VINTAGE MYSTERIES - 70+ Stories in One Volume (Thriller Classics Series). Robert Barr
Читать онлайн книгу.
he takes them upstairs with him to his study.'
'This has happened every day since you've been there?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You reported that very striking fact to your chief, of course?'
'No, sir, I don't think I did,' said Podgers, confused.
'You should have done so. Mr. Hale would have known how to make the most of a point so vital.'
'Oh, come now, Valmont,' interrupted Hale, 'you're chaffing us. Plenty of people take in all the papers!'
'I think not. Even clubs and hotels subscribe to the leading journals only. You said all, I think, Podgers?'
'Well, nearly all, sir.'
'But which is it? There's a vast difference.'
'He takes a good many, sir.'
'How many?'
'I don't just know, sir.'
'That's easily found out, Valmont,' cried Hale, with some impatience, 'if you think it really important.'
'I think it so important that I'm going back with Podgers myself. You can take me into the house, I suppose, when you return?'
'Oh, yes, sir.'
'Coming back to these newspapers for a moment, Podgers. What is done with them?'
'They are sold to the ragman, sir, once a week.'
'Who takes them from the study?'
'I do, sir.'
'Do they appear to have been read very carefully?'
'Well, no, sir; leastways, some of them seem never to have been opened, or else folded up very carefully again.'
'Did you notice that extracts have been clipped from any of them?'
'No, sir.'
'Does Mr. Summertrees keep a scrapbook?'
'Not that I know of, sir.'
'Oh, the case is perfectly plain,' said I, leaning back in my chair, and regarding the puzzled Hale with that cherubic expression of self-satisfaction which I know is so annoying to him.
'What's perfectly plain?' he demanded, more gruffly perhaps than etiquette would have sanctioned.
'Summertrees is no coiner, nor is he linked with any band of coiners.'
'What is he, then?'
'Ah, that opens another avenue of enquiry. For all I know to the contrary, he may be the most honest of men. On the surface it would appear that he is a reasonably industrious tradesman in Tottenham Court Road, who is anxious that there should be no visible connection between a plebian employment and so aristocratic a residence as that in Park Lane.'
At this point Spenser Hale gave expression to one of those rare flashes of reason which are always an astonishment to his friends.
'That is nonsense, Monsieur Valmont,' he said, 'the man who is ashamed of the connection between his business and his house is one who is trying to get into Society, or else the women of his family are trying it, as is usually the case. Now Summertrees has no family. He himself goes nowhere, gives no entertainments, and accepts no invitations. He belongs to no club, therefore to say that he is ashamed of his connection with the Tottenham Court Road shop is absurd. He is concealing the connection for some other reason that will bear looking into.'
'My dear Hale, the goddess of Wisdom herself could not have made a more sensible series of remarks. Now, mon ami, do you want my assistance, or have you enough to go on with?'
'Enough to go on with? We have nothing more than we had when I called on you last night.'
'Last night, my dear Hale, you supposed this man was in league with coiners. Today you know he is not.'
'I know you say he is not.'
I shrugged my shoulders, and raised my eyebrows, smiling at him.
'It is the same thing, Monsieur Hale.'
'Well, of all the conceited—' and the good Hale could get no further.
'If you wish my assistance, it is yours.'
'Very good. Not to put too fine a point upon it, I do.'
'In that case, my dear Podgers, you will return to the residence of our friend Summertrees, and get together for me in a bundle all of yesterday's morning and evening papers, that were delivered to the house. Can you do that, or are they mixed up in a heap in the coal cellar?'
'I can do it, sir. I have instructions to place each day's papers in a pile by itself in case they should be wanted again. There is always one week's supply in the cellar, and we sell the papers of the week before to the rag men.'
'Excellent. Well, take the risk of abstracting one day's journals, and have them ready for me. I will call upon you at half-past three o'clock exactly, and then I want you to take me upstairs to the clerk's bedroom in the third story, which I suppose is not locked during the daytime?'
'No, sir, it is not.'
With this the patient Podgers took his departure. Spenser Hale rose when his assistant left.
'Anything further I can do?' he asked.
'Yes; give me the address of the shop in Tottenham Court Road. Do you happen to have about you one of those new five-shilling pieces which you believe to be illegally coined?'
He opened his pocket-book, took out the bit of white metal, and handed it to me.
'I'm going to pass this off before evening,' I said, putting it in my pocket, 'and I hope none of your men will arrest me.'
'That's all right,' laughed Hale as he took his leave.
At half-past three Podgers was waiting for me, and opened the front door as I came up the steps, thus saving me the necessity of ringing. The house seemed strangely quiet. The French cook was evidently down in the basement, and we had probably all the upper part to ourselves, unless Summertrees was in his study, which I doubted. Podgers led me directly upstairs to the clerk's room on the third floor, walking on tiptoe, with an elephantine air of silence and secrecy combined, which struck me as unnecessary.
'I will make an examination of this room,' I said. 'Kindly wait for me down by the door of the study.'
The bedroom proved to be of respectable size when one considers the smallness of the house. The bed was all nicely made up, and there were two chairs in the room, but the usual washstand and swing-mirror were not visible. However, seeing a curtain at the farther end of the room, I drew it aside, and found, as I expected, a fixed lavatory in an alcove of perhaps four feet deep by five in width. As the room was about fifteen feet wide, this left two-thirds of the space unaccounted for. A moment later, I opened a door which exhibited a closet filled with clothes hanging on hooks. This left a space of five feet between the clothes closet and the lavatory. I thought at first that the entrance to the secret stairway must have issued from the lavatory, but examining the boards closely, although they sounded hollow to the knuckles, they were quite evidently plain matchboarding, and not a concealed door. The entrance to the stairway, therefore, must issue from the clothes closet. The right hand wall proved similar to the matchboarding of the lavatory as far as the casual eye or touch was concerned, but I saw at once it was a door. The latch turned out to be somewhat ingeniously operated by one of the hooks which held a pair of old trousers. I found that the hook, if pressed upward, allowed the door to swing outward, over the stairhead. Descending to the second floor, a similar latch let me in to a similar clothes closet in the room beneath. The two rooms were identical in size, one directly above the other, the only difference being that the lower room door gave into the study, instead of into the hall, as was the case with the upper chamber.
The study was extremely neat, either not much used, or the abode of a very methodical man. There was nothing on the table except a pile of that morning's papers. I walked to the farther end, turned the key in the