The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
work. Certain monies were due for land which we purchased adjoining the home. As you probably know, there are lawyers who never accept cheques for properties they sell on behalf of their clients, and I had the money ready and left it with my secretary, and one of Lassard’s people was calling for it. That it was called for, I need hardly tell you,’ said his lordship grimly. ‘Whoever planned the coup planned it well. They knew I would be speaking in the House of Lords last night; they also knew that I had recently changed my secretary and had engaged a gentleman to whom most of my associates are strangers. A bearded man came for the money at half-past six, produced a note from Mr. Lassard, and that was the end of the money, except that we have discovered that it was changed this morning into American bills. Of course, both letters were forged: Lassard never signed either, and made no demand whatever for the money, which was not needed for another week.’
‘Did anybody know about this transaction?’ asked Mr. Reeder.
His lordship nodded slowly.
‘My nephew knew. He came to my house two days ago to borrow money. He has a small income from his late mother’s estate, but insufficient to support him in his reckless extravagance. He admitted frankly to me that he had come back from Aix broke. How long he had been in London I am unable to tell you, but he was in my library when my secretary came in with the money which I had drawn from the bank in preparation for paying the bill when it became due. Very foolishly I explained why I had so much cash in the house and why I was unable to oblige him with the thousand pounds which he wanted to borrow,’ he added dourly.
Mr. Reeder scratched his chin.
‘What am I to do?’ he asked.
‘I want you to find Carlin,’ Lord Sellington almost snarled. ‘But most I want that money back-you understand, Reeder? You’re to tell him that unless he repays—’
Mr. Reeder was gazing steadily at the cornice moulding.
‘It almost sounds as if I am being asked to compound a felony, my lord,’ he said respectfully. ‘But I realise, in the peculiar circumstances, we must adopt peculiar methods. The black-bearded gentleman who called for the money would appear to have been’-he hesitated-’disguised?’
‘Of course he was disguised,’ said the other irritably.
‘One reads of such things,’ said Mr. Reeder with a sigh, ‘but so seldom does the bearded stranger appear in real life! Will you be good enough to tell me your nephew’s address?’
Lord Sellington took a card from his pocket and threw it across the table. It fell to the floor, but he did not apologise. He was that kind of man.
‘Jermyn Mansions,’ said Mr. Reeder as he rose. ‘I will see what can be done.’
Lord Sellington grunted something which might have been a tender farewell, but probably was not.
Jermyn Mansions is a very small, narrow-fronted building and, as Mr. Reeder knew-and he knew a great deal-was a block of residential flats, which were run by an ex-butler who was also the lessee of the establishment. By great good fortune, as he afterwards learned, Harry Carlin was at home, and in a few minutes the man from the Public Prosecutor’s office was ushered into a shabby drawingroom that overlooked Jermyn Street.
A tall young man stood by the window, looking disconsolately into that narrow and lively thoroughfare, and turned as Mr. Reeder was announced. Thin-faced, narrow-headed, small-eyed, if he possessed any of the family traits and failings, the most marked was perhaps his too ready irritation.
Mr. Reeder saw, through an open door, a very untidy bedroom, caught a glimpse of a battered trunk covered with Continental labels.
‘Well, what the devil do you want?’ demanded Mr. Carlin. Yet, in spite of his tone, there was an undercurrent of disquiet which Mr. Reeder detected.
‘May I sit down?’ said the detective and, without waiting for an invitation, pulled a chair from the wall and sat down gingerly, for he knew the quality of lodging-house chairs.
His self-possession, the hint of authority he carried in his voice, increased Mr. Harry Carlin’s uneasiness; and when Mr. Reeder plunged straight into the object of his visit, he saw the man go pale.
‘It is a difficult subject to open,’ said Mr. Reeder, carefully smoothing his knees, ‘and when I find myself in that predicament I usually employ the plainest language.’
And plain language he employed with a vengeance. Halfway through Carlin sat down with a gasp.
‘What-what!’ he stammered. ‘Does that old brute dare – ! I thought you came about the bills-I mean-’
‘I mean,’ said Mr. Reeder carefully, ‘that if you have had a little fun with your relative, I think that jest has gone far enough. Lord Sellington is prepared, on the money being refunded, to regard the whole thing as an overelaborate practical joke on your part-’
‘But I haven’t touched his beastly money!’ the young man almost screamed. ‘I don’t want his money-’
‘On the contrary, sir,’ said Reeder gently, ‘you want it very badly. You left the Hotel Continental without paying your bill; you owe some six hundred pounds to various gentlemen from whom you borrowed that amount; there is a warrant out for you in France for passing cheques which are usually described by the vulgar as-er-”dud.” Indeed’-again Mr. Reeder scratched his chin and looked thoughtfully out of the window-’indeed I know no gentleman in Jermyn Street who is so badly in need of money as your good self.’
Carlin would have stopped him, but the middle-aged man went on remorselessly.
‘I have been for an hour in the Record Department of Scotland Yard, where your name is not unknown, Mr. Carlin. You left London rather hurriedly to avoid-er-proceedings of an unpleasant character. “Bills,” I think you said? You are known to have been the associate of people with whom the police are a little better acquainted than they are with Mr. Carlin. You were also associated with a racecourse fraud of a peculiarly unpleasant character. And amongst your minor delinquencies there is-er-a deserted young wife, at present engaged in a City office as typist, and a small boy for whom you have never provided.’
Carlin licked his dry lips.
‘Is that all?’ he asked, with an attempt at a sneer, though his voice shook and his trembling hands betrayed his agitation.
Reeder nodded.
‘Well, I’ll tell you something. I want to do the right thing by my wife. I admit I haven’t played square with her, but I’ve never had the money to play square. That old devil has always been rolling in it, curse him! I’m the only relation he has, and what has he done? Left every bean to these damned children’s homes of his! If somebody has caught him for five thousand I’m glad! I shouldn’t have the nerve to do it myself, but I’m glad if they did-whoever they may be. Left every penny to a lot of squalling, sticky-faced brats, and not a bean to me!’
Mr. Reeder let him rave on without interruption, until at last, almost exhausted by his effort, he dropped down into a deep chair and glared at his visitor.
‘Tell him that,’ he said breathlessly; ‘tell him that!’
Mr. Reeder made time to call at the little office in Portugal Street wherein was housed the headquarters of Lord Sellington’s various philanthropic enterprises. Mr. Arthur Lassard had evidently been in communication with his noble patron, for no sooner did Reeder give his name than he was ushered into the plainly furnished room where the superintendent sat.
It was not unnatural that Lord Sellington should have as his assistant in the good work so famous an organiser as Mr. Arthur Lassard. Mr. Lassard’s activities in the philanthropic world were many. A broad-shouldered man with a jolly red face and a bald head, he had survived all the attacks which come the way of men engaged in charitable work, and was not particularly impressed by a recent visit he had had from Harry Carlin.
‘I don’t wish to be unkind,’