The Complete Detective Sgt. Elk Series (6 Novels in One Edition). Edgar Wallace
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shouldn’t carry valuables in a place like this,” the man continued, “that is to say, not money.”
“How about letters, eh, Baggin? Letters — and plans? They are sometimes worth money to the right party.”
His companion frowned. “Nothing that I carry is worth money,” he returned shortly. “I flatter myself that not a man in the world, no, not even you, Grayson,” there was a slight sneer in his voice, “could make head or tail of my memoranda. And yet, there it is, the entire proposition, written down, in black and white. But it’s all in code, and I carry the code in my head.”
“I’m sincerely glad to hear it,” replied the other. He looked about him nervously. “I have a feeling that we oughtn’t to have come here.”
“You make me tired,” said Baggin wearily.
“We oughtn’t be seen together,” persisted the other. “All sorts of people are here. Men from the city, perhaps. Suppose I should be recognised — my picture was in all the papers.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Baggin roughly. “And for Heaven’s sake, don’t peer around in that silly fashion. Let me give you an epigram of Poltavo’s. ‘It is the observer who is always observed.’ Rather neat, eh?”
“I wish he were in with us on this thing.”
“I don’t,” retorted Baggin. “So that’s settled. He’s done his work, and that’s the end of him.”
“I doubt it,” returned the other thoughtfully.
“And, frankly, if the matter comes up again, I shall vote to admit him.”
“Well, wait till it does come up,” growled Baggin. “And don’t talk shop in a crowd like this.
Do you know what Poltavo says? ‘Men babble away their secrets, and whisper away their lives.’” There was a long pause, and the stranger knew that one of the Americans was making dumb-show signals of warning. They were nodding at him, he felt sure, so he bowed and asked politely:
“At what hour is the eclipse?”
“No savvy,” said the fat man, “no hablo Espagnol.”
The stranger shrugged his shoulders, and turned again to the contemplation of the plain below.
“He doesn’t speak English,” said the fat man, “none of these beggars do.”
His friend made no reply, but after a silence of a few minutes he said quietly and in English:
“Look at that balloon.”
But the stranger was not to be trapped by a simple trick like that, and continued his stolid regard of the landscape; besides he had seen the balloons parked on the outskirts of the town, and knew that intrepid scientists would make the ascent to gather data.
He took another look at the sun. The disc was and blue, and the little clouds that flecked the sky were iridescent. Crowds still poured up the hill, and the slope was now covered with people. He had to stand up, and in doing so, he found himself side by side with the fat man. A strange light was coming to the world; there were triple shadows on the ground, and the stout man shifted uneasily.
“Don’t like this, Baggin,” he said fretfully, “it’s hateful — never did like these wonders of the sky, they make me nervous. It’s awful. Look out there, out west behind you. It’s black, black — it’s like the end of the world!”
“Cut it out!” said his unimaginative companion.
Then of a sudden the black shadow in the west leaped across the sky, and the world went grey-black. Where the sun had been was a hoop of fire, a bubbling, boiling circle of golden light, and the circling horizon was a dado of bright yellow. It was as though the sun had set at its zenith, and the sunset glows were shown, east, west, north, and south.
“My God, this is awful!”
The stout man covered his face with one hand and clung tightly with the other to Baggin. He was oblivious to everything, save a gripping fear of the unknown that clawed at his heart. Baggin himself paled, and set his jaw grimly.
For the moment he was blind and deaf to the hustling, murmuring crowd about him; he only knew that he stood in the darkness at high noon, and that something was happening which he could not compress within the limits of his understanding.
Three minutes the eclipse lasted; then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.
A blazing, blinding wave of light flooded the world, and the stars that had studded the sky went out.
“Yes — yes, I know I’m a fool.” Grayson’s face was bathed in perspiration. “It’s — it’s my temperament. But never again! It’s an experience.” He shook his head, as his trembling legs carried him down the hillside.
“You’re all right,” said Baggin reassuringly.
“I’ll admit that it was a bit spooky.” He tapped his pocket mechanically, and stopped dead.
“Gone!” he gasped, and dived into his pocket.
“My memorandum book!” Suddenly he grasped his companion and shook him savagely.
“It was you, damn you! I felt you pawing over me in the dark.”
Grayson looked at him goodnaturedly. “Don’t be an ass, Baggin,” he said. “What would I do with your code when I had it? God knows I don’t want the responsibility of this business!”
Baggin released him sullenly.
“I — I beg pardon, Grayson. But I did feel hands upon me in the darkness, and thought at the time it was you. I daresay it was that accursed Spaniard.”
He looked about him eagerly. The crowd was dispersing in all directions. The stranger was not to be seen.
“Thank Heaven, the thing was in cipher. He won’t be able to make anything of it, anyway. He probably thought it was a fat wallet full of money, and will be desperately disappointed.” He laughed mirthlessly. Plainly he was greatly disturbed. Grayson observed him with a malicious satisfaction.
“You shouldn’t carry valuables around in a place like this,” he remarked gravely.
The two men descended the hill and made their way to their hotel.
The stranger went into the cathedral, and took from the pocket of his mantle a small memorandum book.
“‘Men babble away their secrets, and whisper away their lives,’” he murmured with a smile.
“Never was my friend Baggin more apropos.” He set to work upon the cipher. It was very quiet in the cathedral.
That evening, at ten o’clock, the trim serving-maid tapped lightly at the sittingroom door of the two American gentlemen, and tendered Baggin, who answered it, a card.
“Tell him to come up,” he said in a surly voice.
He flipped the bit of pasteboard across to his friend. “Poltavo! What the devil is he doing in this part of the world? No good, I’ll be bound.”
A sudden idea shot across his mind and struck him pale. He stood in the middle of the room, his head down, his brows drawn blackly together. A red light flickered in his eyes. Grayson, lounging easily in a deep leather chair, regarded him with something of the contempt the lazy man always entertains for the active one. The beginning of a secret dislike formed vaguely in his brain. His thoughts flew to Poltavo, a bright contrast. “I wish he would bring me news of Doris,” he muttered. A wistful look crept into his face.
There was a discreet double knock at the door, it fell open, and Count Poltavo was revealed framed picturesquely in the archway.
He wore a black felt hat and a velvet-lined cappa which fell about him in long