The Drums of Fu-Manchu Read Free Page B

Inspector Leighton that General Quinto, who arrived here yesterday morning at eleven o’clock, was to all intents and purposes hiding in these rooms.”
    “That is so, Sir Denis. The door behind you, there, opens into a bedroom, and a bathroom adjoins it. Sir Malcolm, who is a very late worker, sometimes slept there in order to avoid disturbing Lady Locke.”
    “And since his arrival, the general has never left those apartments?”
    “No.”
    “He was a very old friend of Sir Malcolm’s?”
    “Yes, a lifelong friend, I understand. He and Lady Locke are in the south of France, but are expected back tomorrow morning.”
    “No member of the staff is aware of the identity of the visitor?”
    “No. He had never stayed here during the time of Greaves, the butler—that is, during the last three years—and he was a stranger to all the other servants.”
    “By what name was he known here?”
    “Mr Victor.”
    “Who looked after him?”
    “Greaves.”
    “No one else?”
    “No one, except myself and Greaves, entered these rooms.”
    “The general expected me tonight, of course?”
    “Yes. He was very excited when you did not appear.”
    “How has he occupied himself since his arrival?”
    “Writing almost continuously, when he was not pacing up and down the library, or glancing out of the windows into the square.”
    “What was he writing?”
    “I don’t know. He tore up every shred of it. Late this evening he had a fire lighted in the library and burnt up everything.”
    “Extraordinary! Did he seem very apprehensive?”
    “Very. Had I not known his reputation, I should have said, in fact, that he was panic-stricken. This frame of mind seemed to date from his receipt of a letter delivered by a district messenger at noon yesterday.”
    “Where is this letter?”
    “I have reason to believe that the general locked it in a dispatch box which he brought with him.”
    “Did he comment upon the letter?”
    “No.”
    “In what name was it addressed?”
    “Mr Victor.”
    Nayland Smith began to pace the carpet, and every time he passed the settee where that grim body lay, the right arm hanging down so that half-closed fingers touched the floor, his shadow, moving across the ghastly, greenish face, created an impression that the features worked and twitched and became still again.
    “Did he make many telephone calls?”
    “Quite a number.”
    “From the instrument on the desk there?”
    “Yes—it is an extension from the hallway.”
    “Have you a record of those whom he called?”
    “Of some. Inspector Leighton has already made that inquiry. There were two long conversations with Rome, several calls to Sir James Clare and some talks with his own embassy.”
    “But others you have been unable to check?”
    “The inspector is at work on that now, I understand, Sir Denis. There was—er—a lady.”
    “Indeed? Any incoming calls?”
    “Very few.”
    “I remember—the inspector told me he was trying to trace them. Any visitors?”
    “Sir James Clare yesterday morning, Count Bruzzi at noon today—and, oh yes, a lady last, night.”
    “What! A lady?”
    “Yes.”
    “What was her name?”
    “I have no idea, Sir Denis. She came just after dusk in a car which waited outside, and sent a sealed note in by Greaves. I may say that at the request of the general I was almost continuously at work in the library, so that no one could gain access without my permission. This note was handed to me.”
    “Was anything written on the envelope?”
    “Yes: ‘Personal—for Mr Victor.’ I took it to him. He was then seated at the desk writing. He seemed delighted. He evidently recognised the handwriting. Having read the message, he instructed me to admit the visitor.”
    “Describe her,” said Nayland Smith.
    “Tall and slender, with fine eyes, very long and narrow—definitely not an Englishwoman. She had graceful and languid manners, and remarkable composure. Her hair was jet black and closely waved to her head.