Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 1, September 17, 1927
- Автор: Valentine, Corley H. W.
- Год: 1927
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 1, September 17, 1927». Краткое содержание книги:
“No.”
He caught his breath in a gasp.
“Ninon Darelli is the most accomplished dope fiend in London,” he declared. “She is also a hypnotist. A girl such as you are is mere wax in her cunning hands.”
Sacha sighed again. She passed her hand wearily over her brow.
“Do, please, leave me now,” she begged him piteously.
Her eyes were almost expressionless, as though, still, her thoughts were wandering in another world.
“I can’t leave you. It is too horrible. If I leave you, you will go back to her. That is what always happens. That is what she is counting on.”
He hesitated a moment, hoping evidently, that she would answer him, but she remained motionless and silent.
“Let me take you back to Redden — to your own house, if you do not wish to go to The Black Tower.”
“No — no — no!”
“Sacha, for God’s sake, think what has happened. Think what may happen in the future.”
Suddenly she sprang to her feet. Her eyes blazed with repudiation of him.
“What can possibly happen in the future which will be worse than that which has happened already?” she challenged.
“Many things. The loss of your reason, for example.”
“That would be a blessing — the greatest possible blessing—”
He controlled himself with an effort.
“Ninon Darelli,” he said, “has reasons for trying to get you into her power. I warn you that she is without mercy to her victims—”
“Like yourself.”
He set his teeth. He turned from her and walked to the window.
“At least,” he declared, “I have the excuse that I love you.”
“And I have the excuse that I do not love you — that you are blackmailing me into a marriage against which my whole soul revolts.”
The defiant note in her voice had become dominant again. She was still, apparently, under the influence of Ninon’s dope. He made up his mind that it was useless to stay with her any longer.
Chapter XV
History Repeats Itself
He left the Green Street house on foot, and turned toward Bond Street.
If only he had foreseen that, in her first agony, Sacha might turn to suicide as a way out of her difficulties! That folly had delivered her, bound hand and foot, into Ninon’s hands.
A grim smile curled his lips as he thought how eagerly Ninon must have clutched at the chance thus afforded her. Ninon had been desperately jealous of Sacha from the moment when he had first broached his plans — in spite of all the assurances he had given.
A woman’s instinct, he reflected bitterly, is seldom at fault where her rivals are concerned. Ninon must have seen, in Sacha’s eyes, some indication of the despair which possessed her; Ninon’s wonderful power of thought-reading, no doubt, brought her instantly to the truth.
He came to Bond Street and lingered a moment to glance at the display of neckties in a famous haberdasher’s window. But he looked without seeing. An exclamation of rage escaped his lips. Now, whatever happened to Lord Templewood, Ninon, and not himself, would be master of the situation. That terrible combination of drugs and hypnotism, poison of body and poison of mind, by which she had made Sacha her victim, was irresistible.
He turned into Brook Street. Five minutes later, he was accepting one of Ninon’s Abdulla cigarettes and bearing, with what composure he could summon, the scrutiny of her vigilant eyes.
“Tell me what has happened,” he commanded, in his crisp tones.
“Nothing has happened.”
“What! Do you mean to say the doctors have any doubt about certifying him?”
Barrington’s manner had become aggressive in an instant. A new anxiety filled his eyes. Ninon hesitated a moment, and then gave him an account of the events of the preceding night. She added,
“To be a medium is not easy when one is dealing with fools — like this Dr. Eustace Hailey.”
“Why did you give Dr. Hailey the chance to catch you?” he demanded abruptly. “Surely there was no need to trouble about that galloping horseman.”
She drew herself up.
“I am a medium. Can I help it, if— things happen?”
He made a gesture of impatience. They had quarreled too often on this topic for him to wish to reopen it. Ninon, apparently, possessed limitless powers of self-deception — like all spiritualists.
“It is damnably awkward,” he declared. “And it may become a great deal more awkward still, if these doctors find out what has been going on. If we don’t get Templewood out of the way at once, we shall never finger a penny of that money, and unless I can have thirty thousand pounds within the next month, I must leave the country — for ever. You understand, for ever.”
He emphasized the last words viciously. Ninon’s cheeks paled as she heard him.
“To-day,” she said, in low tones, “he has had no medicine at all. When he has nothing, his temper is terrible.”
“That is not good enough. Bad temper is not insanity. No doctor dare sign a certificate of insanity on such grounds.” He flung his cigarette away from him. “I thought you said that these drugs of yours were certain in their action?”
“They are certain — but it requires a little time.”
“You have had a week nearly.” He drew a sharp breath. “And now you have been sent out of the house.”
“I shall return to it, never fear.” Ninon’s voice was calm. “There is his Beatrice whom he cannot find without me.”
Barrington uttered an exclamation of contempt.
“My dear Ninon, the doctors have got him under their control now,” he declared. “They will know how to soothe his nerves so that there will be no more sleep-walking, no more hankering after spirits. Their medicines, believe me, are just as strong as your medicines.” He added bitterly: “It is all a question of medicine.”
Ninon gazed at him in silence for a few moments. Her eyes were deeply reproachful.
“It is not all a question of medicine,” she said. “You are like the rest — so blind. About Beatrice I have practiced no deception, and I say to-morrow, or the day after to-morrow, again, he will call for me to find for him his Beatrice.”
Barrington helped himself to another smoke.
“I wish I shared your faith. To-morrow we are more likely to have Scotland Yard here making inquiries about your dope business. Dr. Hailey, as I happen to know, is a great friend of Scotland Yard.”
He frowned again. Then he leaned toward her.
“What is the meaning of this affair you are carrying on with the girl?” he demanded, in hoarse tones.
Ninon did not reply, but the color rushed violently to her cheeks. She took a quick step away from him. He laughed mirthlessly.
“But I need not ask you. I know. It is that damned jealousy of yours, in case I should fall in love with Sacha after I have married her. Now, with your dreams and your drugs, you think you will be able to take her away from me whenever you choose.”
He watched the girl closely as he spoke. To his surprise she did not wince under his blow.
“Because I know you,” she said, in vibrating tones.
Her defiance exasperated him. He sprang up and laid his hands on her shoulders.
“I won’t have it,” he shouted. “Do you hear, I won’t have it. Already you have driven Sacha half crazy.”
Ninon escaped from his grasp with a swift, catlike movement of her body. Her anger leaped to meet his anger.
“You won’t have it, eh?” she cried. “You won’t have it! The pretty Sacha must not be harmed, eh? It is I, Ninon, who must pull for you your chestnuts out of the fire, that you may eat them with this girl who is so good and so sweet. And after that, eh? What is to come after that?”