Read Online (1929) The Three Just Men by Edgar Wallace - Free Book Online
Authors: Edgar Wallace
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so very terrible at close range. If you want to complain to the police—”
“Meadows is outside. I persuaded him to let me see you first,” said Leon, and Newton started.
“Outside?” incredulously.
In two strides he was at the window and had pulled aside the blind. On the other side of the street a man was standing on the edge of the sidewalk, intently surveying the gutter. He knew him at once.
“Well, bring him in,” he said.
“Where has this young lady gone? That is ail I want to know.”
“She has gone home, I tell you.”
Leon went to the door and beckoned Meadows; they spoke together in low tones, and then Meadows entered the room and was greeted with a stiff nod from the owner of the house.
“What’s the idea of this, Meadows—sending this bird to cross-examine me?”
“This bird came on his own,” said Meadows coldly, “if you mean Mr. Gonsalez? I have no right to prevent any person from cross-examining you. Where is the young lady?”
“I tell you, she has gone home. If you don’t believe me, search the house—either of you.”
He was not bluffing: Leon was sure of that. He turned to the detective.
“I personally have no wish to trouble this gentleman any more.”
He was leaving the room when, from over his shoulder: “That snake is busy again, Newton.”
“What snake are you talking about?”
“He killed a man to-night on the Thames Embankment. I hope it will not spoil Lisa Marthon’s evening.”
Meadows, watching the man, saw him change colour.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said loudly.
“You arranged with Lisa to pick up Barberton to-night and get him talking. And there she is, poor girl, all dressed to kill, and only a dead man to vamp—only a murdered man.” He turned suddenly, and his voice grew hard. “That is a good word, isn’t it, Newton—murder?”
“I didn’t know anything about it.”
As Newton’s hand came towards the bell: “We can show ourselves out,” said Leon.
He shut the door behind him, and presently there was a slam of the outer door, Monty got to the window too late to see his unwelcome guests depart, and went up to his room to change, more than a little perturbed in mind.
The footman called him from the hall.
“I’m sorry about that affair, sir. I thought it was a ‘busy’.”
“You think too much, Fred”—Newton threw the words down at his servitor with a snarl. “Go back to your place—which is the servants’ hall. I’ll ring you if I want you.”
He resumed his progress up the stairs and the man turned sullenly away.
He opened the door of his room, switched on the light, had closed the door and was half-way to his dressing-table, when an arm like steel closed round his neck, he was jerked suddenly backward on to the floor, and looked up into the inscrutable face of Gonsalez.
“Shout and you die!” whispered a voice in his ear.
Newton lay quiet.
“I’ll fix you for this,” he stammered.
The other shook his head.
“I think not, if by ‘fixing’ me you mean you’re going to complain to the police. You’ve been under my watchful eye for quite a long time, Monty Newton, and you’ll be amazed to learn that I’ve made several visits to your house. There is a little wall safe behind that curtain”—he nodded towards the corner of the room—“would you be surprised to learn that I’ve had the door open and every one of its documentary contents photographed?”
He saw the fear in the man’s eyes as he snapped a pair of aluminium handcuffs of curious design about Monty’s wrists. With hardly an effort he lifted him, heavy as he was, threw him on the bed, and, having locked the door, returned, and, sitting on the bed, proceeded first to strap his ankles and then leisurely to take off his prisoner’s shoes.
“What are you going to do?” asked Monty in alarm.
“I intend finding out where Miss Leicester has been taken,” said Gonsalez, who had stripped one shoe and, pulling off the silken sock,
“Meadows is outside. I persuaded him to let me see you first,” said Leon, and Newton started.
“Outside?” incredulously.
In two strides he was at the window and had pulled aside the blind. On the other side of the street a man was standing on the edge of the sidewalk, intently surveying the gutter. He knew him at once.
“Well, bring him in,” he said.
“Where has this young lady gone? That is ail I want to know.”
“She has gone home, I tell you.”
Leon went to the door and beckoned Meadows; they spoke together in low tones, and then Meadows entered the room and was greeted with a stiff nod from the owner of the house.
“What’s the idea of this, Meadows—sending this bird to cross-examine me?”
“This bird came on his own,” said Meadows coldly, “if you mean Mr. Gonsalez? I have no right to prevent any person from cross-examining you. Where is the young lady?”
“I tell you, she has gone home. If you don’t believe me, search the house—either of you.”
He was not bluffing: Leon was sure of that. He turned to the detective.
“I personally have no wish to trouble this gentleman any more.”
He was leaving the room when, from over his shoulder: “That snake is busy again, Newton.”
“What snake are you talking about?”
“He killed a man to-night on the Thames Embankment. I hope it will not spoil Lisa Marthon’s evening.”
Meadows, watching the man, saw him change colour.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said loudly.
“You arranged with Lisa to pick up Barberton to-night and get him talking. And there she is, poor girl, all dressed to kill, and only a dead man to vamp—only a murdered man.” He turned suddenly, and his voice grew hard. “That is a good word, isn’t it, Newton—murder?”
“I didn’t know anything about it.”
As Newton’s hand came towards the bell: “We can show ourselves out,” said Leon.
He shut the door behind him, and presently there was a slam of the outer door, Monty got to the window too late to see his unwelcome guests depart, and went up to his room to change, more than a little perturbed in mind.
The footman called him from the hall.
“I’m sorry about that affair, sir. I thought it was a ‘busy’.”
“You think too much, Fred”—Newton threw the words down at his servitor with a snarl. “Go back to your place—which is the servants’ hall. I’ll ring you if I want you.”
He resumed his progress up the stairs and the man turned sullenly away.
He opened the door of his room, switched on the light, had closed the door and was half-way to his dressing-table, when an arm like steel closed round his neck, he was jerked suddenly backward on to the floor, and looked up into the inscrutable face of Gonsalez.
“Shout and you die!” whispered a voice in his ear.
Newton lay quiet.
“I’ll fix you for this,” he stammered.
The other shook his head.
“I think not, if by ‘fixing’ me you mean you’re going to complain to the police. You’ve been under my watchful eye for quite a long time, Monty Newton, and you’ll be amazed to learn that I’ve made several visits to your house. There is a little wall safe behind that curtain”—he nodded towards the corner of the room—“would you be surprised to learn that I’ve had the door open and every one of its documentary contents photographed?”
He saw the fear in the man’s eyes as he snapped a pair of aluminium handcuffs of curious design about Monty’s wrists. With hardly an effort he lifted him, heavy as he was, threw him on the bed, and, having locked the door, returned, and, sitting on the bed, proceeded first to strap his ankles and then leisurely to take off his prisoner’s shoes.
“What are you going to do?” asked Monty in alarm.
“I intend finding out where Miss Leicester has been taken,” said Gonsalez, who had stripped one shoe and, pulling off the silken sock,
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