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

“Not if I can help it, of course,” answered Wetherell. “But if the worst comes to the worst, and I cannot rescue my poor girl any other way, I would sacrifice even more than that.”

“Well, we’ll see if we can find her without compelling you to pay anything at all,” the Inspector cried. “I’ve got an idea in my head.”

“And what is that?” I cried; for I, too, had been thinking out a plan.

“Well, first and foremost,” he answered, “I want you, Mr. Wetherell, to tell me all you can about your servants. Let us begin with the butler. How long has he been with you?”

“Nearly twenty years.”

“A good servant, I presume, and a trustworthy man?”

“To the last degree. I have implicit confidence in him.”

“Then we may dismiss him from our minds. I think I saw a footman in the hall. How long has he been with you?”

“Just about three months.”

“And what sort of a fellow is he?”

“I really could not tell you very much about him. He seems intelligent, quick and willing, and up to his work.”

“Is your cook a man or a woman?”

“A woman. She has been with me since before my wife’s death⁠—that is to say, nearly ten years. You need have no suspicion of her.”

“Housemaids?”

“Two. Both have been with me some time, and seem steady respectable girls. There is also a kitchen-maid; but she has been with me nearly as long as my cook, and I would stake my reputation on her integrity.”

“Well, in that case, the only person who seems at all suspicious is the footman. May we have him up?”

“With pleasure. I’ll ring for him.”

Mr. Wetherell rang the bell, and a moment later it was answered by the man himself.

“Come in, James, and shut the door behind you,” his master said The man did as he was ordered, but not without looking, as I thought, a little uncomfortable. The Inspector I could see had noticed this too, for he had been watching him intently ever since he had appeared in the room.

“James,” said Mr. Wetherell, “the Inspector of Police wishes to ask you a few questions. Answer him to the best of your ability.”

“To begin with,” said the Inspector, “I want you to look at this envelope. Have you seen it before?”

He handed him the envelope of the anonymous letter addressed to Mr. Wetherell. The man took it and turned it over in his hands.

“Yes, sir,” he said, “I have seen it before; I took it in at the front door.”

“From whom?”

“From a little old woman, sir,” the man answered.

“A little old woman!” cried the Inspector, evidently surprised.

“What sort of woman?”

“Well, sir, I don’t know that I can give you much of a description of her. She was very small, had a sort of nutcracker face, a little black poke bonnet, and walked with a stick.”

“Should you know her again if you saw her?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Did she say anything when she gave you the letter?”

“Only, ‘For Mr. Wetherell, young man.’ That was all, sir.”

“And you didn’t ask if there was an answer? That was rather a singular omission on your part, was it not?”

“She didn’t give me time, sir. She just put it into my hand and went down the steps again.”

“That will do. Now, Mr. Wetherell, I think we’d better see about getting that money from the bank. You need not wait, my man.”

The footman thereupon left the room, while both Mr. Wetherell and I stared at the Inspector in complete astonishment. He laughed.

“You are wondering why I said that,” he remarked at last.

“I must confess it struck me as curious,” answered Wetherell. “Well, let me tell you I did it with a purpose. Did you notice that young man’s face when he entered the room and when I gave him the letter? There can be no doubt about it, he is in the secret.”

“You mean that he is in Nikola’s employ? Then why don’t you arrest him?”

“Because I want to be quite certain first. I said that about the money because, if he is Nikola’s agent, he will carry the information to him, and by so doing keep your daughter in Sydney for at least a day longer. Do you see?”

“I do, and I admire your diplomacy. Now what is your plan?”

“May I first tell mine?” I said.

“Do,” said the Inspector, “for mine is not quite matured yet.”

“Well,” I said, “my idea is this. I propose that Mr. Wetherell shall obtain from his bank a number of gold bags, fill them with lead discs to represent coin, and let it leak out before this man that he has got the money in the house. Then tonight Mr. Wetherell will set off for the waterside. I will row him down the harbour disguised as a boatman. We will pick up the boat, as arranged in that letter. In the meantime you must start from the other side in a police boat, pull up to meet us, and arrest the man. Then we will force him to disclose Miss Wetherell’s whereabouts, and act upon his information. What do you say?”

“It certainly sounds feasible,” said the Inspector, and Mr. Wetherell nodded his head approvingly. At that moment the Marquis entered the room, looking much better than when we had found him on the preceding night, and the conversation branched off into a different channel.

My plot seemed to commend itself so much to Mr. Wetherell’s judgement, that he ordered his carriage and drove off there and then to his bank, while I went down to the harbour, arranged about a boat and having done so, proceeded up to the town, where I purchased a false beard, an old dungaree suit, such as a man loafing about the harbour might wear, and a slouch hat of villainous appearance. By the time I got back to the house Mr. Wetherell had returned. With great delight he conducted me to his study, and, opening his safe, showed me a number of canvas bags, on each of which was printed £1,000.

“But surely there are not £100,000 there?”

“No,” said the old gentleman