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round.
"I'm an outlaw, Erik," he said. "You know that.
But in the end I don't do a lot of harm. You know that, too. Chief Inspector
Teal, who's on his way here now, knows it but he has his duty to do. That's
what he's paid for. And he has such a nasty suspicious mind, wherever I'm
around, that he couldn't come in here and see your brother as things
are without finding a way to want me for murder. And that would all be very
troublesome."
"But I can tell him------"
"That it wasn't my fault. I know. But that wouldn't cover what I did last
night. I want you to say more than that."
The man did not speak, and Simon went on: "You look like Nordsten. Youare
Nordsten with another first name. With a bit of good food and exercise, it'd
be hard for anyone to tell the difference who didn't know Ivar very well; and
from the look ofthings I shouldn't think he encouraged very many people', to
know him well. You were intended to take his place eventually why not now?"
Erik Nordsten's breath came in a jerk.
"You mean------"
"I mean you are Nordsten!You've suffered for him. You've paid for anything
you may get out of it a thousand times over. And you're dead. You've been dead
for two years. Now you've got another life open for you to step into. You can
run his business honestly, or break it up and sell out whichever you like.
I'll give you all the help I can. Nordsten got me here thinking I was Vickery,
who's a very clever forger to forge national bonds for him. I suppose he was
going to deposit them in banks to raise the capital to take over new business.
Well, I won't forge for you  I couldn't do it, anyhow but I'll lend you money
and get my dividend out of this that way. What you do in return is to swear
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white, black, and coloured that you met me in Bond Street at two o'clock
yesterday morning and brought me straight down here, and I've been with you
ever since. That's the repayment you can make,Ivar  and you've got about
thirty seconds to make up your mind whether you care to foot the bill!"
X
STILL holding his seething wrath grimly in both hands, Chief Inspector Claud
Eustace Teal tramped stolidly up the steps to the front door of Hawk Lodge and
jabbed his thumb on the bell. It is not easy for any stranger to find a house
on St. George's Hill, especially at night; for that aristocratic address
consists of a large area of ground on which nameless roads are laid out with
the haphazard abandon of a maze, connecting cunningly hidden residences which
are far too exclusive to deface their gates with numbers. Sergeant Barrow had
lost his way several times, and the delays had not helped Mr. Teal with his
job of two-handed wrath-clutching. But during the ride he had managed it
somehow; and it was very unfortunate that he had so little time to consolidate
his self-control.
In a very few seconds the door was opened, and Teal pushed past the butler
unceremoniously. It would not be true to say that Mr. Teal's heart was
singing, but at least he had not yet plumbed the most abysmal caverns of
despair.
"I want to see Mr. Vickery," he said; and the butler turned from the door.
"My name is Vickery, sir," he replied.
A spectral shade of ripe muscatel infused itself slowly into the detective's
round ruddy face. His eyes protruded slowly, as if they were being grad ually
inflated by a very small air pump. The wob-blings of his rotund body were
invisible beneath his clothes, but even without those symptoms there was
something about his general aspect which suggested that a piece of tinder laid
on his brow would have burst instantly into flame. When at last vocal
expression could no longer be denied, his voice cracked. He practically
squeaked.
"What?"
"Vickery, sir," repeated the butler. "My name is Vickery."
Mr. Teal had been looking at him more closely.
"Your name is Trusaneff," he said. "You did three years at Parkhurst for
robbery with violence."
"Yes, sir," said the butler respectfully. "Nevertheless, sir, I have changed
my name to Vickery."
Teal glowered past him at a man with a scarred face who was lounging at the
other end of the hall.
"And I supposehis name is Vickery, too?" he said scorchingly.
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The butler looked round and nodded.
"Yes, sir. His name is also Vickery."
"How many more Vickerys are there in this house?" Teal howled, with his brain
beginning to reel.
"Three, sir," said the butler imperturbably. "Everyone in this house is
called Vickery, with the exception of Mr. Nordsten. Even the kitchen-maid," he
added with a sigh, "is now known as Vickery. It is highly confusing."
Something that would have made a self-preservative rattlesnake wriggle away
to hide itself down the nearest length of gas pipe welled into the detective's
bulging glare. There was a strange springy sensation in his legs, as if they
had been separately hitched onto two powerful steam tractors and
simultaneously extended in all directions, It was, as we have already
admitted, very unfortunate. It gave Mr. Teal no chance. He ploughed on
doggedly; but his hold on his temper was never again the firm commanding grip
of a heavyweight wrestler subduing a recalcitrant urchin it was more akin to
the frantic clutch on the pants of a man whose suspenders have come apart.
"I'll see Mr. Nordsten," he announced gratingly; and the saturnine butler
bowed.
"This way, sir."
He led the simmering detective to the library; and Mr. Teal followed him in
and looked the room over with a pair of eyes in which the habitual affectation
of sleepiness had to be induced with a bludgeon. Two men were sitting there,
smoking cigars. One of them was a pale and tired-looking Ivar Nordsten Teal,
who made it his business to have at least a sight acquaintance with every
important man in the country, had no difficulty in recognizing him the other
man called for no effort of recognition.
"Good-evening, sir," Teal said curtly to Nordsten; and then he looked at the
Saint. "You're also Vickery, I take it?"
The Saint smiled. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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