Comes the Dark Stranger - Jack Higgins [35]
As he opened it she said in a worried voice, ‘Martin - what are you going to do now?’
His face was expressionless. ‘I think I’ll have a long talk with Steele,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I can help him to see the error of his ways.’ He closed the door as an expression of shocked dismay appeared on her face, and walked away before she could protest.
He caught a bus into town and went straight to his hotel. As he entered the dingy foyer, the young receptionist was standing in front of a large mirror on the wall, adjusting a stocking. She hurriedly pulled down her skirt and glanced round.
A smile appeared on her face, and she tried to look coy. ‘I’ll have to be more careful in future,’ she said as she went behind the reception desk and took down his key.
She was wearing an expensive gaberdine suit and had obviously just been to the hairdresser’s. Shane grinned as he took his key from her. ‘You must have come into a fortune.’
She raised her arms and turned, slowly. ‘Like it?’
He nodded. ‘I certainly do, but it must have cost a packet.’
She shrugged and a cunning expression appeared in her eyes. ‘That’s what comes of having the right kind of boy friend.’
He started to turn away, and she made a sudden exclamation. ‘I knew there was something. The night porter took a message for you last night. He told me to let him know when you came in. He said it was important. I’ll tell him to come up to your room.’
Shane hesitated, a slight frown on his face, but she had already lifted the house phone and was dialling a number. He shrugged and went slowly upstairs, wondering who could have been trying to get in touch with him.
It was quiet in his room, and somehow the events of the previous night seemed unreal and far off. He took a clean shirt from his grip and started to change, and a moment later there was a knock on the door and the night porter entered.
‘I understand you’ve got a message for me,’ Shane said.
The porter nodded. ‘There was a phone call, sir. Just after midnight. I tried putting it through to your room, but couldn’t get a reply. When I came upstairs, you weren’t here.’
Shane nodded. ‘Who was the message from?’
The porter took out a small red notebook and thumbed through the pages. After a moment he gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘I’ve got it here, sir. The gentleman’s name was Wilby. He said you’d know who he was.’
Shane took a deep breath to steady his voice, and said calmly, ‘What did he want?’
The porter frowned. ‘It didn’t make much sense to me, sir. He said I’d to tell you that if you wanted the answer to the question you asked him, you’d better go and see him.’
Shane stared at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror, a slight frown on his face. After a few moments the porter coughed. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’
Shane shook his head and said slowly. ‘If I want anything I’ll ring.’
As the door closed softly behind him, he turned and walked across to the window. For some peculiar reason he felt depressed and uneasy. It was almost as if he didn’t want to hear what Wilby had to tell him.
There was a little whisky left in the bottle, and he drank it slowly and then finished dressing. As he was reaching for his jacket there was a quiet knock on the door.
When he opened it he found a tall, slightly built young man in a belted raincoat and slouch hat standing there. A slight smile illuminated the lean, aquiline face. ‘Mr Shane?’ he said. ‘Mr Martin Shane?’
Shane nodded, his eyes wary. ‘That’s right. What can I do for you?’
The man smiled pleasantly. ‘My name’s Lomax - Detective Inspector - Burnham C.I.D. I wonder if I could have a few words with you?’
He moved into the room, and Shane closed the door and turned to face him. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got a great deal of time to spare, Inspector,’ he said. ‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’
Lomax produced a briar pipe and held a match to it. When it was drawing to his satisfaction he glanced up. There was a smile on his face, but his eyes were cold and businesslike. ‘Did you know a man called Wilby, Mr Shane?