The Clue of the Silver Key, Edgar Wallace [interesting books to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Edgar Wallace
- Performer: -
Book online «The Clue of the Silver Key, Edgar Wallace [interesting books to read .TXT] 📗». Author Edgar Wallace
of the old man’s debtors, was in the position of a mouse in the paws of
an ancient cat, not to be killed too quickly; and here, to some extent,
he was right. Hervey Lyne received him with a set grin which was a parody
of the smile he had used for so many years on such occasions.
‘Sit down, Mr Dornford,’ he piped. ‘Binny, go out!’
‘Binny’s not here, Mr Lyne.’
‘He’s listening outside the door—he’s always listening. Have a look.’
Dornford opened the door; there was no sign of the libelled servant.
‘Now, now.’ Again he was his old businesslike self, repeating a speech
which was part of a formula. ‘About this money—three thousand seven
hundred, I think. You’re going to settle tonight?’
‘Unfortunately I can’t settle tonight, and not for many nights,’ said
Jerry. ‘In fact, there’s no immediate prospect of my settling at all.
I’ve made arrangements to get you four or five hundred on account—’
‘From Isaac and Solomon, eh?’
Jerry cursed himself for his stupidity. He knew that the money-lenders
exchanged daily a list of proposals which had come to them.
‘Well, you’re not going to get it, my friend. You’ve got to find money to
settle this account, or it goes into the hands of my collectors
tomorrow.’
Jerry had expected nothing better than this.
‘Suppose I find you two thousand by the end of the week?’ he said. ‘Will
you give me a reasonable time to find the remainder?’
To his surprise he was speaking huskily—the imperturbable Jerry, who had
faced so many crises with equanimity, was amazingly agitated in this, the
most crucial of all.
‘If you can find two thousand you can find three thousand seven hundred,’
boomed the old man.’ A week? I wouldn’t give you a day—and where are you
getting the two thousand from?’
Jerry cleared his throat.
‘A friend of mine—’
‘That’s a lie to begin with, Mr Gerald Dornford,’ said the hateful voice.
‘You have no friends; you’ve used them all up. I’ll tell you what I’ll do
with you.’ He leaned over the table, his elbows on the polished mahogany.
He was enjoying this moment of his triumph, recovering some of the old
values of a life that was now only a memory. ‘I’ll give you till tomorrow
night at six o’clock. Your money’s here’—he tapped the table
vigorously—‘or I’ll bankrupt you!’
If his sight had been only near to normal he would have seen the look
that came into Jerry’s face, and would have been frightened to silence.
But, if he saw nothing, he sensed the effect of his words.
‘You understand, don’t you?’
Some of the steel went out of his tone.
‘I understand.’ Jerry’s voice was low.
‘Tomorrow you bring the money, and I will give you your bill. A minute
after six o’clock, and it goes to the collector.’
‘But surely, Mr Lyne’—Jerry found coherent speech at last—‘two thousand
pounds on account is not to be sniffed at?’
‘We shall see,’ said the old man, nodding. ‘I’ve nothing else to say.’
Jerry rose; he was shaking with anger. ‘I’ve got something to say, you
damned old usurer!’ He quivered with rage. ‘You blood-sucking old brute!
You’ll bankrupt me, will you?’
Hervey Lyne had come to his feet, his skinny hands pointing to the door.
‘Get out!’ His voice was little more than a whisper.’
Blood-sucker…damned old usurer, am I? Binny—BINNY!’
Binny came stumbling up from the kitchen.
‘Throw him out—throw him on his head—smash him!’ screamed the old man.
Binny looked at the man who was head and shoulders taller than he, and
his smile was sickly.
‘Better get out, sir,’ he said under his breath,’ and don’t take no
notice of me.’ Then, in a louder, truculent tone: ‘Get out of here, will
you?’ He pulled open the street door noisily. ‘Out you get!’
He struck his palm with his fist, and all the time his imploring eyes
begged the visitor to pardon his lapse of manners.
When he came back the money-lender was lying back, exhausted, in his
chair.
‘Did you hit him?’ he asked weakly.
‘Did I hit him, sir? I nearly broke me wrist.’
‘Did you break his wrist or anything else of him?’ snarled Hervey, not at
all interested in the injuries which might have come to the assailant.
‘It’ll take two doctors to put him right,’ said Binny.
The old man’s thin lips curled in a sneer. ‘I don’t believe you touched
him, you poor worm!’ he said.
‘Didn’t you hear me—’ began Binny, aggrieved.
‘Clapping your hands together! Liar and fool, do you think I didn’t know
that? I may be blind, but I’ve got ears. Did you hit the burglar last
night—or when was it? You didn’t even hear him.’
Binny blinked at him helplessly. Two nights before somebody had smashed a
glass at the back of the house and opened a window. Whether they
succeeded in entering the kitchen or not it was impossible to say. Old
Hervey, a light sleeper, heard the crash and came to the head of the
stairs, screaming for Binny, who occupied a subterranean room adjoining
the kitchen.
‘Did you hit him? Did you hear him?’
‘My idea was to bring in the police,’ began Binny. ‘There’s nothing like
the lor in cases like this….’
‘Get out!’ roared the old man. ‘The law! Do you think I wanted a lot of
clumsy-footed louts in my house…get away, you make me sick!’
Binny left hurriedly.
For the greater part of two hours the old man sat, muttering to himself,
twisting and untwisting his fingers one in the other; and then, as his
repeater struck ten, he turned to the radio at his side and switched it
on. A voice immediately blared at him…
‘Before I discuss the banking systems of this country I would like to say
a few words about the history of banking from the earliest times….’
Hervey Lyne sat up and listened. His hearing, as he had said, was
extraordinarily sensitive.
DICK ALLENBY NEVER described himself as being engaged, and the tell-tale
finger of Mary Lane bore no ring indicative of her future. He mentioned
the fact casually as he sat in her dressing-room between the last two
acts of Cliffs of Fate and he talked to her through a curtain behind
which she was changing her dress.
‘I shall be getting a bad name,’ he said. ‘Nothing damages the reputation
of an inventor more readily than to be recognized by stage-door keepers.
He admits me now without question.’
‘Then you shouldn’t come so often,’ she said, coming through the curtain,
and sitting before her dressing-table.
‘I won’t say you’re a matter of life and death to me,’ said Dick, ‘but
very nearly. You’re more important than anything in the world.’
‘Including the Allenby gun?’
‘Oh that!’ he said contemptuously. ‘By the way, a German engineer came in
today and offered me, on behalf of Eckstein’s—they’re the big Essen
engineers—ten thousand pounds for the patent.’
‘What was the matter with him?’ she asked flippantly.
‘That’s what I wondered,’ said Dick, lighting a forbidden cigarette. ‘No,
he wasn’t drunk—quite a capable bloke, and terribly discerning. He told
me he thought I was one of the greatest inventors of the age.’
‘Darling, you are,’ she said.
‘I know I am,’ said Dick complacently. ‘But it sounded awfully nice in
German. Honestly, Mary I had no idea this thing was worth so much.’
‘Are you selling it?’ She turned her head to ask the question.
Dick hesitated. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But it’s this enormous
accession of wealth that has brought me to the point of your unadorned
engagement finger.’
She turned to the mirror, patted her face gently with a puff, and shook
her head. ‘I’m going to be a very successful actress,’ she said.
‘You are a very successful actress,’ said Dick lazily. ‘You’ve extracted
a proposal of marriage from a great genius.’
She swung round in her chair. ‘Do you know what I’m in dread of?’ she
asked.
‘Besides marriage, nothing, I should think.’
‘No, there’s one prospect that terrifies me.’ She was very serious. ‘And
that is that your uncle should leave me all his money.’
He chuckled softly. ‘It’s a fear that has never disturbed my night’s
rest—why do you say that?’
She looked at him, biting her lip thoughtfully. ‘Once he said something
about it, and it struck me quite recently that he loathes you so much
that out of sheer pique he might leave it to me, and that would be
dreadful.’
He stared at her. ‘In Heaven’s name, why?’ he asked.
‘I should have to marry you,’ she said.
‘Out of sheer pique?’
She shook her head. ‘No; but it would be dreadful, wouldn’t it, Dick?’
‘I think you’re worrying yourself unnecessarily,’ he said dryly. ‘The old
boy is more likely to leave it to a dogs’ home. Do you see much of him?’
She told him of her visit to Naylors Crescent, but that was old news to
him.
They were talking when there came a tap at the door. She half rose,
thinking it was the call boy; but when the knock was repeated and she
said ‘Come in’, it was Leo Moran who made an appearance.
He favoured Dick with a wry smile. ‘Instead of wasting your time here you
ought to be sitting at home, tuning in to my epoch-making address.’
‘Been broadcasting, have you?’ smiled Dick.’ Do they make you dress up
for it?’
‘I’m going on to supper.’
This time the knock was followed by the sing-song voice of the call boy,
and Mary hurried out. She was glad to escape: for some reason she never
felt quite at ease in Mr Moran’s presence.
‘Have you seen this show?’ asked Dick.
Moran nodded.
‘For my sins, yes,’ he said. ‘It’s the most ghastly play in London. I
wonder why old Mike keeps it on? He must have a very rich backer.’
‘Have you ever heard of Washington Wirth?’
Leo Moran’s face was a blank.
‘Never heard of him, no. What is he—an American?’
‘Something unusual,’ said Dick. ‘I was reckoning up the other day; he
must have lost ten thousand pounds on this play already, and there’s no
special reason, so far as I know, why he’s keeping it running. Mary’s the
only woman in the cast who’s worth looking at, and she’s no friend of
his.’
‘Washington Wirth? The name’s familiar.’ Moran looked at the wall above
Dick’s head. ‘I’ve heard something about him or seen his name. By the
way, I met an old friend of yours tonight, Surefoot Smith. You were
present when that wretched man Tickler was found, weren’t you?’
Dick nodded. ‘The fool treated me as though I were an accomplice.’
‘If the fool you are referring to is Surefoot Smith, he treated me as
though I were the murderer,’ said Dick.
‘Did you give him some beer?’
Leo Moran opened the door, looked down the deserted corridor and then
closed the door quietly. ‘I was hoping I should see you here, Dick. I
want to ask you a favour.’
Dick grinned. ‘Nothing would give me greater joy than to refuse a favour
to a bank manager,’ he said.
‘Don’t be a fool; it has nothing to do with money. Only—’ He stopped,
and it seemed
Comments (0)