocked unless you deliberately prop it open.”
“And, with your knowledge, no one has had an opportunity of having access to this book?”
“No,” was the reply.
Carrados stood up and began to put on his gloves.
“Then I must decline to pursue my investigation any further,” he said icily.
“Why?” stammered the manager.
“Because I have positive reason for believing that you are deceiving me.”
“Pray sit down, Mr Carrados. It is quite true that when you put the last question to me a circumstance rushed into my mind which—so far as the strict letter was concerned—might seem to demand ‘Yes’ instead of ‘No.’ But not in the spirit of your inquiry. It would be absurd to attach any importance to the incident I refer to.”
“That would be for me to judge.”
“You shall do so, Mr Carrados. I live at Windermere Mansions with my sister. A few months ago she got to know a married couple who had recently come to the opposite flat. The husband was a middle-aged, scholarly man who spent most of his time in the British Museum. His wife’s tastes were different; she was much younger, brighter, gayer; a mere girl in fact, one of the most charming and unaffected I have ever met. My sister Amelia does not readily——”
“Stop!” exclaimed Carrados. “A studious middle-aged man and a charming young wife! Be as brief as possible. If there is any chance it may turn on a matter of minutes at the ports. She came here, of course?”
“Accompanied by her husband,” replied the manager stiffly. “Mrs Scott had travelled and she had a hobby of taking photographs wherever she went. When my position accidentally came out one evening she was carried away by the novel idea of adding views of a safe-deposit to her collection—as enthusiastic as a child. There was no reason why she should not; the place has often been taken for advertising purposes.”
“She came, and brought her camera—under your very nose!”
“I do not know what you mean by ‘under my very nose.’ She came with her husband one evening just about our closing time. She brought her camera, of course—quite a small affair.”
“And contrived to be in here alone?”
“I take exception to the word ‘contrived.’ It—it happened. I sent out for some tea, and in the course——”
“How long was she alone in here?”
“Two or three minutes at the most. When I returned she was seated at my desk. That was what I referred to. The little rogue had put on my glasses and had got hold of a big book. We were great chums, and she delighted to mock me. I confess that I was startled—merely instinctively—to see that she had taken up this book, but the next moment I saw that she had it upside down.”
“Clever! She couldn’t get it away in time. And the camera, with half-a-dozen of its specially sensitized films already snapped over the last few pages, by her side!”
“That child!”
“Yes. She is twenty-seven and has kicked hats off tall men’s heads in every capital from Petersburg to Buenos Aires! Get through to Scotland Yard and ask if Inspector Beedel can come up.”
The manager breathed heavily through his nose.
“To call in the police and publish everything would ruin this establishment—confidence would be gone. I cannot do it without further authority.”
“Then the professor certainly will.”
“Before you came I rang up the only director who is at present in town and gave him the facts as they then stood. Possibly he has arrived by this. If you will accompany me to the boardroom we will see.”
They went up to the floor above, Mr Carlyle joining them on the way.
“Excuse me a moment,” said the manager.
Parkinson, who had been having an improving conversation with the hall porter on the subject of land values, approached.
“I am sorry, sir,” he reported, “but I was unable to procure any ‘Rubbo.’ The place appears to be shut up.”
“That is a pity; Mr Carlyle had set his heart on it.”
“Will you come this way, please?” said the manager, reappearing.
In the boardroom they found a white-haired old gentleman who had obeyed the manager’s behest from a sense of duty, and then remained in a distant corner of the empty room in the hope that he might be overlooked. He was amiably helpless and appeared to be deeply aware of it.
“This is a very sad business, gentlemen,” he said, in a whispering, confiding voice. “I am informed that you recommend calling in the Scotland Yard authorities. That would be a disastrous course for an institution that depends on the implicit confidence of the public.”
“It is the only course,” replied Carrados.
“The name of Mr Carrados is well known to us in connexion with a delicate case. Could you not carry this one through?”
“It is impossible. A wide inquiry must be made. Every port will have to be watched. The police alone can do that.” He threw a little significance into the next sentence. “I alone can put the police in the right way of doing it.”
“And you will do that, Mr Carrados?”
Carrados smiled engagingly. He knew exactly what constituted the great attraction of his services.
“My position is this,” he explained. “So far my work has been entirely amateur. In that capacity I have averted one or two crimes, remedied an occasional injustice, and now and then been of service to my professional friend, Louis Carlyle. But there is no reason at all why I should serve a commercial firm in an ordinary affair of business for nothing. For any information