The Clue of the Silver Key - Edgar Wallace (read e book txt) 📗
- Author: Edgar Wallace
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and scrambled out on to the wet road. The chauffeur was already standing
by the bonnet, staring at the car stupidly. ‘I’m very sorry, miss,’ he
said huskily.’ I’ll have to telephone for another car from town. Perhaps
this gentleman will take you into Welwyn.’
The second car, in avoiding which the accident had occurred, was behind
them. Mary walked towards it as the driver got down from his seat. His
coat collar was turned up, and she could not see his face.
‘Had an accident?’ he asked gruffly.
The chauffeur came forward.
‘Will you drive us into Welwyn?’ he asked. ‘I’ve smashed my near side
front wheel.’
‘You’d better wait with the car. I’ll drive the lady; it’s only a couple
of miles ahead,’ said the other. ‘Go on, miss, jump in; I’ll drop you in
the town and send back a breakdown gang for the car.’
This arrangement apparently suited the chauffeur, and Mary followed the
motorist and, when he opened the door of his car, entered without any
misgivings. He walked round the back of the car, got in by the other
door, and sat by her side. She could not see his face; his collar was
still turned up. As he started the engine and moved on she thought she
heard him laugh, and wondered what there was amusing in the situation.
‘It’s very good of you to take me,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid the accident
was our fault.’
He did not reply for a moment, but at last: ‘Accidents will happen,’ he
said sententiously.
They went two or three hundred yards along the road, and then suddenly
the car turned left. She knew roughly the position of Welwyn, knew enough
at any rate to realize that they were going away from the town.
‘Haven’t you made a mistake?’ she asked.
‘No.’ His reply was short and gruff, but it aroused in her no more than a
sense of resentment.
From the second road they turned into a third, a narrow lane which ran
roughly parallel with the main road. It skirted some big estate; high
trees banked up one side of the lane, and a wire fence cut the estate
from the road. The car slowed, and as they came abreast of the white
gate, stopped. The driver turned so that the headlights searched the gate
and revealed its flimsy character. Without hesitation he sent the car
jerking forward, crashing one of the lights and sending the gate into
splinters.
Beyond was a fairly smooth gravel road, and up this the car sped.
‘Where are we going?’ A cold chill was at the girl’s heart; an
understanding of her danger set her trembling from head to foot. Binny
did not reply till they had gone a hundred yards. He found an opening
between the trees on the right, set the car in that direction, and jolted
on for another fifty yards. Then he stopped. ‘What is the meaning of
this?’ she asked.
‘You’re a very nice young lady, a very sweet young lady. Charmed to meet
you again in such romantic circumstances.’
As she heard that mincing, affected voice she almost fainted. Binny! The
horror of her discovery came to her with full force, as he went on:
‘Friend of Mr Allenby’s—fiancee, aren’t you, young lady? And a friend of
my dear friend, Surefoot Smith.’
She reached out for the door handle and tried to rise, but he threw her
back.
‘I’ve had several ideas about you. The first was that nobody would stop
me if they saw me driving with a lady. Then it struck me that I was being
optimistic. The second thought that occurred to me, my dear, was that you
might be of great assistance to me. And the third thought, my sweet young
thing, was that, if the worst came to the worst—they can only hang you
once, you know, whatever you do. Not that they will hang me,’ he went on
quickly, ‘I’m too clever for them. Now we’ll get out and see where we
are.’
He leaned over her, pushed open the door and, catching her by the arm,
guided her to the ground.
Just before she had left the hotel the porter had handed her a bundle of
letters. She had thrust them into her pocket, and as she stepped from the
car she remembered them. She drew one from her pocket and dropped it on
the ground.
Binny had retained the torch he had taken from the policeman, and with
the aid of this they found their way through the plantation. ‘You and I
will find another car.’
He chatted pleasantly, and even in her terror she could find time to
wonder how he could return to the character of Washington Wirth. It was
grotesque, unbelievable, like a bad ream.
‘I am a man of infinite resource,’ he went on, never releasing his grip
of her arm.’ For hundreds of years they will talk about Binny, just as
today they talk about Jack Sheppard. And the wonderful thing about it is
that I shall end my life quietly, as a respectable member of society.
Possibly be a town councillor or a mayor in a colonial town—a pleasing
prospect and a part that I could act!’
It was at this point she dropped her third letter. She must husband her
trail; the supply of letters was not inexhaustible. She dropped her
fourth as they started to cross the corner of a field. All the time he
kept up his incessant babble.
‘You need have no qualms, my dear young lady. No harm will come to
you—for the moment. Whilst you are alive, I am alive! You are a
hostage—that is the word, isn’t it?’
She made no reply. The first feeling of panic had worn off. She could
only speculate upon what would happen at the last, when this desperate
man was in a corner and she was at his mercy.
Before them loomed against the night sky the outlines of a big house.
They came to a lawn surrounded by an iron fence and, walking parallel
with this, they reached an open gateway and a paved yard.
Once or twice there had been a lull in his monologue. He had stopped to
listen. It was a very still night; the sound of distant rumbling trains,
the whine of cars passing along the highway came to them distinctly. He
was apparently satisfied, for he made no comment. Now, as they passed
into a tiled yard, lie stopped again and listened, turning his head
backwards. As he did so he saw the flash of a light—only for the fraction
of a second, and then it disappeared. It seemed to come from the
plantation they had left. He had left his car lights burning—was that it?
He moved left and right a few paces, and did not see the light again.
The possibility that there were gamekeepers in the wood now occurred to
him. It was obviously a covert of some kind, the lower part of the fence
was made of wire netting.
He never once released his hold of the girl. She felt the tenseness of
the moment and held her breath. Then, without a word, he guided her into
the yard, and now she observed that he used his torch with greater
caution. There were stables here; two of the half doors were wide open
and hung on broken hinges. There was no need to make any further
investigation; the house to which the stables were attached was
unoccupied.
They came to what was evidently a kitchen door and found a small,
weather-stained notice.
‘Keys at Messrs Thurlow, Welwyn.’
There was a long casement window at the back of the house. Binny pushed
the barrel of his gun through two panes, groped for the catch and,
finding it, pulled it open. ‘Get in—‘he began, and at that moment he was
caught in a circle of blinding light.
From somewhere in the yard a powerful light was turned on him, and a
voice he hated said: ‘Don’t move, Binny!’
It was Surefoot Smith. For a second he stood, paralysed, his arm still
clasping the girl’s. Suddenly he jerked her before him, his arm round her
waist. ‘If you come anywhere near me I’ll shoot,’ he said, and she felt
the cold barrel of a gun glide along her neck.
‘What’s the good of being silly, Binny?’ Surefoot’s voice was almost
caressing. They could not see him in the glare of the light that he or
somebody held. ‘Stand your trial like a man. It’s fifty-fifty we’ve got
nothing on you.’
‘You haven’t, eh?’ snarled Binny. ‘That dog doesn’t fight, Smith. You
take your men and clear them out of this place. Give me an hour, and I’ll
leave this baby without hurting her. Come any closer and I’ll blow her
head off—and then you’ll have something on me. It won’t be fifty-fifty
either.’
There was a long pause, and the girl heard the low voices of men in
conversation. ‘All right,’ said Surefoot at last. ‘I’ll give you an hour,
but you’ll hand over the girl right away.’
Binny laughed harshly.
‘Am I a child? I’ll leave her when I’m safe. You go back to where you
came, and—’
That was all he said. The silent-footed man who had worked round behind
him struck swiftly with a rubber truncheon. The girl had only time to
swing herself clear before he crumpled and fell.
The chauffeur of the wrecked car had been in luck. Hardly had Binny
disappeared before another car came into sight, and the chauffeur begged
a lift into Welwyn. Less than a mile along the road they ran into a
police barrage and he told his story. He gave valuable information, for
he had seen the light of Binny’s car turn from the road.
‘Practically you were never out of sight, from the moment you left the
plantation,’ said Surefoot. ‘The broken gate gave him away, and he left
the lights of his car burning. It was easy, even without the trail of
letters you left. Very scientific, but we didn’t need them!’
The arrest and conviction of Binny had a demoralizing effect on Surefoot
Smith. On the day this wholesale murderer stood on the trap in
Pentonville Prison, Surefoot departed from the rule of a lifetime,
refused all beer and drank spirits. As he explained to Dick Allenby:
‘If ever there was a day to get soused—that was the day!’
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