Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie [10]
‘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. ‘Maybe the Johnny was dying or something. He may have written the thing down in Swahili for protection and given it to your father, who possibly had befriended him in some way. Your father, not being able to read it, attached no importance to it. That’s only a guess on my part, but I dare say it’s not far wrong.’
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