A Bid for Fortune, Guy Boothby [easy books to read TXT] 📗

was running through a block, and that block was rather an uncommon one.”

“How do you know that it was an uncommon one?”

“Because it has been newly painted, and what’s funnier still, painted green, of all other colours. Look at this streak of paint along the line; see how it’s smudged. Now let’s review the case as we walk along.”

So saying, with the Marquis between us, we set off down the street, hoping to be able to pick up an early cab.

“First and foremost,” I said, “remember old Draper’s talk of the South Seas⁠—remember the collection of curios he possessed. Probably he owns a schooner, and it’s more than probable that this line and this bit of canvas came from it.”

“I see what you’re driving at,” said the Inspector. “It’s worth considering. Directly I get to the office I will set men to work to try and find this mysterious gentleman. You would know him again, my lord?”

“I should know him anywhere,” was Beckenham’s immediate reply.

“And have you any idea at all where this house, to which he conducted you, is located?”

“None at all. I only know that it was about halfway down a street of which all the houses, save the one at the corner⁠—which was a grocer’s shop⁠—were one-storeyed villas.”

“Nothing a little more definite, I suppose?”

“Stay! I remember that there was an empty house with broken windows almost opposite, and that on either side of the steps leading up to the front door were two stone eagles with outstretched wings. The head of one of the eagles⁠—the left, I think⁠—was missing.”

The Inspector noted these things in his pocketbook, and just as he had finished we picked up a cab and called it to the sidewalk. When we had got in and given the driver Mr. Wetherell’s address, I said to the Inspector:

“What are you going to do first?”

“Put some men on to find Mr. Draper, and some more to find an island schooner with her blocks newly painted green.”

“You won’t be long in letting us know what you discover, will you?” I said. “Remember how anxious we are.”

“You may count on my coming to you at once with any news I may procure,” he answered.

A few moments later we drew up at Mr. Wetherell’s door. Bidding the Inspector goodbye we went up the steps and rang the bell. By the time the cab was out in the street again we were in the house making our way, behind the butler, to Mr. Wetherell’s study.

The old gentleman had not gone to bed, but sat just as I had left him so many hours before. As soon as we were announced he rose to receive us.

“Thank God, Mr. Hatteras, you have come back!” he said. “I have been in a perfect fever waiting for you. What have you to report?”

“Not very much, I’m afraid,” I answered. “But first let me have the pleasure of introducing the real Marquis of Beckenham to you, whom we have had the good fortune to find and rescue.”

Mr. Wetherell bowed gravely and held out his hand.

“My lord,” he said, “I am thankful that you have been discovered. I look upon it as one step towards the recovery of my poor girl. I hope now that both you and Mr. Hatteras will take up your abode with me during the remainder of your stay in the colony. You have had a scurvy welcome to New South Wales. We must see if we can’t make up to you for it. But you look thoroughly worn out; I expect you would like to go to bed.”

He rang the bell, and when his butler appeared, gave him some instructions about preparing rooms for us.

Ten minutes later the man returned and stated that our rooms were ready, whereupon Mr. Wetherell himself conducted Beckenham to the apartment assigned to him. When he returned to me, he asked if I would not like to retire too, but I would not hear of it. I could not have slept a wink, so great was my anxiety. Seeing this, he seated himself and listened attentively while I gave him an outline of Beckenham’s story. I had hardly finished before I heard a carriage roll up to the door. There was a ring at the bell, and presently the butler, who, like ourselves, had not dreamt of going to bed, though his master had repeatedly urged him to do so, entered and announced the Inspector.

Wetherell hobbled across to receive him with an anxious face.

“Have you any better tidings for me?” he asked.

“Not very much, I’m afraid, sir,” the Inspector said, shaking his head. “The best I have to tell you is that your carriage and horse have been found in the yard of an empty house off Pitt Street.”

“Have you been able to discover any clue as to who put them there?”

“Not one! The horse was found out of the shafts tied to the wall. There was not a soul about the place.”

Wetherell sat down again and covered his face with his hands. At that instant the telephone bell in the corner of the room rang sharply. I jumped up and went across to it. Placing the receivers to my ears, I heard a small voice say, “Is that Mr. Wetherell’s house, Potts Point?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Who is speaking?”

“Mr. Hatteras. Mr. Wetherell, however, is in the room. Who are you?”

“Detective officer. Will you tell Mr. Wetherell that Mr. Draper’s house has been discovered?”

I communicated the message to Mr. Wetherell, and then the Inspector joined me at the instrument and spoke.

“Where is the house?” he enquired.

“83, Charlemagne Street⁠—north side.”

“Very good. Inspector Murdkin speaking. Let plain clothes men be stationed at either end of the street, and tell them to be on the look out for Draper, and to wait for me. I’ll start for the house at once.”

“Very good, sir.”

He rang off and then turned to me.

“Are you too tired to come with me, Mr. Hatteras?” he enquired.

“Of course not,” I answered. “Let us go at once.”

“God bless you!” said Wetherell. “I hope you may catch the fellow.”

Bidding him goodbye, we went downstairs