The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar Wallace

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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,’ he said, ‘but our friend called here on such a lame excuse that I can’t help feeling that his real object was to secure a sheet of my stationery. I did, in fact, leave him in the room for a few minutes, and he had the opportunity to purloin the paper if he desired.’

      ‘What was his excuse?’ asked Mr. Reeder, and the other shrugged.

      ‘He wanted money. At first he was civil and asked me to persuade his uncle; then he grew abusive, said that I was conspiring to rob him-I and my “infernal charities”!’

      He chuckled, but grew grave again.

      ‘The situation is mysterious to me,’ he said. ‘Evidently Carlin has committed some crime against his lordship, for he is terrified of him!’

      ‘You think Mr. Carlin forged your name and secured the money?’

      The superintendent spread out his arms in despair.

      ‘Who else can I suspect?’ he asked.

      Mr. Reeder took the forged letter from his pocket and read it again.

      ‘I’ve just been on the phone to his lordship,’ Mr. Lassard went on. ‘He is waiting, of course, to hear your report, and if you have failed to make this young man confess his guilt, Lord Sellington intends seeing his nephew tonight and making an appeal to him. I can hardly believe that Mr. Carlin could have done this wicked thing, though the circumstances seem very suspicious. Have you seen him, Mr. Reeder?’

      ‘I have seen him,’ said Mr. Reeder shortly. ‘Oh, yes, I have seen him!’

      Mr. Arthur Lassard was scrutinising his face as though he were trying to read the conclusion which the detective had reached, but Mr. Reeder’s face was notoriously expressionless.

      He offered a limp hand and went back to the UnderSecretary’s house. The interview was short and on the whole disagreeable.

      ‘I never dreamt he would confess to you,’ said Lord Sellington with ill-disguised contempt. ‘Harry needs somebody to frighten him, and, my God! I’m the man to do it! I’m seeing him tonight.’

      A fit of coughing stopped him and he gulped savagely from a little medicine bottle that stood on his desk.

      ‘I’ll see him tonight,’ he gasped, ‘and I’ll tell him what I intend doing! I’ve spared him hitherto because of his relationship and because he inherits the title. But I’m through. Every cent I have goes to charity. I’m good for twenty years yet, but every penny-’

      He stopped. He was a man who never disguised his emotion, and Mr. Reeder, who understood men, saw the struggle that was going on in Sellington’s mind.

      ‘He says he hasn’t had a chance. I may have treated him unfairly-we shall see.’ He waved the detective from his office as though he were dismissing a strange dog that had intruded upon his privacy, and Mr. Reeder went out reluctantly, for he had something to tell his lordship.

      It was peculiar to him that, in his more secretive moments, he sought the privacy of his old-fashioned study in Brockley Road. For two hours he sat at his desk calling a succession of numbers-and curiously enough, the gentlemen to whom he spoke were bookmakers. Most of them he knew. In the days when he was the greatest expert in the world on forged currency notes, he had been brought into contact with a class which is often the innocent medium by which the forger distributed his handicraft-and more often the instrument of his detection.

      It was a Friday, a day on which most of the principals were in their offices till a late hour. At eight o’clock he finished, wrote a note and, phoning for a messenger, sent his letter on its fateful errand.

      He spent the rest of the evening musing on past experiences and in refreshing his memory from the thin scrapbooks which filled two shelves in his study.

      What happened elsewhere that evening СКАЧАТЬ