Parker Pyne Investigates by Agatha Christie
‘Mine is Clegg–Freda Clegg.’
Ten minutes later, Freda was sipping hot coffee and looking gratefully across a small table at her rescuer.
‘It seems like a dream,’ she said. ‘A bad dream.’ She shuddered. ‘And only a short while ago I was wishing for something to happen–anything! Oh, I don’t like adventures.’
‘Tell me how it happened.’
‘Well, to tell you properly I shall have to talk a lot about myself, I’m afraid.’
‘An excellent subject,’ said Wilbraham, with a bow.
‘I am an orphan. My father–he was a sea captain–died when I was eight. My mother died three years ago. I work in the city. I am with the Vacuum Gas Company–a clerk. One evening last week I found a gentleman waiting to see me when I returned to my lodgings. He was a lawyer, a Mr Reid from Melbourne.
‘He was very polite and asked me several questions about my family. He explained that he had known my father many years ago. In fact, he had transacted some legal business for him. Then he told me the object of his visit. “Miss Clegg,” he said, “I have reason to suppose that you might benefit as the result of a financial transaction entered into by your father several years before he died.” I was very much surprised, of course.
‘“It is unlikely that you would ever have heard anything of the matter,” he explained. “John Clegg never took the affair seriously, I fancy. However, it has materialized unexpectedly, but I am afraid any claim you might put in would depend on your ownership of certain papers. These papers would be part of your father’s estate, and of course it is possible that they have been destroyed as worthless. Have you kept any of your father’s papers?”
‘I explained that my mother had kept various things of my father’s in an old sea chest. I had looked through it cursorily, but had discovered nothing of interest.
‘“You would hardly be likely to recognize the importance of these documents, perhaps,” he said, smiling.
‘Well, I went to the chest, took out the few papers it contained and brought them to him. He looked at them, but said it was impossible to say off-hand what might or might not be connected with the matter in question. He would take them away with him and would communicate with me if anything turned up.
‘By the last post on Saturday I received a letter from him in which he suggested that I come to his house to discuss the matter. He gave me the address: Whitefriars, Friars Lane, Hampstead. I was to be there at a quarter to eleven this morning.
‘I was a little late finding the place. I hurried through the gate and up towards the house, when suddenly those two dreadful men sprang at me from the bushes. I hadn’t time to cry out. One man put his hand over my mouth. I wrenched my head free and screamed for help. Luckily you heard me. If it hadn’t been for you–’ She stopped. Her looks were more eloquent than further words.
‘Very glad I happened to be on the spot. By Gad, I’d like to get hold of those two brutes. You’d never seen them before, I suppose?’
She shook her head. ‘What do you think it means?’
‘Difficult to say. But one thing seems pretty sure. There’s something someone wants among your father’s papers. This man Reid told you a cock-and-bull story so as to get the opportunity of looking through them. Evidently what he wanted wasn’t there.’
‘Oh!’ said Freda. ‘I wonder. When I got home on Saturday I thought my things had been tampered with. To tell you the truth, I suspected my landlady of having pried about in my room out of curiosity. But now–’
‘Depend upon it, that’s it. Someone gained admission to your room and searched it, without finding what he was after. He suspected that you knew the value of this paper, whatever it was, and that you carried it about on your person. So he planned this ambush. If you had it with you, it would have been taken from you. If not, you would have been held prisoner while he tried to make you tell where it was hidden.’
‘But what can it possibly be?’ cried Freda.
‘I don’t know. But it must be something pretty good for him to go to this length.’
‘It doesn’t seem possible.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Your father was a sailor. He went to out-of-the-way places. He might have come across something the value of which he never knew.’
‘Do you really think so?’ A pink flush of excitement showed in the girl’s pale cheeks.
‘I do indeed. The question is, what shall we do next? You don’t want to go to the police, I suppose?’
‘Oh, no, please.’
‘I’m glad you say that. I don’t see what good the police could do, and it would only mean unpleasantness for you. Now I suggest that you allow me to give you lunch somewhere and that I then accompany you back to your lodgings, so as to be sure you reach them safely. And then, we might have a look for the paper. Because, you know, it must be somewhere.’
‘Father may have destroyed it himself.’
‘He may, of course, but the other side evidently doesn’t think so, and that looks hopeful for us.’
‘What do you think it can be? Hidden treasure?’
‘By jove, it might be!’ exclaimed Major Wilbraham, all the boy in him rising joyfully to the suggestion. ‘But now, Miss Clegg, lunch!’
They had a pleasant meal together. Wilbraham told Freda all about his life in East Africa. He described elephant hunts, and the girl was thrilled. When they had finished, he insisted on taking her home in a taxi.
Her lodgings were near Notting Hill Gate. On arriving there, Freda had a brief conversation with her landlady. She returned to Wilbraham and took him up to the second floor, where she had a tiny bedroom and sitting-room.
‘It’s exactly as we thought,’ she said. ‘A man came on Saturday morning to see about laying a new electric cable; he told her there was a fault in the wiring in my room. He was there some time.’
‘Show me this chest of your father’s,’ said Wilbraham.
Freda showed him a brass-bound box. ‘You see,’ she said, raising the lid, ‘it’s empty.’
The soldier nodded thoughtfully. ‘And there are no papers anywhere else?’
‘I’m sure there aren’t. Mother kept everything in here.’
Wilbraham examined the inside of the chest. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation. ‘Here’s a slit in the lining.’ Carefully he inserted his hand, feeling about. A slight crackle rewarded him. ‘Something’s slipped down behind.’
In another minute he had drawn out his find. A piece of dirty paper folded several times. He smoothed it out on the table; Freda was looking over his shoulder. She uttered an exclamation of disappointment.
‘It’s just a lot of queer marks.’
‘Why, the thing’s in Swahili. Swahili, of all things!’ cried Major Wilbraham. ‘East African native dialect, you know.’
‘How extraordinary!’ said Freda. ‘Can you read it, then?’
‘Rather. But what an amazing thing.’ He took the paper to the window.
‘Is it anything?’ asked Freda tremulously. Wilbraham read the thing through twice, and then came back to the girl. ‘Well,’ he said, with a chuckle, ‘here’s your hidden treasure, all right.’
‘Hidden treasure? Not really? You mean Spanish gold–a sunken galleon–that sort of thing?’
‘Not quite so romantic as that, perhaps. But it comes to the same thing. This paper gives the hiding-place of a cache of ivory.’
‘Ivory?’ said the girl, astonished.
‘Yes. Elephants, you know. There’s a law about the number you’re allowed to shoot. Some hunter got away with breaking that law on a grand scale. They were on his trail and he cached the stuff. There’s a thundering lot of it–and this gives fairly clear directions how to find it. Look here, we’ll have to go after this, you and I.’
‘You mean there’s really a lot of money in it?’
‘Quite a nice little fortune for you.’
‘But how did that paper come to be among my father’s things?’
Wilbraham shrugged. ‘Ma
Freda gave a sigh. ‘How frightfully exciting!’
‘The thing is–what to do with the precious document,’ said Wilbraham. ‘I don’t like leaving it here. They might come and have another look. I suppose you wouldn’t entrust it to me?’
‘Of course I would. But–mightn’t it be dangerous for you?’ she faltered.
‘I’m a tough nut,’ said Wilbraham grimly. ‘You needn’t worry about me.’ He folded up the paper and put it in his pocket-book. ‘May I come to see you tomorrow evening?’ he asked. ‘I’ll have worked out a plan by then, and I’ll look up the places on my map. What time do you get back from the city?’
‘I get back about half-past six.’
‘Capital. We’ll have a powwow and then perhaps you’ll let me take you out to dinner. We ought to celebrate. So long, then. Tomorrow at half-past six.’
Major Wilbraham arrived punctually on the following day. He rang the bell and enquired for Miss Clegg. A maid-servant had answered the door.
‘Miss Clegg? She’s out.’
‘Oh!’ Wilbraham did not like to suggest that he come in and wait. ‘I’ll call back presently,’ he said.
He hung about in the street opposite, expecting every minute to see Freda tripping towards him. The minutes passed. Quarter to seven. Seven. Quarter-past seven. Still no Freda. A feeling of uneasiness swept over him. He went back to the house and rang the bell again.
‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I had an appointment with Miss Clegg at half-past six. Are you sure she isn’t in or hasn’t–er–left any message?’
‘Are you Major Wilbraham?’ asked the servant.
‘Yes.’
‘Then there’s a note for you. It come by hand.’
Dear Major Wilbraham,–Something rather strange has happened. I won’t write more now, but will you meet me at Whitefriars? Go there as soon as you get this.
Yours sincerely,
Freda Clegg
Wilbraham drew his brows together as he thought rapidly. His hand drew a letter absent-mindedly from his pocket. It was to his tailor. ‘I wonder,’ he said to the maid-servant, ‘if you could let me have a stamp.’
‘I expect Mrs Parkins could oblige you.’
She returned in a moment with the stamp. It was paid for with a shilling. In another minute Wilbraham was walking towards the tube station, dropping the envelope in a box as he passed.
Freda’s letter had made him most uneasy. What could have taken the girl, alone, to the scene of yesterday’s sinister encounter?
He shook his head. Of all the foolish things to do! Had Reid appeared? Had he somehow or other prevailed upon the girl to trust him? What had taken her to Hampstead?
He looked at his watch. Nearly half-past seven. She would have counted on his starting at half-past six. An hour late. Too much. If only she had had the sense to give him some hint.
The letter puzzled him. Somehow its independent tone was not characteristic of Freda Clegg.
It was ten minutes to eight when he reached Friars Lane. It was getting dark. He looked sharply about him; there was no one in sight. Gently he pushed the rickety gate so that it swung noiselessly on its hinges. The drive was deserted. The house was dark. He went up the path cautiously, keeping a look out from side to side. He did not intend to be caught by surprise.
Suddenly he stopped. Just for a minute a chink of light had shone through one of the shutters. The house was not empty. There was someone inside.
Softly Wilbraham slipped into the bushes and worked his way round to the back of the house. At last he found what he was looking for. One of the windows on the ground floor was unfastened. It was the window of a kind of scullery. He raised the sash, flashed a torch (he had bought it at a shop on the way over) around the deserted interior and climbed in.
Carefully he opened the scullery door. There was no sound. He flashed the torch once more. A kitchen–empty. Outside the kitchen were half a dozen steps and a door evidently leading to the front part of the house.
He pushed open the door and listened. Nothing. He slipped through. He was now in the front hall. Still there was no sound. There was a door to the right and a door to the left. He chose the right-hand door, listened for a time, then turned the handle. It gave. Inch by inch he opened the door and stepped inside.
Again he flashed the torch. The room was unfurnished and bare.
Just at that moment he heard a sound behind him, whirled round–too late. Something came down on his head and he pitched forward into unconsciousness…
How much time elapsed before he regained consciousness Wilbraham had no idea. He returned painfully to life, his head aching. He tried to move and found it impossible. He was bound with ropes.
His wits came back to him suddenly. He remembered now. He had been hit on the head.
A faint light from a gas jet high up on the wall showed him that he was in a small cellar. He looked around and his heart gave a leap. A few feet away lay Freda, bound like himself. Her eyes were closed, but even as he watched her anxiously, she sighed and they opened. Her bewildered gaze fell on him and joyous recognition leaped into them.
‘You, too!’ she said. ‘What has happened?’
‘I’ve let you down badly,’ said Wilbraham. ‘Tumbled headlong into the trap. Tell me, did you send me a note asking me to meet you here?’
The girl’s eyes opened in astonishment. ‘I? But you sent me one.’
‘Oh, I sent you one, did I?’
‘Yes. I got it at the office. It asked me to meet you here instead of at home.’
‘Same method for both of us,’ he groaned, and he explained the situation.
‘I see,’ said Freda. ‘Then the idea was–?’
‘To get the paper. We must have been followed yesterday. That’s how they got on to me.’
‘And–have they got it?’ asked Freda.
‘Unfortunately, I can’t feel and see,’ said the soldier, regarding his bound hands ruefully.
And then they both started. For a voice spoke, a voice that seemed to come from the empty air.
‘Yes, thank you,’ it said. ‘I’ve got it, all right. No mistake about that.’
The unseen voice made them both shiver.
‘Mr Reid,’ murmured Freda.
‘Mr Reid is one of my names, my dear young lady,’ said the voice. ‘But only one of them. I have a great many. Now, I am sorry to say that you two have interfered with my plans–a thing I never allow. Your discovery of this house is a serious matter. You have not told the police about it yet, but you might do so in the future.
‘I very much fear that I cannot trust you in the matter. You might promise–but promises are seldom kept. And, you see, this house is very useful to me. It is, you might say, my clearing house. The house from which there is no return. From here you pass on–elsewhere. You, I am sorry to say, are so passing on. Regrettable–but necessary.’
The voice paused for a brief second, then resumed: ‘No bloodshed. I abhor bloodshed. My method is much simpler. And really not too painful, so I understand. Well, I must be getting along. Good-evening to you both.’
‘Look here!’ It was Wilbraham who spoke. ‘Do what you like to me, but this young lady has done nothing–nothing. It can’t hurt you to let her go.’
But there was no answer.
At that moment there came a cry from Freda. ‘The water–the water!’
Wilbraham twisted himself painfully and followed the direction of her eyes. From a hole up near the ceiling a steady trickle of water was pouring in.
Freda gave a hysterical cry. ‘They’re going to drown us!’
The perspiration broke out on Wilbraham’s brow. ‘We’re not done yet,’ he said. ‘We’ll shout for
They yelled and shouted at the tops of their voices. Not until they were hoarse did they stop.
‘No use, I’m afraid,’ said Wilbraham sadly. We’re too far underground and I expect the doors are muffled. After all, if we could be heard, I’ve no doubt that brute would have gagged us.’
‘Oh,’ cried Freda. ‘And it’s all my fault. I got you into this.’
‘Don’t worry about that, little girl. It’s you I’m thinking about. I’ve been in tight corners before now and got out of them. Don’t you lose heart. I’ll get you out of this. We’ve plenty of time. At the rate that water’s flowing in, it will be hours before the worst happens.’
‘How wonderful you are!’ said Freda. ‘I’ve never met anybody like you–except in books.’
‘Nonsense–just common sense. Now, I’ve got to loosen those infernal ropes.’
At the end of a quarter of an hour, by dint of straining and twisting, Wilbraham had the satisfaction of feeling that his bonds were appreciably loosened. He managed to bend his head down and his wrists up till he was able to attack the knots with his teeth.
Once his hands were free, the rest was only a matter of time. Cramped, stiff, but free, he bent over the girl. A minute later she was also free.
So far the water was only up to their ankles.
‘And now,’ said the soldier, ‘to get out of here.’
The door of the cellar was up a few stairs. Major Wilbraham examined it.
‘No difficulty here,’ he said. ‘Flimsy stuff. It will soon give at the hinges.’ He set his shoulders to it and heaved.
There was a cracking of wood–a crash, and the door burst from its hinges.
Outside was a flight of stairs. At the top was another door–a very different affair–of solid wood, barred with iron.
‘A bit more difficult, this,’ said Wilbraham. ‘Hallo, here’s a piece of luck. It’s unlocked.’
He pushed it open, peered round it, then beckoned the girl to come on. They emerged into a passage behind the kitchen. In another moment they were standing under the stars in Friars Lane.
‘Oh!’ Freda gave a little sob. ‘Oh, how dreadful it’s been!’