Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives
Page 39
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
MR. GRIP FINDS A "SKELETON".
This sudden appearance of Mr. Grip was not precisely to Alan Warburton'staste, and he eyed his visitor with a somewhat haughty air, while hesaid:
"Mr. Grip is prompt, to say the least. I believe that the hour--"
"Hour appointed, between three and four--precisely, sir; _pre_cisely.But my time's valuable, Mr. Warburton; _valuable_, sir! And it's bettertoo early than too late. Everything's cut and dried, and nothing else onhand for this hour; couldn't afford to waste it."
Mr. Grip's words fell from his lips like hailstones from a Novembersky--rap, rap, rap; patter, patter; swift, sharp, decisive. And Alan wasnot slow to realize that all the combined dignity of all the combinedWarburtons, would be utterly lost upon this plebeian.
Plebeian, Mr. Grip evidently was, from the crown of his head to thetips of his too highly polished, creaking boots. Vulgarity reveled inthe plaid of his jaunty business suit, flaunted in the links of hisglittering watch guard, and gleamed in the folds of his gorgeous neckgear. You smelled it in his ambrosial locks; you saw it in hisself-satisfied face, and heard it in his inharmonious voice.
And this was Augustus Grip, of Scotland Yards! Well, one might be a gooddetective and yet not be a gentleman. So mused Alan; and then, seeingthat Mr. Grip, while waiting for him to speak, was utilizing the secondsby making a survey of the premises, he said:
"Will you be seated, Mr. Grip?"
Mr. Grip dropped comfortably into the nearest lounging-chair, crossedone knee over the other, and resting a hand on either arm of the chair,began to talk rapidly.
"I've got your business down fine, sir; _fine_," emphasizing with bothhands upon the chair arms. "Saves time; always do it when possible.Posted at Agency--less to learn here." And Mr. Grip begins to fumble inthe breast-pocket of his startling plaid coat. "Was informedby--um--um--" producing a packet of folded papers and running them overrapidly; "oh, here we are."
He restores the packet to his pocket, having selected the propermemoranda, and then without rising, but with a jerking movement of theknees and elbows, he propels his chair toward the table near which Alanis still standing. Putting the memoranda on the table before him, heunfolds them rapidly, and looks up at his host.
"Sit down, Warburton."
A look of displeasure flits across Alan's face. He remains standing,seeming to grow more haughtily erect.
"My instructions," continues Mr. Grip, who has not lifted his eyes fromthe documents before him, "are, take entire charge of case; investigatein own way. That's what I like."
If Alan had ventured a comment just then, it would have been, "_you_ arenot what _I_ like." But he did not speak; and Mr. Grip, having pausedfor a remark and hearing none, now glanced up.
"Is that your pleasure, Mr. Warburton?"
A certain touch of acidity in the tone, recalls Alan to a sense of hisposition. This man before him is a man of business, a detective highlyrecommended by the Chief of Police, and he needs his services. He movesa step nearer the table and begins.
"That is what I--"
"Precisely," breaks in Mr. Grip. "Now, then," referring to papers,"first--sit down, won't you? it's more sociable."
And Alan puts his aristocracy in his pocket and sits down opposite thedazzling necktie.
"Now then," recommences Mr. Grip, "I've got the _facts_ in the case."
"You have?"
"Facts in case; yes." And he takes up the memoranda, reading therefrom:
"Lost child; daughter of Archibald Warburton; only daughter." Then,turning his eyes upon Alan: "Father killed by shock, I'm told;sad--very."
And he resumes his reading. "Relatives: Alan Warburton, uncle; fond ofniece, eh--ahem; step-mother--um--a little mysterious; _little_ undersuspicion."
"Stop!" interrupts Alan sternly. "On what authority dare you make suchassertions?"
Mr. Grip permits the hand which holds the papers to rest upon one knee,and lifts his eyes to the face of his interrogator.
"I've reconnoitred," he says tersely. "It's a detective's business toreconnoitre. I'm familiar with the facts in the case."
Alan feels the perspiration start upon his brow, while he utters amental, "Heaven forbid!"
"Now then," resumes Mr. Grip, throwing himself back in his chair andstretching his legs underneath the table; "now then, _here_ we go. DaisyWarburton is her father's heiress. Remove her, the bulk of propertyprobably goes to second wife--_step mother_, d'ye see? Remove _her_,property comes down to _you_."
"Stop, sir! How dare you--preposterous!" And Alan Warburton pushes backhis chair and rises, an angry flush upon his face.
Mr. Grip rises also. Stepping nimbly out from between the big chair andthe table before it, he inserts his two hands underneath his two coattails, bends his head forward, raising himself from time to time on thetips of his toes as he talks, and replies suavely:
"Ta ta; I'm _reasoning_. They have _not_ both disappeared, have they?The lady in question is in the house at this present moment, is shenot?"
"She is," replied Alan, beginning to feel most uncomfortable.
"She is. Well, now, if _she_ should disappear, _then_ suspicion mightpoint to you. As it is--ahem--" Here Alan fancies that Mr. Grip iswatching him furtively. "As it is--we will begin to investigate."
"Stop, sir! How dare you--preposterous!"--page 274.]
Mr. Grip reseats himself, folds away his memoranda, and, reclining oncemore at his ease, looks up at Alan coolly.
"First, Mr. Warburton, I must see your sister-in-law."
Alan cannot restrain his start of surprise, nor the look of anxiety thatcrosses his face.
"Not at present," he says, after a moment's hesitation. "She is ill; itwould--"
"So much the better," interrupts the detective. "Worn out, no doubt;nervous. May surprise something. _I must see her_, and every othermember of this household, myself unseen."
"Ah!" thinks Alan, his hands clenching themselves involuntarily, "if Idared throw you out of the window!"
And then, with a shade more of haughtiness than he had as yet used inaddressing this man, who was fast becoming his tormentor, he asks:
"Mr. Grip, is this so very necessary?"
Slowly the detective leans forward; slowly he raises a warningforefinger.
"My _dear_ sir," he says impressively, "if you want to catch a thiefwill you say, 'come here, my dear, and be arrested?' _No, sir_; youcatch her _unawares_. Tell that fine lady that she is to be interviewedby a detective, and, presto! she shuts her secrets up behind a mantle ofsmiles or sneers. Call her in, and lead her to talk; I'll employ my eyesand ears. Use the cues set down here--" he extends to Alan a folded slipof paper. "Put her at her ease, and leave the rest to me. Now then--"
Again he rises, and this time he begins a slow survey of the room.
Alan, thoroughly alarmed for Leslie's safety as well as for his own,begins to wonder how this strange interview is to end. Even if he shouldsummon Leslie, would she come at his call? Yes; he feels sure that shewould, remembering her message of the morning. And what may she not say?If he could give her a word, a sign of warning. But those eyes, that areeven now bestowing questioning glances upon him, are too keen. He wouldonly bungle. He will try again.
"Mr. Grip," he says, "my sister-in-law is already ill from excitement.If we could spare her this interview--"
"Sir!" Augustus Grip wheels suddenly, and looks straight into his facewhile he continues sharply: "My _good_ sir; for your _own_ sake, don't!_You_ should have no reason for keeping a witness in the background."
The hot angry Warburton blood surges up to Alan's brow. Realizing hisdanger more than ever, and recognizing in the man before him a forcethat might, perhaps, be bought or baffled, but never evaded, he lets hiseyes rest for a moment, in haughty defiance, upon the detective's face.And then he turns and walks to the door.
"Where do you purpose to conceal yourself?" he asks coldly, as he layshis hand upon the bell-rope.
Again Grip
looks about him, and then steps toward the cabinet near thewindow.
"What's this," he asks, with his hand upon the closed door. "Will ithold me?"
"Yes," replies Alan; "that will hold you." And he pulls the bell.
"There's no resisting Fate," he mutters to himself. "At least thatfellow shall not see me flinch again, let Leslie entangle me as she may,and as she doubtless will."
And then there tingled in his veins a new sensation--a burning desireto seize that most impertinent, vulgar trail-hunter, who was now tuggingaway at his cabinet door, and send him crashing headlong through thewindow into the street below.
"Ask Mrs. Warburton if she will grant me a few moments of her time," hesaid to the servant who appeared at the door, which Alan did not permithim to open more than half way. And then he turned his attention to Mr.Grip.
That individual, still tugging unsuccessfully at the door of thecabinet, has grown impatient.
"It's locked!" he says, with an angry snap.
"No,"--Alan strides toward him--"it is not locked." And he adds hisstrength to that of Mr. Grip.
A moment the door hesitates; then it yields with a suddenness whichcauses Alan to reel, and flies open.
In another instant, Grip has pounced upon the luckless organ-grinder,and dragged him into the centre of the room, where he crouches at Alan'sfeet, the very image of terrified misery, limp and unresisting.
"That's a pretty thing to keep hid away!" snarled the now thoroughlyangry detective. "I've heard of skeletons in closets, but this thinglooks more like a monkey."
"More like a sneak thief, I should say," remarks Alan, with aggravatingcoolness. "And a very cowardly one at that."