The Mystery of the Green Ray, William le Queux [e book reader pdf .txt] 📗

recently been confronted, I was at a loss for an answer. Dennis came to my rescue just in time.

“I think Ron’s difficulty is in defining the word ‘developments,’ General,” said he. “If we said there were developments it would naturally convey the impression that we had something definite to report. I think perhaps the best way to put it would be that we believe we are getting on the right scent, by the simple process of putting two and two together and making them four. We hope to have something very decided to tell you in a day or two.”

“I shall be glad to hear something, I can assure you,” said the old man, “but in the meantime we will try to forget about it. You have had a tiring journey, Mr. Burnham, followed by a strange initiation into what is probably a new sphere of life altogether—the sphere of mysteries and detectives, and so forth. No, Ronald, we’ll give Mr. Burnham a rest for to-night.”

But just as I was congratulating myself that we had escaped from the painful necessity of putting him off with an evasive answer, if not a deliberate lie, the butler entered and announced that he had shown Mr. Hilderman into the library.

“Well, as we are ready, we had better join him,” said the old man, and we adjourned to the other room.

Now if Hilderman should by any tactless remark betray our strange experience in the afternoon there would be the devil to pay. I followed the General into the library, beckoning to the American with a warning finger on my lip. He saw at once what I meant, fortunately, and held his tongue, and we all talked of general matters for some little time. Then Hilderman took the bull by the horns.

“As a matter of fact, General,” he announced boldly, “I ran over to have a word with Mr. Ewart about a certain matter which is interesting us all. I don’t suppose you wish me to worry you with details at the moment?”

“I should be very glad to hear what you have to tell us, Mr. Hilderman, but unfortunately I—er—I have a few letters I simply must write, so I hope you will excuse me. My daughter is in the drawing-room, so perhaps you fellows would care to join her there. Her counsel will be of more use to you than mine in your deliberations, I have no doubt.”

However, when we looked for her in the drawing-room Myra was not there, and I found her in her den.

“Why not bring him in here?” she asked. “He won’t bite, and it will be more conducive to a free and easy discussion. I should like to hear what he has to say for himself in view of his running away this afternoon, and I shouldn’t feel comfortable in the drawing-room with this shade on. In here I feel that he must just put up with any curiosities he meets.”

So we made ourselves comfortable in the den, and Hilderman sat in a chair by the window.

“Of course, you know what I have come to speak about, Mr. Ewart,” he began at once. “You must have thought my conduct this afternoon was very strange—very unsportsmanlike, to say the least.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied as lightly as I could. “It was a very strange affair, and it rather called for strange conduct of one sort or another.”

“Still, you must have thought it cowardly to run away as quickly as I could,” he insisted.

“It was some time before we even noticed you had left us,” I laughed, “and then, I confess, I couldn’t quite make out where you had got to or why you had gone.”

“As a matter of fact we were rather scared,” Dennis put in. “We searched for you in the river.”

“It sounds a very cowardly confession to make,” Hilderman admitted, “but I went back to the landing-stage, got into my boat, and cleared off as quickly as I could. I must ask you to believe that I was under the impression that it would be best for us all that I should. But my idea proved to be a bad one and nothing came of it. So here I am to ask you if you have learned anything or have anything to suggest.”

“I’m afraid we’re more at a loss than ever now,” I admitted. “The further we get with this thing the less we seem to know about it, unfortunately.”

Hilderman was exceedingly sympathetic, and though he made numerous suggestions he was as puzzled as we were ourselves. I had some difficulty in defining his attitude. We knew as much as was sufficient to hang his friend “Fuller,” but I could not make up my mind whether he really was a friend of von Guernstein’s or not. It was a small thing that decided me. On an occasionable table beside the American lay a steel paper-knife, a Japanese affair, with a carved handle and a very sharp blade. Hilderman picked up the knife and toyed with it.

“I should be careful with that, Mr. Hilderman,” I advised. “That is a wolf in sheep’s clothing; it’s exceedingly sharp.”

“Oh, yes!” cried Myra. “If you mean my paper-knife, it ought not really to be used as a paper-knife at all, the point is like a needle. I must put it away or hang it up as an ornament.”

The American laughed and laid the knife down again on the table, and we resumed our discussion. Both Dennis and I knew that we must be very careful to conceal our suspicions, but at the same time we did our best to reach some sort of conclusion with regard to Hilderman himself.

“And, I suppose, until you have searched about the Saddle,” he remarked, “you will be no further on as to who stole Miss McLeod’s dog. It seems to me that the dog was taken by the man who wished to conceal an illicit still, and the green flash, or green ray, or whatever you call it, is simply a manifestation of some strange electrical combination in the air.”

“I’m afraid we shall have to leave it at that,” I said with an elaborate sigh of regret.

“Not when you have Mr. Burnham’s distinguished powers of deduction to assist you, surely, Mr. Ewart?” said Hilderman, and waited for an answer.

“Flukes are not very consistent things, I fear,” Dennis supplied him readily, “and if we are to make any progress we shall hardly have time for idle speculation.”

“Fortune might continue to favour you,” the American persisted. “Don’t you think it’s worth trying?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Dennis, with a laugh that added emphasis and conviction to his statement.

“By the way,” Myra suggested, “I don’t know if anybody would care for a whisky and soda or anything. I won’t have drinks served in here, but if anybody would like one, you know where everything is, Ron. I always say if anyone wants a drink in my den they can go and get it, and then I know they really like being in the den. You see I’m a woman, Mr. Hilderman,” she laughed.

“I must say I think the idea of refreshment would not enter the head of anyone who had the pleasure of your company here, Miss McLeod, unless you suggested it yourself.”

We laughed at the rather heavy compliment, and I went into the dining-room to fetch the decanters, syphons and glasses.

“I’ll help you to get them,” called Dennis, and followed me out of the room.

“Well?” I asked as soon as we reached the other room. “What do you make of it?”

“I’m not sure,” Dennis admitted. “I’m puzzled. I shouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a Government secret service man keeping an eye on Fuller-von-Guernstein, and that when he has quite made up his mind that the mystery of the green ray is connected with his own business he will show his hand.”

“Something of the same sort occurred to Garnesk,” I said. “Well, at present we’d better avoid suspicion and go back before he thinks we’re holding a committee meeting.”

So I led the way to the den. I was walking carefully and slowly, because I was unaccustomed to carrying trays of glasses and things, and consequently I made no noise. I pushed the door open with my shoulder, Dennis following with a couple of syphons, and as I did so I chanced to glance upwards.

In a large mirror which hung over the fireplace I saw the reflection of Hilderman’s face, knitted in a fierce frown, gazing intently at some object which was outside my view. Myra was talking, though what she was saying I did not notice. I went into the room and put the tray on the big table, and as I filled the glasses I looked round casually to see what Hilderman had been looking at. Lying on the sofa on which Myra was sitting was the copy of the Pictures, open at the page bearing the incriminating photograph!

I mixed Hilderman’s drink according to his instructions—for by this time he had entirely recovered his equanimity—and handed it to him. As I did so I happened to look in the direction of the small table beside him. Myra’s Japanese paper-knife was still there, but the point had been stuck more than an inch into the mahogany top of the table. I turned away quickly, with a laughing remark to Myra, which did not seem to raise any suspicion at the time, though I have no recollection now what it was I said.

A few moments afterwards I quietly and unostentatiously slipped out of the room. Surely there could be no doubt about it now. The whole thing was obvious. Hilderman had noticed the paper, jumped to the conclusion that we suspected everything, and in the sudden access of baffled rage had picked up the paper-knife and stabbed it into the table.

There was only one possible reason for that—Hilderman was an enemy. In that case, I thought, he has come here to try and find out how much we know and to keep an eye on us. Possibly he might be attempting to keep us there so that Fuller could get up to some satanic trick elsewhere. I decided to act at once. I turned back to the den and put my head round the door.

“Will you people excuse me for a bit?” I said lightly. “The General wants me.” And with that I left them. I had almost asked Hilderman not to go till I came back, but I was afraid it might sound suspicious to his acute ears. I hardly knew what to do. I should have liked to have been able to speak with Dennis, if only for a moment. Indeed, I am quite ready to confess that just then I would have given all I possessed for ten minutes’ conversation with my friend. I stole quietly out of the house, and thought furiously.

If Hilderman wanted to keep us from spying on Fuller, where was Fuller? Would I be wiser to wait and try to keep an eye on Hilderman, or was my best plan to ignore him and try and locate his German friend? I decided on the latter course. I went back and wrote a short note to Dennis and slipped it inside his cap.

“I’m convinced they are both enemies. Take care of Myra. I may be out all night. Don’t let her worry about me; I may not be back for some time, but I shall come back all right.—R.”

I left this for my friend, knowing that sooner or later he would find it, and went down to the landing-stage. The Baltimore II. and Myra’s boat, the Jenny Spinner, were drawn up alongside, and I realised that if I took the Jenny I should be raising Hilderman’s suspicions at once.