Elk 03 The Twister, page 5
“I’ll be up in five minutes,” he said. “Don’t worry. It isn’t very late, is it?”
“N-no, only he asked me especially to stay up for him. He wanted me to find something.”
Tony Braid came back to his guests, excused himself to Sanford, and a few minutes later he and Elk were driving towards Hampstead.
“What’s the trouble with Frensham?” asked Elk.
“Nothing very much,” said Tony evasively.
“Queer that young lady should worry about his not coming home.”
A little later: “I may as well tell you, Elk: you’ve been a very good friend of mine, and I’ve proved that you can be discreet. Frensham is in pretty bad trouble. Just before dinner tonight he telephoned me and asked me if I could lend him seventy-five thousand pounds.”
Elk whistled. “And naturally you said no,” he said. “I’m all for it! If I had the money paid back to me that I’ve lent, I’d be a rich man.”
“Of course I said yes.” said Tony quietly. “In fact I sent the cheque by special messenger to his office.”
“Then why not go to his office first?” asked Elk.
Tony shook his head. “I called him up an hour after I sent the money to ask if it was enough, and there was no answer.”
“Was the cheque delivered?” Elk was curiously interested.
“Yes; I checked up, it was given to Frensham.”
Elk asked no further questions, and presently they came to the house and found Ursula waiting for them half-way down the short drive. Tony stopped the car and jumped out. Mr. Elk, in his evasive way, faded into the background.
As Tony drew the girl’s arm in his he could feel her trembling. “What are you worried about? Why are you so scared, my dear?” he said, patting her hand. “It is I who ought to be worried—your father told me I was not to put my nose inside his demesne, and here am I holding his daughter’s hand in the most shameless way.”
“Tony,” she said in a low voice, “Julian is here. He came a quarter of an hour ago. He said he went to Father’s office but could get no answer.”
“Julian here?” said Anthony in dismay. “That’s rather awkward: I shall have to do one of my famous twists and be nice to him!”
Any doubt he might have had as to Julian’s attitude was removed the moment he came into the house. The red-faced young man was pacing up and down the broad hall and came towards him with a nervous smile.
“I owe you an apology, Braid,” he said. “I bear you no ill will for that left hook of yours.” And then he went on quickly in a more serious tone: “I’m worried about Frensham. He was at my office this afternoon and we had a heart-to-heart talk about shares. He wanted me to hand over to him a block that I was holding for Ursula. In point of fact, he has had those shares in his possession for the past three months. He was so extraordinarily strange in his manner that I thought he was ill. I should have rung up Ursula, but I didn’t want to alarm her.”
They were in the drawing-room now; it was a hot night, and Tony gathered that the french windows were open by the swaying of the curtains which were drawn before them.
“I called at his office tonight,” Julian went on, “but there was no answer so I came on here.”
“Does he usually work so late at his office?” asked Tony.
“Very often.” It was Ursula who spoke. “He has been there night after night lately—I think he’s been worrying about the Lulanga Company. I shouldn’t have been worried about him being late but he’s always so punctual for appointments, and be did ask me to be here at half-past eight. I put off a theatre partly because he said it was important.”
Tony was scratching his chin thoughtfully, his eyes still on Julian Reef’s face.
“I will go down to St. James’s Street and see what is delaying him,” he said slowly.
“If you like I’ll go with you,” volunteered Julian.
But Tony shook his head. “It isn’t necessary; I have a friend in the grounds somewhere—Inspector Elk: you may have heard of him.”
“Elk?” Even Ursula was surprised at the change in the man’s tone; it became suddenly harsh and hard. He almost shouted the word. “Elk! That long fellow…oh yes. I know him. Is he here? How odd!” His face had gone from red to white, from white to red again. “Yes, I’ve met him. A queer Scotland Yard bird who’s always talking about education. Then you won’t want me.”
When Anthony got out into the drive he found Elk leaning against the car, a cigar between his teeth.
“Miss Frensham is rather worried about her father’s absence. I’m going down to his office.”
“I know,” said Elk as he got into the car. “That Reef fellow was awfully cut up about me, but when he says I talk about nothing but education he lies in his boots!”
“How do you know what he was talking about?” asked the astonished Tony.
“I was listening at the window,” said Mr. Elk calmly. “I find that’s one of the best ways of collecting information—listening and saying nothing. What’s that about the shares and the cheque? Big fellow, that man Reef—thinks in millions, talks in tens of thousands and pays in ha’pennies.”
When they got to the building where Frensham had his office they found the outer door closed and Anthony would have gone back to Hampstead but for the detective’s insistence on making another attempt to get in.
“There’s a caretaker in this building and a couple of office cleaners—I know to my certain knowledge. Give a bang on the door, Braid.”
Tony carried out instructions, and after a while was rewarded. A charwoman opened the door a few inches and, when Mr Elk revealed himself and his profession, admitted him in a fluster.
“No, sir, we haven’t been in Lord Frensham’s office.” she said. “It’s a very peculiar thing; we’ve got all the pass-keys, but they won’t open his door. My friend says that it must be bolted on the inside.”
They went to the second floor and the woman showed them, with the help of the pass-key, that the door was immovable.
It was a typical office door; the upper half was of opaque glass inscribed ‘Lulanga Oil Company, Limited’.
“In the circumstances,” said Mr. Elk, “all things are justifiable. Lend me your broom, mother.”
The woman handed him a short hand-brush and on his instructions stood back out of reach of flying glass. Two taps shattered the pane, and Mr. Elk very cautiously removed a jagged piece of glass before he put through his hand and drew back the bolt. Then he handed back the brush with a broad smile.
“Now you can go downstairs. If we want you we’ll send for you,” he said, and reluctantly the woman, scenting mystery, descended to the lower floor.
“I hope your stomach’s strong,” said Elk, for he had seen…
A click, and the light flashed on. Frensham was sprawling over a writing-table, his head upon his hands; the white blotting-paper was speckled red, and in the clenched white hand that lay on the desk was a revolver.
Chapter 7.
IT was Elk’s matter-of-fact voice that brought Tony Braid to his senses.
“There’s a ‘phone over there. Just ask for the police-station; tell them there’s a death here and that you want the divisional surgeon.”
“Dead?” whispered Tony. “Good God!”
Elk looked at the stricken figure with a thoughtful eye, and then he saw the paper. It was not on the pad, but a little to the side.
The detective took it up and read a few lines with a frown. “Do you know that handwriting?”
Tony nodded. It was Frensham’s beyond any doubt. His mind in a whirl, he read the fateful message:
“For years I have been engaged in foolish speculations. I confess that I have taken monies which are not mine, particulars of which are set forth below. I am not fit to live…”
Here the writing ended abruptly.
“Is that Frensham’s writing?” asked Elk again.
“Undoubtedly,” said Tony in a hushed voice, staring fascinated at the still figure.
Death he had seen in many shapes; tragedy in its most hideous aspects; but there was something awful in this sprawling body and all that it stood for.
Whilst Tony telephoned, the detective walked to the window, pushed it up and, leaning out, sent his torch flashing on either side. He pulled the window down again and fastened the catch. By the side of the desk was a waste-basket, the bottom covered with torn paper. This he shook out on to the small table where the telephone stood, and sorted over the contents.
“I guess he got your letter and cheque all right,” he said after a while.
He pointed to a little heap of paper which he had separated from the rest.
“Here’s the cheque, torn into bits—at least, I suppose it’s yours.”
Before Anthony could piece together the fragments of the pink slips, he knew it was the identical cheque he had sent.
“We’ll keep these.” Elk took an envelope from the stationery rack on the table and put the little fragments carefully inside. “And the letter and envelope, too. It looks as if it was torn up unopened.”
The district surgeon arrived a quarter of an hour later and made a brief examination. Frensham had died instantly. “Now I think you’ve got the dirtiest bit of work to do,” said Elk.
Tony nodded, and went slowly down the stairs to Hampstead to break the news to Ursula. He found her waiting for him at the open door of the house, and one glance at her face told him that by some means she already knew, and that the most tragic part of his task had been anticipated.
“Come in, Tony.” She was very white, but her voice was wonderfully steady. “Mr. Elk has been on the ‘phone—he didn’t tell me everything, but I think I can guess. Is he dead?” Tony nodded. “How dreadful!” She put her hands before her eyes and shuddered. “Does Julian know?”
“Isn’t he here?” asked Tony in surprise.
She shook her head. “No; he left just before Mr. Elk telephoned. I told him bow good you had been to Father…I mean, about the money you sent him tonight.”
Anthony stared at her open-mouthed. “How did you know that I sent him money?”
She did not answer until they were in the panelled dining room and had closed the door. “Father told me he was in trouble and that he’d asked you to help him. He told me over the ‘phone earlier in the evening.”
“But you didn’t know—”
“I knew you, Tony,” she said quietly. “If he asked you for money I knew you would have sent it. He wasn’t so sure you would, poor darling! He told me to be here at half-past eight in case you hadn’t, but that he’d be back in any case by then.” She was very quiet, very brave.
He did not wish to distress her by discussing money matters that night, and he was somewhat surprised when she herself broached the subject. “Do you think my money has gone?” she asked, very calmly. “I never discussed it with Father,” she went on. “He was rather difficult and touchy. My dividends used to come in every half-year, and I have quite a respectable amount in the bank.”
“How long has he handled your estate?” asked Tony.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It was news to me, and rather surprising, that Julian had handed over my shares at all.’” She shook her head. “I wonder if you think I’m heartless to discuss this now,” she asked. “Do you realize, Tony, that you have rather a heavy responsibility?”
He looked at her without understanding. ‘“What is it?” he asked.
“You were the trustee of Father’s estate. He never altered the will he made years ago. He spoke about it when he was so angry with you this morning and said he was going to make a different arrangement. I think he intended putting Julian in your place. Tony, you dislike Julian, don’t you?”
“I’m not very fond of him, but at this particular moment I’m not making things any harder by perpetuating my own dislikes,” he said.
“I don’t dislike him,” she said; “he’s terribly masterful in his way; and his partner, or whatever he is, is a horror.”
“Guelder?” asked Tony quickly. She nodded. “I had no idea you knew him.”
She was silent, and he did not press her. This was a new and remarkable discovery. He felt there was something behind that chance reference to Julian Reef’s confidant, a hint of fear that only his sensitive mind could register.
It was half-past two in the morning when Elk came to Tony Braid’s house. He found his host wearing a silk dressing-gown, a fact upon which he immediately commented.
“Pity you’re undressed; I was going to ask you as a personal favour to step along to St. James’s Street and have a look round. How’s the young lady?”
“I’ve persuaded her to stay with some friends of hers, in Hampstead tonight,” said Tony, and Elk nodded long and slowly. “As to going to St. James’s Street, I shall be almost grateful for the occupation. I am not likely to sleep tonight.”
He was dressed under the gown save for his jacket and shoes and, while he put these on, Elk told him the latest news. “I’ve been interviewing that messenger-boy who delivered the cheque. It sounds a funny business. He got to the office about a quarter to eight and the door was locked. Frensham didn’t open it, but asked who was there and told him to push the letter under the door. I’ve got the boy’s receipt in my pocket—just an ‘F’, that doesn’t tell us anything.”
“What excuse did Frensham give?”
“Said he was changing,” said Elk. “He did change sometimes: I found a small wardrobe in the inner office. Queer he should have torn up that envelope without opening it,” he said. “Did he know your handwriting?”
“It was typewritten,” said Tony. “I had a number of envelopes addressed to Frensham—we conducted quite a correspondence in the old days.”
“Humph!” said Elk thoughtfully. “Maybe he thought it was another bill. There were scores in the desk. Frensham’s in a pretty bad way financially.”
Tony announced that he was ready, but Elk did not rise from his chair.
“I used to know that flat before it was an office,” he said. “There were more burglars there than in any other flat in London.” Tony thought he was being merely reminiscent and yet he should have known his man well enough to be sure that his words had some special application.
Elk rose suddenly and intimated he was ready, and they left the house together and got into the waiting police car. There was a policeman on duty at the door of the building in which the office was situated.
“A clever idea,” said Elk, bitterly, as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. “He might as well be stationed at the bottom of a tube!”
He unlocked the door with the shattered panel and ushered Tony into the death-room. There was little evidence of the tragedy which had occurred. Frensham’s body had been removed, even the bloodstained blotting-pad had been taken away, though there were still sinister stains upon the writing table.
“I thought,” began Elk, “we might take a look—” He stopped suddenly, and Tony saw him staring at the window. A pane of glass had been broken there too, and glittering splinters lay on the carpet beneath the window. Mr. Elk did not say very much, but for a second he looked rather unhappy.
“Glass broken, catch turned—and I told that damned—that feller to keep a man outside the door; this door!”
“What’s happened?” asked Tony.
“Somebody’s been in the room, that’s all. Came in from the outside. Couldn’t have been a reporter—reporters only do that sort of thing in books.”
He pulled up the window and leaned out, and then, to Tony’s alarm, threw one leg over the sill and disappeared from view. For a second Anthony Braid thought the officer had gone mad, but a cheery voice near at hand reassured him, as he looked fearfully out into the darkness. “It’s all right,” said Elk. “This is the way the burglars used to come. It was like eating jam.”
He was standing on a narrow iron balcony which ran immediately beneath the window and extended, Tony discovered, to a circular staircase. “A fire-escape,” explained Mr. Elk. “You can either call it that or the burglar’s joy-plank. Give us a hand.”
Tony gripped the other powerfully and drew him up through the window. “Do you mean that somebody broke in here tonight after the body was moved? Why?”
Elk shook his head. “To take something—maybe one of them—those secret documents you see in plays. You never know. Or the family jools. OR the letter showin’ who’s the rightful heir.”
“But seriously?”
Elk could give no information. “If I could tell you why, I could tell you a lot of things that nobody knows—as yet!”
He began a systematic search of the ‘office’. It had been, as he said, a small flat; contained three fair-sized rooms, two of which were evidently used by a fairly large clerical staff.
“What I can’t understand about you,” said Elk as they left the building after completing their examination, ‘is your uncuriosity! You haven’t asked me once how Frensham shot himself.”
“I never ask unnecessary questions,” said Tony.
Chapter 8.
THERE were two dreary days of police inquiry and the uncomfortable inquest; and if Tony Braid was averse from asking unnecessary questions, there were a couple of stolid jurymen who did not share his objection. The proceedings dragged themselves through four columns of print to an inevitable conclusion, and the jury returned a verdict of ‘Suicide whilst of Unsound Mind.’
Happily, it had not been necessary to call Ursula, and on the afternoon of the inquest she left for the country. She took a farewell of Tony over the telephone, declined his offer to drive her to Somerset and would have gladly dispensed with the visit which Julian Reef paid to her a few minutes before her departure.
She had two letters from him, long, intense epistles which she had not even read through. He had made several attempts to see her, but she had found an excuse for refusing an interview.
Why she was behaving like this to him she herself did not know. Only—she hated even to admit this—almost with the pang it brought, the news of her father’s death had given her the faintest sense of relief. She analysed it down to a first cause in her ruthless way. She would never have married Julian in any circumstances, but the unconscious and imperceptible pressure which her father’s wishes had brought to bear on her would no longer be exercised. She was mistress of herself, ruined, she guessed, except for a small income which came from her little property near Morpeth, but none the less free.
