The Red Room. Le Queux William
the face, said:
“Please don’t run away with the idea that I’m a detective, Mr Holford. I am not. I have no connection whatever with the police, whom, I may tell you, I hold in contempt. There’s far too much red-tape at Scotland Yard, which binds the men hand and foot and prevents them doing any real good work. Look at the serious crimes committed in London during the past three years to the perpetrators of which the police have no clue! The whole police system in London is wrong. There’s too much observation upon the speed of motor-cars and too little latitude allowed the police for inquiry into criminal cases.”
“Then you are not a police officer?” I asked, for within the last few hours I had become suspicious that such was the fact.
“No, I am not. The reason I am inquiring into the death of Professor Greer is because, for the sake of my own reputation, and in order to clear myself of any stigma upon me, I must ascertain the truth.”
“And only for that reason?” I queried.
He hesitated.
“Well – and for another – another which must remain a confidential matter with myself,” he replied at length. “The Professor was in possession of a certain secret, and my belief is that this secret was stolen from him and his mouth afterwards closed by the thief.”
“Why?”
“Because, had the unfortunate man spoken, certain complications, very serious complications, involving huge losses, would have accrued. So there was only one way – to kill poor Greer! But the manner in which this was accomplished is still an absolute enigma.”
“Has it not struck you that the telegram sent from Edinburgh may have been despatched by the assassin?” I asked.
But he was uncertain. He had as yet, he said, formed no theory as to that portion of the problem.
“Where is the unfortunate girl?” I asked, for I had noticed that she was not in the dining-room.
He looked at me quickly, with a strange expression in his peculiar eyes.
“She’s still here, of course,” he declared. “That second phase of the mystery is as complicated as the first – perhaps even more so. Come with me a moment.”
I followed him through the boudoir and into the study, where, opening a long cupboard in the wall, a small iron safe was revealed, the door of which opened at his touch.
“Here,” he explained, “the Professor kept the valuable notes upon the results of his experiments. The safe was closed when I first called, but this morning I found it open, and the contents gone!”
“Then the person who killed Professor Greer was not the thief!” I remarked.
“Unless he returned here afterwards,” was Kirk’s reply, with his eyes fixed upon mine.
Then he glanced at his watch, and without a word turned upon his heel and passed out of the room.
Chapter Six
A Further Mystery
I stood awaiting his return for a few moments, and then followed him out upon the landing, where my feet fell noiselessly upon the thick Turkey carpet. Almost opposite, across the open staircase, I could see into the large drawing-room, and there, to my amazement, I saw Kirk raising and lowering one of the blinds.
He was making the same signal to someone outside in the park as that made by the Professor before his death!
I slipped back to the study, much puzzled, but in a few moments he returned, smiling and affable.
What signal had he made – and to whom? It was foggy outside, therefore the watcher must have been in the close vicinity.
Antonio appeared at the door, whereupon Kirk gave the manservant certain instructions regarding the payment and discharge of the servants. Apparently one of them had returned and asked for her wages in lieu of notice.
“Be liberal with them,” urged my companion. “We don’t want any grumbling. There is no suspicion as yet, and liberality will disarm it.”
“Very well, signore,” replied the man, “I will pay them all and get rid of them as soon as possible.”
“Yes, at once,” Kirk snapped, and the man went down the stairs.
“Well,” I asked, after he was out of hearing, “what do you intend doing now?”
“I never set out any line of action. In such a case as this any such method is folly,” he replied.
“But at least you will do something with the bodies of the victims? They must be buried,” I exclaimed, for the gruesomeness of it all was now preying upon me. This was the first time that I had ever been implicated in a murder mystery —and such a mystery!
“The disposal of the bodies is my own affair, Mr Holford,” he said quietly. “Leave that to me. As far as the world knows, Professor Greer and his daughter are away visiting.”
“But Lady Mellor! Is she not anxious regarding her niece’s whereabouts?”
“Lady Mellor is on the Riviera. Her house in Upper Brook Street is in charge of servants, therefore she is unaware that anything extraordinary has transpired.”
“Your only confidant is Antonio?”
“And your own self,” he added. “But have I not already impressed upon you, my dear friend, the absolute necessity of secrecy in this affair?”
“You have given me no actual reason,” I demurred.
“Because certain circumstances bind me to secrecy,” was his reply. “From what I have already told you I dare say you have gathered that I am no ordinary individual. I am vested by a high authority with a power which other men do not possess, and in this case I am compelled to exercise it.”
He saw the look of disbelief upon my countenance.
“Ah,” he laughed, “I see you doubt me! Well, I am not surprised; I should do so were I in your place. But, believe me or not, Mr Holford, you will lose nothing, by assisting me in this affair and performing a secret service for the high authority who must be nameless, but whose trusted agent I am – even though the onus of this strange tragedy may be cast upon me.”
“The whole affair is a mystery,” I remarked – “an inscrutable mystery.”
“Yes,” he sighed, “one that has been rendered a hundredfold more inscrutable by a discovery made to-day – the discovery which prevented me calling upon you at eleven o’clock. But remain patient, trust in me, assist me when I desire assistance, and it will, I promise, be well worth your while.”
For a moment I was silent. Then, a trifle annoyed, I answered:
“My legitimate profession of motor engineer pays me quite well, and I think I prefer, with your permission, to retire from this affair altogether.”
“What!” he exclaimed. “After giving me your promise – your word as a gentleman! Can’t you see, my friend, that you can assist in furthering the ends of justice – in fastening the guilt upon the assassin?”
“That, I maintain, should be left to the police.”
“Bah! The police in this case would be powerless. The problem is for us, you and I, to solve, and by the exercise of patience and watchfulness we shall, I hope, be able to elucidate the mystery.
“The inquiries may carry us far afield; I have a keen presentiment that they will. Therefore if I am suddenly absent do not trouble on my account. My silence will mean that I am watchful and active. When I am abroad I make a point of receiving no letters, therefore do not write. I always communicate with my friends through the advertisement columns of the Times. To you I shall be ‘Silence.’
“Take the paper daily and watch for any message I may send you. You have a car outside, I suppose? I wonder whether you would take me to Tottenham Court Road?” he asked.
Thereupon we went below, and after a whispered conversation with Antonio, who was