Bones in London. Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ he demanded, "have you posted the ledger?"

      "Sir," said Ali, with a profound obeisance, "the article was too copious for insertion in aperture of collection box, so it was transferred to the female lady behind postal department counter."

      Bones leapt up, staring.

      "Goodness gracious, Heavens alive, you silly old ass—you—you haven't posted it—in the post?"

      "Sir," said Ali reproachfully, "you instructed posting volume in exact formula. Therefore I engulfed it in wrappings and ligatures of string, and safely delivered it to posting authority."

      Bones sank back in his chair.

      "It's no use—no use, Ali," he said sadly, "my poor uncivilized savage, it's not your fault. I shall never bring you up to date, my poor silly old josser. When I say 'post' the ledger, I mean write down all the money you've spent on cabs in the stamp book. Goodness gracious alive! You can't run a business without system, Ali! Don't you know that, my dear old image? How the dooce do you think the auditors are to know how I spend my jolly old uncle's money if you don't write it down, hey? Posting means writing. Good Heavens"—a horrid thought dawned on him—"who did you post it to?"

      "Lord," said Ali calmly, "destination of posted volume is your lordship's private residency."

      All's English education had been secured in the laboratory of an English scientist in Sierra Leone, and long association with that learned man had endowed him with a vocabulary at once impressive and recondite.

      Bones gave a resigned sigh.

      "I'm expecting——" he began, when a silvery bell tinkled.

      It was silvery because the bell was of silver. Bones looked up, pulled down his waistcoat, smoothed back his hair, fixed his eye-glass, and took up a long quill pen with a vivid purple feather.

      "Show them in," he said gruffly.

      "Them" was one well-dressed young man in a shiny silk hat, who, when admitted to the inner sanctum, came soberly across the room, balancing his hat.

      "Ah, Mr. Pole—Mr. Fred Pole." Bones read the visitor's card with the scowl which he adopted for business hours. "Yes, yes. Be seated, Mr. Pole. I shall not keep you a minute."

      He had been waiting all the morning for Mr. Pole. He had been weaving dreams from the letter-heading above Mr. Pole's letter.

      Ships … ships … house-flags … brass-buttoned owners….

      He waved Mr. Fred to a chair and wrote furiously. This frantic pressure of work was a phenomenon which invariably coincided with the arrival of a visitor. It was, I think, partly due to nervousness and partly to his dislike of strangers. Presently he finished, blotted the paper, stuck it in an envelope, addressed it, and placed it in his drawer. Then he took up the card.

      "Mr. Pole?" he said.

      "Mr. Pole," repeated that gentleman.

      "Mr. Fred Pole?" asked Bones, with an air of surprise.

      "Mr. Fred Pole," admitted the other soberly.

      Bones looked from the card to the visitor as though he could not believe his eyes.

      "We have a letter from you somewhere," he said, searching the desk.

       "Ah, here it is!" (It was, in fact, the only document on the table.)

       "Yes, yes, to be sure. I'm very glad to meet you."

      He rose, solemnly shook hands, sat down again and coughed. Then he took up the ivory paper-knife to chew, coughed again as he detected the lapse, and put it down with a bang.

      "I thought I'd like to come along and see you, Mr. Tibbetts," said Fred in his gentle voice; "we are so to speak, associated in business."

      "Indeed?" said Bones. "In-deed?"

      "You see, Mr. Tibbetts," Fred went on, with a sad smile, "your lamented uncle, before he went out of business, sold us his ships. He died a month later."

      He sighed and Bones sighed.

      "Your uncle was a great man, Mr. Tibbetts," he said, "one of the greatest business men in this little city. What a man!"

      "Ah!" said Bones, shaking his head mournfully.

      He had never met his uncle and had seldom heard of him. Saul Tibbetts was reputedly a miser, and his language was of such violence that the infant Augustus was invariably hurried to the nursery on such rare occasions as old Saul paid a family visit. His inheritance had come to Bones as in a dream, from the unreality of which he had not yet awakened.

      "I must confess, Mr. Tibbetts," said Fred, "that I have often had qualms of conscience about your uncle, and I have been on the point of coming round to see you several times. This morning I said to my brother, 'Joe,' I said, 'I'm going round to see Tibbetts.' Forgive the familiarity, but we talk of firms like the Rothschilds and the Morgans without any formality."

      "Naturally, naturally, naturally," murmured Bones gruffly.

      "I said: 'I'll go and see Tibbetts and get it off my chest. If he wants those ships back at the price we paid for them, or even less, he shall have them.' 'Fred,' he said, 'you're too sensitive for business.' 'Joe,' I said, 'my conscience works even in business hours.'"

      A light dawned on Bones and he brightened visibly.

      "Ah, yes, my dear old Pole," he said almost cheerily, "I understand. You diddled my dear old uncle—bless his heart—out of money, and you want to pay it back. Fred"—Bones rose and extended his knuckly hand—"you're a jolly old sportsman, and you can put it there!"

      "What I was going to say——" began Fred seriously agitated.

      "Not a word. We'll have a bottle on this. What will you have—ginger-beer or cider?"

      Mr. Fred suppressed a shudder with difficulty.

      "Wait, wait, Mr. Tibbetts," he begged; "I think I ought to explain. We did not, of course, knowingly rob your uncle——"

      "No, no, naturally," said Bones, with a facial contortion which passed for a wink. "Certainly not. We business men never rob anybody. Ali, bring the drinks!"

      "We did not consciously rob him," continued Mr. Fred desperately, "but what we did do—— ah, this is my confession!"

      "You borrowed a bit and didn't pay it back. Ah, naughty!" said Bones. "Out with the corkscrew, Ali. What shall it be—a cream soda or non-alcoholic ale?"

      Mr. Fred looked long and earnestly at the young man.

      "Mr. Tibbetts," he said, and suddenly grasped the hand of Bones, "I hope we are going to be friends. I like you. That's my peculiarity—I like people or I dislike them. Now that I've told you that we bought two ships from your uncle for one hundred and forty thousand pounds when we knew—yes, positively knew—they were worth at least twenty thousand pounds more—now I've told you this, I feel happier."

      "Worth СКАЧАТЬ