The Essential Edgar Wallace Collection. Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ police court?" asked Hamilton.

      "Police court? Police court?" said Bones testily. "Good Heavens, lad! Why this jolly old vulgarity? No, dear boy, live and learn, dear old thing!"

      Hamilton undoubtedly lived until the next morning, and learnt. He saw the headlines the second he opened his newspaper.

      GREAT DEAL IN JUTE. PROMINENT CITY MAN BUYS GOVERNMENT SUPPLY OF JUTE FOR A MILLION.

      Hamilton was on his way to the office, and fell back in the corner of the railway carriage with a suppressed moan. He almost ran to the office, to find Bones stalking up and down the room, dictating an interview to a reporter.

      "One minute, one minute, dear old Ham," said. Bones warningly. And then, turning to the industrious journalist, he went on where Hamilton had evidently interrupted him. "You can say that I've spent a great deal of my life in fearfully dangerous conditions," he said. "You needn't say where, dear old reporter, just say 'fearfully dangerous conditions.'"

      "What about jute?" asked the young man.

      "Jute," said Bones with relish, "or, as we call it, _Corcharis capsilaris_, is the famous jute tree. I have always been interested in jute and all that sort of thing---- But you know what to say better than I can tell you. You can also say that I'm young--no, don't say that. Put it like this: 'Mr. Tibbetts, though apparently young-looking, bears on his hardened old face the marks of years spent in the service of his country. There is a sort of sadness about his funny old eyes----' You know what to say, old thing."

      "I know," said the journalist, rising. "You'll see this in the next edition, Mr. Tibbetts."

      When the young man had gone, Hamilton staggered across to him.

      "Bones," he said, in a hollow voice, "you've never bought this stuff for a million?"

      "A million's a bit of an exaggeration, dear old sportsman," said Bones. "As a matter of fact, it's about half that sum, and it needn't be paid for a month. Here is the contract." He smacked his lips and smacked the contract, which was on the table, at the same time. "Don't get alarmed, don't get peevish, don't get panicky, don't be a wicked old flutterer, Ham, my boy!" he said. "I've reckoned it all out, and I shall make a cool fifty thousand by this time next week."

      "What will you pay for it?" asked Hamilton, in a shaky voice. "I mean, how much a ton?"

      Bones mentioned a figure, and Hamilton jotted down a note.

      He had a friend, as it happened, in the jute trade--the owner of a big mill in Dundee--and to him he dispatched an urgent telegram. After that he examined the contract at leisure. On the fourth page of that interesting document was a paragraph, the seventh, to this effect:

      "Either parties to this contract may, for any reason whatsoever, by giving notice either to the Ministry of Supplies, Department 9, or to the purchaser at his registered office, within twenty-four hours of the signing of this contract, cancel the same."

      He read this over to Bones.

      "That's rum," he said. "What is the idea?"

      "My jolly old captain," said Bones in his lordly way, "how should I know? I suppose it's in case the old Government get a better offer. Anyway, dear old timidity, it's a contract that I'm not going to terminate, believe me!"

      The next afternoon Bones and Hamilton returned from a frugal lunch at a near-by tavern, and reached the imposing entrance of the building in which New Schemes Limited was housed simultaneously--or perhaps it would be more truthful to say a little later--than a magnificent limousine. It was so far ahead of them that the chauffeur had time to descend from his seat, open the highly-polished door, and assist to the honoured sidewalk a beautiful lady in a large beaver coat, who carried under her arm a small portfolio.

      There was a certain swing to her shoulder as she walked, a certain undulatory movement of hip, which spoke of a large satisfaction with the world as she found it.

      Bones, something of a connoisseur and painfully worldly, pursed his lips and broke off the conversation in which he was engaged, and which had to do with the prospective profits on his jute deal, and remarked tersely:

      "Ham, dear old thing, that is a chinchilla coat worth twelve hundred pounds."

      Hamilton, to whom the mysteries of feminine attire were honest mysteries, accepted the sensational report without demur.

      "The way you pick up these particular bits of information, Bones, is really marvellous to me. It isn't as though you go out a lot into society. It isn't as though women are fond of you or make a fuss of you."

      Bones coughed.

      "Dicky Orum. Remember, dear old Richard," he murmured. "My private life, dear old fellow, if you will forgive me snubbing you, is a matter on which nobody is an authority except A. Tibbetts, Esq. There's a lot you don't know, dear old Ham. I was thinking of writing a book about it, but it would take too long."

      By this time they reached the elevator, which descended in time to receive the beautiful lady in the brown coat. Bones removed his hat, smoothed his glossy hair, and with a muttered "After you, dear old friend. Age before honesty," bundled Hamilton into the lift and followed him.

      The elevator stopped at the third floor, and the lady got out. Bones, his curiosity overcoming his respect for age or his appreciation of probity, followed her, and was thrilled to discover that she made straight for his office. She hesitated for a moment before that which bore the word "Private," and passed on to the outer and general office.

      Bones slipped into his own room so quickly that by the time Hamilton entered he was sitting at his desk in a thoughtful and studious attitude.

      It cannot be said that the inner office was any longer entitled to the description of sanctum sanctorum. Rather was the holy of holies the larger and less ornate apartment wherein sat A Being whose capable little fingers danced over complicated banks of keys.

      The communicating door opened and the Being appeared. Hamilton, mindful of a certain agreement with his partner, pretended not to see her.

      "There's a lady who wishes a private interview with you, Mr. Tibbetts," said the girl.

      Bones turned with an exaggerated start.

      "A lady?" he said in a tone of incredulity. "Gracious Heavens! This is news to me, dear old miss. Show her in, please, show her in. A private interview, eh?" He looked meaningly at Hamilton. Hamilton did not raise his eyes--in accordance with his contract. "A private interview, eh?" said Bones louder. "Does she want to see me by myself?"

      "Perhaps you would like to see her in my room," said the girl. "I could stay here with Mr. Hamilton."

      Bones glared at the unconscious Hamilton.

      "That is not necessary, dear old typewriter," he said stiffly. "Show the young woman in, please."

      The "young woman," came in. Rather, she tripped and undulated and swayed from the outer office to the chair facing Bones, and Bones rose solemnly to greet her.

      Miss СКАЧАТЬ