"The Devil_s Steps" - читать интересную книгу автора (Upfield Arthur W.)

Chapter Twelve

Interest in Grumman’s Luggage

“OH, GOOD AFTERNOON, Mr. Bonaparte!”

Miss Jade was wearing a dinner frock of black chiffon trimmed with white satin. Her black hair gleamed beneath the electric light of the reception hall, and her make-up was perfection itself.

“Good afternoon, Miss Jade,” he murmured, bowing in his inimitable manner. In a dinner suit, he appeared more like the conventional Indian Rajah than the bushman he more generally appeared. His hair, as black as Miss Jade’s, also gleamed in the light. His dark face emphasised the whiteness of his collar, but there was nothing sinister in the face lightened and animated by the smiling blue eyes. The white teeth almost matched the collar.

“What have you been doing to your cheek?”

Bony made the explanation he had offered to George, and then quoted the steward as an authority for believing that Miss Jade possessed a surgical box.

“Why, of course, Mr. Bonaparte,” Miss Jade said warmly. “You go along to the office, and I’ll bring the outfit. It is a nasty gash! Have you done anything for it at all?”

“Well, yes, my friend provided me with a salve,” replied Bony. “He said shove it on. It cleanses as well as heals. The word ‘shove’ is his, by the way.”

Miss Jade stepped close and with the tips of her fingers gently examined the cut. Watching, he noted her eyes narrow just a fraction, and he appreciated that, for it indicated that Miss Jade was not as cold as her demeanour might suggest.

“It’s quite clean that’s certain. I won’t be a minute,” she told him, before flowing out of the reception hall on her errand of mercy.

Within the office he encountered the secretary, a fair-haired girl about twenty-two, not too good-looking, an excellent foil for Miss Jade’s personality-an item, no doubt, which Miss Jade had had in mind when she engaged Miss Philps. She looked up from her work when Bony entered, in her eyes the shadow of recent events.

“I have been instructed by Miss Jade to wait here for her,” Bony announced, smiling in his friendly manner. “You won’t mind?”

Miss Philps was about to say that it was not her office, but the smiling eyes brushed that assertion from her mind. It had been a difficult afternoon for her, an aftermath of murder crowded with grim-faced, tight-lipped policemen, and hence her nerves were not restful and her mind was unsettled. She said:

“Won’t you sit down? Miss Jade will not be long, I’m sure.”

“Thank you. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“No of course not.”Miss Philps smiled for the first time. “You see, I am used to being interrupted in my work. How do you like Mount Chalmers?”

“Very much. It’s the most beautiful place in Australia, and I have yet to walk down into the fern gullies which, I am told, have a beauty all of their own. So different, you know, from my own part of the country. There, it is all open and flat and sun-glary and hot.”

Bony was beginning to describe Western Queensland when Miss Jade came in with a bowl of warm water and a large cardboard box bearing a red cross on the cover.

“I’d just love to go out into the real outback,” she said, brightly. “I’ve never been farther out than Mildura. You must love it, Mr. Bonaparte.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” admitted Bony. “There’s plenty of space to move about in, and one hasn’t to wear dinner clothes and a starched collar and be extra polite, and all that kind of thing.”

“Don’t you like being polite?” asked Miss Jade, pouring a few drops of antiseptic into the bowl.

“Perhaps the word was not quite the one for me to use,” he countered. “Formal would have been better. You see, Miss Jade, were we outback-er-after an acquaintance of four days you would be calling me Bony and I would be addressing you by your Christian name.”

Miss Jade advanced to him with cotton wool saturated with the antiseptic. She laughed softly:

“If anyone on Mount Chalmers were to hear me calling you Bony, and you calling me Eleanor, it would immediately go around that we were lovers,” she said, half seriously. “One has to be so careful, you know, in a place like this. Now, this might sting just a tiny bit.”

“Pleasure is often born of pain,” murmured Bony. “No pain, no expert administration by you, Miss Jade. When my man friend gave me the box of salve, he said, ‘Here, shove it on.’ ”

“It’s what a man would say.” The antiseptic did notsting, neither did the ointment which Miss Jade applied with the tip of a little finger. The ointment at once soothed a wound which was beginning to ache, and then with gauze and a narrow strip of plaster Miss Jade completed the operation and requested Bony to look at it in a wall mirror, saying:

“It won’t make you unsightly at dinner, Mr. Bonaparte, and it will keep the air from the cut and heal it more quickly.”

He turned to see her withdraw her fingertips from the bowl of antiseptic, and begin to dry them on a towel.

“I thank you,” he said gravely. “I look, and feel, quite presentable. Next week, should I go off in a friend’s car, I’ll arrange to gash the opposite cheek. A cigarette?”

Miss Jade glanced at the office clock, and then accepted. It barely reached her lips before the lighter was held by a brown hand in service, and above the tiny flame she gazed into the blue eyes whimsically regarding her. During that flash of time she decided she would like to call him Bony.

No proprietor of a guest house is dull in psychology. Miss Jade was aware that the least travelled people were the most difficult with whom to deal, and that the loud-voiced people were those acutely suffering from an inferiority complex. All her guests at Wideview Chalet were in comfortable circumstances, and her high tariff secured a high degree of selectivity.

The soft and clear enunciation of this outback man both charmed and mystified her, mystified her because she had thought that people who lived far beyond the railways were hoarse and coarse. She sensed the mental power behind the wide, low forehead, the power which in a rare flash became visible, and after her cigarette was alight, she turned to say something to Miss Philps that Bonaparte might not read her mind.

“I hope that you are quite happy in your dining companions, Mr. Bonaparte. I am asking Mr. Sleeman to sit at your table, and also two guests who arrived today, a Mr. Downes and a Mr. Lee.” Swiftly Miss Jade smiled. “There will be no ladies at your table. Mr. and Mrs. Watkins especially requested to be given a table tothemselves.”

“I shall find that arrangement entirely satisfactory,” Bony agreed, adding in his grand manner: “Madam, there is but one lady in this house who interests me.”

To which Miss Jade countered, really charmed:

“I am glad there is only one gentleman from Queensland here at the same time.”

“I find that extremely gratifying, Miss Jade. And thank you for attending to my slight injury. Aurevoir!”

Miss Jade herself arranged the seating at Bony’s table and introduced the new guests to Bony and Mr. Sleeman and another man who had been staying at the Chalet for several weeks, a Mr. Raymond Leslie.

Leslie was an artist who knew every inch of Mount Chalmers and much of the mountains beyond the valley. He appeared to find pleasure in occupying the chair so recently occupied by Mr. Grumman, and he lost little time in announcing that fact to the two new guests at this table, Mr. Lee and Mr. Downes, eulogizing Grumman’s brusque manner of speech and his forceful descriptive power. He appeared to think little of the reticent Bonaparte, and still less of the even more reticent Mr. Sleeman. Bony covertly watched the two new guests, of whom Lee appeared the more transparent. When this large and weather-beaten man stated that he owned “a small place in the Riverina,” it was evident that he spoke the truth. He was unmistakably a pastoralist.

Downes was slight with hair turning grey, although he did not appear to be beyond forty. It was difficult to guess his profession and he showed no inclination to announce it. His moustache was short and smooth and dark, there were tiny pockets under his dark eyes, and his hands were long-fingered and white. Seated on Bony’s left, he was content to listen to Raymond Leslie talking about Mr. Grumman, and complaining of the treatment he had received from the detectives, who suspected everyone.

On Bony’s right sat Mr. Sleeman who, Bony had been informed, was the representative of an English firm of engineers. He was quiet-spoken, interesting, and possessed of a little weakness during the evenings, a weakness in which George took a most prominent part.

“Seem to be settling down again, don’t we?” he murmured to Bony beneath the rapid-fire of Raymond Leslie’s talk. “Did you clear out last night to get away from the atmosphere?”

“Hardly that,” replied Bony. “I was down the road and by chance saw some friends of mine in a car. Hadn’t seen them for a couple of years. They took me to their home near the city for the evening.”

“Was that where the war was?” Sleeman asked, his eyes glinting.

“Oh, no! It was quite peaceful down there. I was getting out of the confounded car. My friend who was driving had switched off the dash lights and my cheek came in violent contact with a projection from the windscreen. Only five guests here last night?”

“That’s all. Elder left this morning. The place is better to live innow, more peaceful now those chattering, screaming women have gone.”

The girl, Alice, waited at table. Bony observed her thoroughly for the first time. She was tall, vivacious and efficient. Too young, he thought, to have had any direct part in the murder of Grumman, but not too young to have gone through his own kit whilst he was away. In her statement to the police, she had said that she was a native of Barnsdale, single, and had been employed by Miss Jade for four months. Her duties had included the cleaning of Grumman’s room, and she had every morning emptied the water carafe, washed it and re-filled it. In the mornings she had noticed that Grumman had used about half the water contents. Grumman had kept a bottle of tablets on his dressing table, but just what they were she did not know.

The artist was saying:

“Yes, the police thoroughly examined poor Grumman’s room. Tookall his luggage off, too. At least it was all gone when I passed along the passage to my room this afternoon and was able to look in through the open door.”

“I didn’t see ’emcarting it away,” interjected Sleeman.

“Oh, they must have taken it,” objected Leslie. “What else would they do with it? Becomes State property until the next of kin is established.”

“Well, you may be right, but I saw the police cars depart both yesterday and today, and I did not see Grumman’s luggage taken away.”

“They probably got Miss Jade to store it,” volunteered Downes.

“Maybe! But that doesn’t seem to accord with their usual procedure,” Leslie argued, for the first time this evening experiencing opposition, and obviously not liking it. A brown-bearded man who apparently believed that people engaged in art should ever appeararty, he was naturally endowed with a temperament.

“Well, we’ll ask Miss Jade about it,” Downes said mildly, and went on eating.

The matter was put to Miss Jade later on in the lounge, the subject being raised by Leslie. It was then about nine o’clock. The Watkins couple had gone out for a walk despite the rain, Mrs. Watkins having announced to everyone that her husband suffered “frightfully” from indigestion. Leslie and the squatter from the Riverina were talking in one corner of the spacious room. Sleeman was writing letters, Downes was reading, as was Lee. Bony waslying full length in a chair.

“Mr. Grumman’s luggage!”Miss Jade echoed. “I don’t know what the police did with it.”

“There you are, Sleeman!” cried the artist. “What did I say?”

Bony raised himself a fraction that he might observe the others. Miss Jade was standing near the artist and Lee. Downes had lowered his book to his knees and was regarding Sleeman with obvious interest. Sleeman said, with strong conviction:

“I stick to my guns. I am sure that Grumman’s gear wasn’t taken away by the police. As I said at dinner, I saw all the police cars depart, yesterday and today.”

“Well, then, where the devil is it?” demanded Leslie. “It isn’t in his room now.”

“No, the room is vacant,” Miss Jade said in support. “It was unsealed this afternoon by Inspector Snook just before he left. One of the maids has cleaned it since then.”

“The police said nothing to you about Grumman’s luggage?” pressed Leslie, with what seemed unwarranted heat. Miss Jade shook her dark head.

“Give in, Sleeman,” ordered Leslie.

“I can’t change my conviction,” Sleeman said, firmly.

“All that I know,” contributed Miss Jade, “is that yesterday morning I was told that the room had been sealed and would not be made available to me again until the police had completed their investigation of it. And, as I have told you, Inspector Snook said I could enter the room just before he left this afternoon.”

“Very strange,” remarked Downes from his chair. “Perhaps one of the staff saw the luggage being removed. Ah-here’s the steward.”

“George!” called Miss Jade. “Did you see what became of Mr. Grumman’s luggage?”

George was crossing the room, carrying a tray on which were a bottle and a glass and water for Mr. Sleeman. His mind must have been wandering, for, on being addressed, he tripped slightly, and then came to stand in the centre of the lounge and faced his employer. The water in the glass jug, Bony noted, almost spilt out onto the tray. In his soft and precise voice, George answered:

“No, marm.”

“Perhaps Bisker carried the luggage out for the police, or saw them take it away. Would you run out and ask Bisker?”

“Very well, marm.”

George presented his tray to Mr. Sleeman, and Sleeman helped himself to a liberalnobbier of whisky, added water, and settled himself further into his chair. George carried his tray back to his pantry.

“You know, that’s mighty strange,” Leslie burst out. “I’m not disbelieving you, Sleeman, when you say that you saw all the police cars, but, you know, they must have taken the stuff. What did Grumman have, Miss Jade?”

“Oh, there were two large steamer trunks, and several suitcases,” replied Miss Jade. “I remember seeing Bisker and George carry them from the car which brought Mr. Grumman. They carried them past the office off the hall, and I was standing at the open door of the office. I remember-”

Miss Jade’s voice was slowly cut off as the scream rose in pitch and volume. It was a scream from the throat of a badly horrified woman. It began on a high note, and rose to a note still higher, the last note drawn out to an unbelievable length. Abruptly it was shut off. Miss Jade became a Junoesque statue. Bony rose to his feet, but Mr. Downes got to his with remarkable alacrity. He was near the door leading to the reception hall and the office. Bony was near that door through which George had appeared and had departed. Then the scream began again. It began on a high note, rose and fell into a pulsating gurgle, then burst once again into a long-drawn ear-torturing shriek.

The sound of it came through the door by which George had gone and which had been left open. Bony leaped from the standing position beside his chair. Leslie and Lee remained just where they were. Downes was even quicker in his actions than was Bony, but Bony was first through that door. He heard Leslie roaring behind him. He heard Miss Jade cry out.

The door led to a passagemidway along which were the double doors giving entry to the dining room. At the far end of the passage another door stood wide open, and through that Bony could see the kitchen range. The scream had stopped, and now was beginning again. The terrified woman was undoubtedly in the kitchen.