Читать книгу The Black Abbot - Edgar Wallace - Страница 9

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Arthur Gwyn laughed softly.

“And what do you imagine Chelford would say if I went to him with such a proposal? You seem to forget, my dear fellow, that to Chelford I am the brother of a young lady who on her twenty-fifth birthday inherits the greater part of a million pounds. I’m not only the brother, but I am her trustee. Besides which, I am managing his mother’s estate. What would he think if I tried? Chelford’s a fool, but he’s not such a fool as that, and I would remind you that all his business affairs are in the hands of the Second Son.”

“You mean Alford—why do you call him that?”

“He’s always been known as the Second Son since he was a child,” said the other impatiently. “He is a shrewd devil, never forget that, Gilder. I don’t know whether or not he suspects that I’m a fake, and that Leslie’s fortune is a myth, but there have been times when he has asked some deucedly uncomfortable questions.”

“Is the fortune a myth?” asked Gilder, and his companion looked at him slyly.

“You ought to know, my friend,” he said. “We have been living on it for eight years! The croupiers of Monte Carlo have raked into their treasury quite a lot of it—various bookmakers I could mention have built handsome villas out of it. A myth? It wasn’t a myth ten years ago. It was two hundred thousand pounds short of a myth! But to-day——”

He spread out his hands and eyed the writs with a whimsical smile.

“What do you expect to get from Chelford?” asked Gilder. “He has no money.”

Mr. Gwyn chuckled.

“You may be sure that before I went to the expense and trouble of buying—or nearly buying—a house adjoining Chelford’s place, and before I took the trouble to bring Leslie and him into touch, I took the elementary precaution of sizing up his position. He is comparatively poor, because that brother of his will sell none of the estates. He has the family obsession—their motto is ‘Hold Fast.’ Harry Chelford is realizable at a quarter of a million—apart from the buried treasure.”

They both laughed at this.

“You’ve been lucky up to a point,” said Gilder seriously. “It was luck to inherit his legal business——”

A clerk came in with some letters to sign at this moment, and, after he was gone:

“Does your sister still think she is an heiress?” asked Gilder.

“She has that illusion,” replied the other coolly. “Of course she thinks so! You don’t imagine Leslie would lend herself to that kind of ramp, do you?”

He took a pen from the silver tray before him, dipped it into the ink, and, drawing a sheet of paper toward him, scribbled down the figures.

“Six thousand pounds is a lot of money,” he said. “I lost three times that amount when Black Satin was beaten a short head in the Drayton Handicap. The only thing to do is to rush the wedding.”

“What about the Yorkshire property?” suggested the managing clerk.

Arthur Gwyn made a little grimace.

“I put a man in to buy it. I could have made twenty thousand profit on that. There’s coal in abundance; that I have proved. But the Second Son was on the job, damn him!”

There was a long silence.

“What are you going to do?” asked Gilder.

“I don’t know. I’m at my wits’ end.” Arthur Gwyn threw down the pen. “The position is exquisite torture to a man of my sensibility. Can’t you suggest anything?”

“Give me five minutes,” said Gilder, and went out.

As Gilder was making his way to his own office, a clerk handed him a letter. It was addressed to him personally, in an illiterate hand. Behind the door of his office bureau, he opened the envelope.

The letter began without any preliminary:

His lordship is still working on the treasure. He had an old book sent to him from Germany last Tuesday, written by a German who was in this country hundreds of years ago. I cannot read the title because of the funny printing, which is like old English. His lordship has also had a plan sent to him from a London bookseller of Fossaway Manor. His lordship’s brother, Mr. Alford, has sold Red Farm to Mr. Leonard for £3,500 [here Mr. Gilder smiled]. Miss Gwyn came to tea yesterday with his lordship and Mr. Alford, and afterward Miss Gwyn and his lordship went for a walk in the home park. There is some talk about the Black Abbot having been seen near the old abbey. He was seen by Thomas Elwin, the half-witted son of Elwin, his lordship’s cowman, but nobody takes any notice of this. He has now been seen by Mr. Cartwright, the grocer. His lordship has had an offer for his Yorkshire estate, but I heard Mr. Alford advise him not to sell as he was sure there was coal on it.

Gilder nodded, understanding just how his employer’s plan had fallen through.

... When I was taking tea into the library I heard his lordship say that he wanted the wedding to take place in October, but Miss Gwyn said she would like it after Christmas. His lordship said that he didn’t mind because he was so busy. Mr. Alford said he thought that the marriage settlement should be fixed by Sampson & Howard, who were the old Lord Chelford’s solicitors, but his lordship said that he thought the settlement had better be in Mr. Gwyn’s hands. I did not hear any more because Mr. Alford told me to get out. Miss Wenner, who used to be his lordship’s secretary, came down from London yesterday, but Mr. Alford has given orders that she is not to be admitted. His lordship did not see her....

Mr. Fabrian Gilder’s spy reported other minor matters which were less interesting. He read the letter again, put it in his pocket, and was busy at his desk for five minutes.

He came back to find his employer leaning over his desk, his head between his hands, and laid a slip of paper before him.

“What is this?” asked Gwyn, startled.

“A six months’ bill for seven thousand pounds. I’ve put an extra thousand in for luck,” said Gilder coolly.

Gwyn read the document quickly. It was a bill, and required only his signature and that of Harry, Earl of Chelford, to make it convertible into solid cash.

“I dare not do it—I simply dare not do it!”

“Why tell him it’s a bill at all?” asked Gilder. “You can get him by himself, spin a yarn—you have a fertile imagination—but I suggest to you that you tell him you need his signature to release some of your sister’s property and once his name is on the back of the bill——”

Arthur Gwyn looked up sharply. Was it a coincidence that this excuse should be suggested? There was nothing in the head clerk’s face to suggest otherwise.

“But when it comes due?” he asked irresolutely, as he turned the document over and over in his hands.

“In six months’ time he’ll be married, and if things aren’t better with you, he’ll either have to meet the bill or hush the matter up.”

The eyes of the two men met.

“You’re on the edge of ruin, my young friend,” said Gilder, “and I’m rather concerned. If you go down, my livelihood disappears.”

How true this was, Arthur learnt one bitter day.

“You make a deuced sight more out of it than I do,” he grumbled as he wrote the name of a bank across the face of the bill.

“I spend less than you, and when I get money I know how to keep it.”

“You might even raise the sum yourself,” said his employer, with a feeble attempt at jocularity.

“I might,” said Gilder grimly, “but, as I said before, I know how to take care of my own, and lending money to you is not my notion of a good investment.”

He had been out of the room only a few minutes when he came back, and closing the door carefully behind him:

“Do you know a Miss Wenner?” he asked.

Mr. Gwyn frowned.

“Yes. What does she want?”

“She says she must see you on an urgent personal matter. Is she one of your—friends?”

Arthur shook his head.

“N-no—I have met her. She was Chelford’s secretary. Can’t you find out what she wants?”

“I’ve tried, but it is a matter personal to you. Do you want to see her?—I can easily stall her.”

Arthur thought for a while. She might have something important to tell him.

“Ask her to come in,” he said.

A few minutes later Mary Wenner came into the room and greeted him with a familiar nod.

“Well, my dear, this is an unexpected pleasure. You are getting prettier every time I see you.”

She accepted the flattery as her right, and sat on the edge of his desk.

“I’ve been down to Fossaway, Arthur,” she said.

“Silly girl,” he smiled. “But I thought that affair was all over and done with. You’ve got to be good, Mary. Chelford is going to marry my sister.”

“Isn’t that grand! And I’m not surprised. I saw you working when I was at Fossaway.”

She slipped down from the desk and dropped both her hands on his shoulders.

“Arthur, I’m tired of stenogging! And I want like sin to get back on that cold-blooded hound Dick Alford. I’ve been fired out once for proposing to a man—I’m going to take a second chance. We’ve been good pals, Arthur.”

He murmured something in his alarm.

“Listen—don’t turn down a good thing. You can marry me and I’ll bring you a bigger dowry than your sister will take to Harry Chelford.”

He stared at her.

“You? ... Dowry?” he stammered.

She nodded slowly.

“Marry me, and I’ll take you to the place where you can lay your hands on fifteen tons of Spanish gold—the Chelford treasure! Two and a half million pounds!”