Dope, Sax Rohmer [good books to read for adults txt] 📗
- Author: Sax Rohmer
Book online «Dope, Sax Rohmer [good books to read for adults txt] 📗». Author Sax Rohmer
From the car Monte Irvin alighted and, telling the man to wait, set out on foot. Ten paces along Bond Street he encountered a small, stooping figure which became detached from the shadows of a shop door. The light of a street lamp shone down upon the sharp, hooked nose and into the cunning little brown eyes of Brisley, of Spinker's Detective Agency. Monte Irvin started.
“Ah, Brisley!” he said, “I was looking for you. Are they still there?”
“Probably, sir.” Brisley licked his lips. “My colleague, Gunn, reports no one came out whilst I was away 'phoning.”
“But the whole thing seems preposterous. Are there no other offices in the block where they might be?”
“I personally saw Mr. Gray, Sir Lucien Pyne and the lady go into Kazmah's. At that time—roughly, ten to seven—all the other offices had been closed, approximately, one hour.”
“There is absolutely no possibility that they might have come out unseen by you?”
“None, sir. I should not have troubled a client if in doubt. Here's Gunn.”
Old Bond Street now was darkened and deserted; the yellow mist had turned to fine rain, and Gunn, his hands thrust in his pockets, was sheltering under the porch of the arcade. Gunn possessed a purple complexion which attained to full vigor of coloring in the nasal region. His moustache of dirty grey was stained brown in the centre as if by frequent potations of stout, and his bulky figure was artificially enlarged by the presence of two overcoats, the outer of which was a waterproof and the inner a blue garment appreciably longer both in sleeve and skirt than the former. The effect produced was one of great novelty. Gunn touched the brim of his soft felt hat, which he wore turned down all round apparently in imitation of a flower-pot.
“All snug, sir,” he said, hoarsely and confidentially, bending forward and breathing the words into Irvin's ear. “Snug as a bee in a hive. You're as good as a bachelor again.”
Monte Irvin mentally recoiled.
“Lead the way to the door of this place,” he said tersely.
“Yes, sir, this way, sir. Be careful of the step there. You may remark that the outer door is not yet closed. I am informed upon reliable authority as the last to go locks the door. Hence we perceive that the last has not yet gone. It is likewise opened by the first to come of a mornin'. Here we are, sir; door on the right.”
The landing was in darkness, but as Gunn spoke he directed the ray of a pocket lamp upon a bronze plate bearing the name “Kazmah.” He rested one hand upon his hip.
“All snug,” he repeated; “as snug as a eel in mud. The decree nisi is yours, sir. As an alderman of the City of London and a Justice of the Peace you are entitled to call a police officer—”
“Hold your tongue!” rapped Irvin. “You've been drinking: and I place no reliance whatever in your evidence. I do not believe that my wife or any one else but ourselves is upon these premises.”
The watery eyes of the insulted man protruded unnaturally. “Drinkin'!” he whispered, “drink—”
But indignation now deprived Gunn of speech and:
“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted the nasal voice of Brisley, “but I can absolutely answer for Gunn. Reputation of the Agency at stake. Worked with us for three years. Parties undoubtedly on the premises as reported.”
“Drink—” whispered Gunn.
“I shall be glad,” said Monte Irvin, and his voice shook emotionally, “if you will lend me your pocket lamp. I am naturally upset. Will you kindly both go downstairs. I will call if I want you.”
The two men obeyed, Gunn muttering hoarsely to Brisley; and Monte Irvin was left standing on the landing, the lamp in his hand. He waited until he knew from the sound of their footsteps that the pair had regained the street, then, resting his arm against the closed door, and pressing his forehead to the damp sleeve of his coat, he stood awhile, the lamp, which he held limply, shining down upon the floor.
His lips moved, and almost inaudibly he murmured his wife's name.
CHAPTER V. THE DOOR IS OPENED
Quentin Gray and Seton strolled out of Prince's and both paused whilst Seton lighted a long black cheroot.
“It seems a pity to waste that box,” said Gray. “Suppose we look in at the Gaiety for an hour?”
His humor was vastly improved, and he watched the passing throngs with an expression more suited to his boyish good looks than that of anger and mortification which had rested upon him an hour earlier.
Seton Pasha tossed a match into the road.
“My official business is finished for the day,” he replied. “I place myself unreservedly in your hands.”
“Well, then,” began Gray—and paused.
A long, low car, the chauffeur temporarily detained by the stoppage of a motorbus ahead, had slowed up within three yards of the spot where they were standing. Gray seized Seton's arm in a fierce grip.
“Seton,” he said, his voice betraying intense excitement, “Look! There is Monte Irvin!”
“In the car?”
“Yes, yes! But—he has two police with him! Seton, what can it mean?”
The car moved away, swinging to the right across the traffic stream and clearly heading for old Bond Street. Quentin Gray's mercurial color deserted him, and he turned to Seton a face grown suddenly pale.
“Good God,” he whispered, “something has happened to Rita!”
Neglectful of his personal safety, he plunged out into the traffic, dodging this way and that, and making after Monte Irvin's car. Of the fact that his friend was close beside him he remained unaware until, on the corner of old Bond Street, a firm grip settled upon his shoulder. Gray turned angrily. But the grip was immovable, and he found himself staring into the unemotional face of Seton Pasha.
“Seton, for God's sake, don't detain me! I must learn what's wrong.”
“Pull up, Gray.”
Quentin Gray clenched his teeth.
“Listen to me, Seton. This is no time for interference. I—”
“You are about to become involved in some very unsavory business; and I repeat—pull up. In a moment we shall learn all there is to be learned. But are you determined openly to thrust yourself into the family affairs of Mr. Monte Irvin?”
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