Chapter 33 A Question Of Red Hair

MR. SNACKLIT IGNORED the garden incident, and its effect upon her, which he could not have failed to observe. He said, "Miss Thurlow, you will be interested to hear that the right case has now been collected, and that incident may be considered closed. What I want to know is what your part in the matter has been."

"I have told you that already. What I want to know is why you have kept me here, which you must know that you have no right to do."

"Considering how you followed me, and how you made an excuse which it was impossible to believe, you can hardly complain if I wished to check your statement on the one point on which it was capable of confirmation, before deciding whether you should be handed over to the police. You must remember that I've only your own word - which I have no reason to trust - that you are Miss Thurlow at all."

"Well, you've had your confirmation now, so there's no more to be said."

"On the contrary, there is a great deal. If you will give me a full and convincing account of what your connection with this matter has been, and at whose suggestion you were following me in the way you did, it may be important for you."

"I'm not going over it all again, if you mean that."

"Then you will be a very foolish young woman."

"I'll tell you one thing. The police know where I am. They may be here any minute now."

"I see no reason to believe that."

"Well, it's true, anyway. They have the number of your car."It was an unfortunate attempt to impress by particularity. The man's eyes were derisively contemptuous as he replied: "Very well. They've got the number of the car. Now while they're on the way here perhaps you'll tell me why you were following it in the way you did."

She did not attempt to repeat her previous evasion that his car had been the faster vehicle. She said boldly, "I did it to find out where you were taking the wrong case."

"And why were you doing that?"

"Mr. Kindell asked me to, while he took the right one to the house."

"And who may he be?"

"He's something to do with the police."

"That's what you meant when you said the police had got the number of my car?"

"Yes. It's true. And they won't be long in finding their way here. You may be sure of that."

Her answers had been intended to alarm him in such a way as would be likely to conduce to her own safety, for she had become in deadly fear since she had looked out of the window - a fear made more acute by the belief that Snacklit knew now much she had seen.

She was partially successful. The man became silent, mentally weighing the implications of what he did not doubt to have been truly spoken. He did not like it. He hated mention of the police. So far, however numerous his crimes may have been, he had never been even questioned. Never suspected at all. That must be his greatest asset now. The police would not be likely to turn their eyes in his direction. If they were invited to do so by others, they would soon be satisfied and turn them away. That was, if this girl did not exist. She had become a mortal danger to him. Only her destruction - literal destruction of every bone in her body - could bring safety to him.

As to the car - she did not know that the number it had borne belonged to another of the same kind. (Neither did he know of the promptness of the police discovery that that car could not be the one that had been used by him.) But he saw clearly that the time for circumspection had gone. If suspicions sooner or later, were to be directed upon him, the essential matter was that all manner of evidence should be swept away. And at once. . . . The girl who had brought Irene's tea was at the door again, "If you please, sir, you're wanted on the telephone, most particular."

"Any name?"

"It's something about a terrier with a bad ear."

Snacklit rose at once. That was a code phrase which was never used except to convey a message from Professor Blinkwell himself, and of an exceptional urgency.

"Kate," he said, "I shall only be away for a few minutes. You must stay here till I come back. Meanwhile, this young lady will remain. If she should attempt to leave the room, you will call Billson at once."

He hurried out.

She looked at the girl. A hard face, though comely with youth and health. It was her one chance. Good or bad, she must try. And there was no time for a slow approach. She said, "You can't all be murderers here."

The girl seemed to be startled for a moment, and then controlled herself, and looked at Irene with curiosity.

"Murderers?" she echoed. "I don't know what you mean. It's a dogs' home. They kill lots of them."

"And taxi-drivers?"

"Taxi-drivers?" the girl repeated. She stared in what appeared to be genuine bewilderment.

"Anyway, they killed one in the last hour. I saw them wheel his body across the garden and take it through the door on the

"That would be from the yard. It sounds silly. They couldn't have put him to sleep there."

"I didn't say they did. They might have killed him some other way."

"I expect he was just drunk."

"And covered up, head and all, with a great rug? I tell you he was a dead man."

"Well, anyway, it's no business of ours."

"It's very much my business. He was the man who drove me here. . . . I'll give you fifty pounds if you'll get me out before he comes back."

"I shouldn't think it worth while. I should get sacked more likely than not. I've got a good job here."

"Suppose I say eighty?"

"I can see it first?"

"I haven't got it here. If you come with me to Grosvenor Gardens I'll give it to you at once."

"We couldn't get away without being seen. And after that, money wouldn't be much use to me."

"Isn't it worth trying?"

The girl stared at her with expressionless eyes. It was impossible to tell what she thought. Irene controlled herself to silence till she should hear her reply. Till she had it, she felt it hard to guess what further argument would avail.

"You're sure they killed him?" the girl asked at last.

"He was alive when he drove me here."

"I daresay they did. They kill beautiful dogs. Mr. Snacklit likes doing that."

"We're losing time, If we're going - - "

"It's not that simple, Miss. There's Billson too - - Was

Billson one of them two?"

"I don't know who Billson is."

"Did one of them have red hair?"

"I didn't notice; but I don't think so."

"I'd like to hear what he says."

The girl went to the door and gave a shrill whistle. A moment later a man came into the room, showing a close-cropped head of red hair and a sharp-nosed foxy face.

"Bill" the girl said, with a familiarity which was equally evident in his manner to her, "this lady says a taxi-driver's been killed in the yard, and they've just burnt his body. I've told her that, if they did, it was nothing to do with you."

The man did not appear to regard this statement as incredible, but, unless he were an exceptionally good actor, it was a surprising item of news.

"I hadn't heard tell of that," he said. "The master told me to stay by the stairs, and not let anyone go down unless he came along with them."

"This young lady says she'll give me eighty pounds if I'll let her out.

"Or a hundred," Irene interrupted quickly, "if you're sharing between you."

The man looked at her sharply. "You'd like to get out," he asked, "to make trouble for us? That'll have to be what the master says."

"There's plenty of trouble coming," Irene replied, "whether I get out or not. But I shouldn't make any for you. I might save your life."

"I'd like to know how you'd do that?"

"By saying that I saw the two men who'd got the taxidriver's body, and that neither of them had red hair."

"I don't know that anyone's been killed. It sounds just a tale to me."

"Well; it isn't. You'll find somebody's going to get hanged. More than one, I expect. But I don't want anyone to get hanged for murdering me."

The man looked at her speculatively. It had become obvious that he believed her tale, and was considering whether it would be best for himself that he should remain loyal to his employer or purchase the immunity she had offered at the price of assisting her to escape.

But as he hesitated Snacklit re-entered the room.