Читать книгу The Iron Grip - Edgar Wallace - Страница 3

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Captain Jack Bryce, inscribed in the family records as John Richard Plantagenet, but better known amongst his intimate friends as Wireless Bryce, had dropped his army title, for he had discovered that it prejudiced rather than helped his chance of securing employment. It was as plain Mr. Bryce that he was ushered into the private office of Hemmer & Hemmer, and Mr. James Hemmer, the senior partner of that eminent firm of lawyers, received him. James Hemmer was an elderly man with dark, shrewd eyes, who surveyed his visitor with a brief but searching scrutiny, and seemed to Jack to be classifying him for future reference.

"Sit down, Mr. Bryce," said the lawyer, taking up the card again. "You called in reference to employment, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," said Jack.

"You are not a lawyer, of course?"

Jack shook his head. "No, sir. I am going to be perfectly frank with you. I have tried throughout the city for the past two months to get employment, but without success. I'm not suggesting that people turn me down because I'm a demobilized officer, but I do say that work is much harder to get than I ever dreamt would be the case before I left the army."

Mr. Hemmer nodded sympathetically.

"I should like to help you, Mr. Bryce," he said. "I knew your father well many years ago; but, candidly, the only question is your fitness for the work I have to offer. Do you understand anything about book-keeping?"

"No, sir," replied Jack, "I'm afraid I don't."

Mr. Hemmer looked over the fine figure of the young man with evident approval, but he shook his head.

"It is rather terrible that a splendid specimen of a man like you cannot find employment," he said. "You stand nearly six feet, don't you?"

"Just under," smiled Jack, "and I'm fighting fit. But that doesn't help me any. I am constantly being told that brains, not brawn, is requisite; and, although I'm not a fool, I somehow haven't been able to fit myself into the jobs which have been offered me."

Mr. Hemmer leant back in his chair, and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know what I can do, Mr. Bryce," he said. "I was hoping you might take the place of one of our accountants, who is leaving us, but I think that that, you will agree, is out of the question." Jack nodded.

"On second thoughts, I am not so sure," the lawyer went on, "that you won't be a very great help to me, providing always, of course," he added hastily, "that you do nothing illegal."

"Or, if I do anything illegal, I do it on my own responsibility," Jack amplified with a smile, which was reflected by Mr. Hemmer.

"Exactly," he said. "We have a very large clientele, and we are constantly getting into difficulties from which private detectives and the ordinary resources of the law cannot extricate us. Now here is a case." He took up an envelope and extracted a letter. "Do you know Mr. Dennis Wollaston by name?" Jack shook his head. "He is an extremely wealthy young man. His father was Wollaston, the big colliery proprietor, and he left his fortune equally between his daughter Grace and his son. They live in Park Lane, and our firm has acted for them for many years."

Jack waited, wondering into what difficulty the Wollastons had got, that they needed the service of his strong arm.

"Miss Wollaston is a very charming girl," continued Hemmer. "Unfortunately, her brother is not a very charming young man. And, in spite of the very respectable sum which was left him, his sister is greatly concerned as to the future of the fortune. His vice is gambling. He lost forty thousand pounds at a notorious gambling house near Cavendish Square, and when we had that place raided he found out another. At present he seems to be frequenting the worst of all, the identity of which is at present a secret, in spite of all our efforts."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to see Miss Wollaston. I met her last night at dinner, and I had a talk with her. Poor girl, she is desperate," said Mr. Hemmer, shaking his head. "Not only her brother's money but his health is going. Undoubtedly he has got into very bad hands. She wanted me to send you to Park Lane, but I want you to meet her elsewhere, because I have an idea that one of the servants at the house is in the gambler's pay. Every time we have tried to get information, somebody has always managed to get in before us with a warning."

"What have you arranged?" asked Jack, not without interest.

Mr. Hemmer took up a paper.

"You are to be in Brentford High Street, opposite the Police Court, at half-past three this afternoon. Exactly at that hour Miss Wollaston will drive up in her two-seater, and you will get into the car."

"That sounds romantic," said Jack with a bright smile, and went out in pleasant anticipation of adventure.

He had taken his stand, as he had been directed, in the narrow bottle-neck of Brentford when he saw the car approaching. It was driven by a girl of twenty-four, who was searching the side-walk as she made her slow progress, as though seeking someone. Her eyes fell on Jack, and he lifted his hat.

"Don't trouble to stop the car," he said as he stepped on to the running-board and over the low door.

"You are Captain Bryce, aren't you?" asked the girl.

She was a wholesome, British type, tanned with the sun, and the pleasant grey eyes she bent on Jack sparkled with good humour.

"I had to choose this rather unusual method of seeing you," she said, piloting her way through the maze of traffic. "Mr. Hemmer thinks that the servants are not to be trusted. I am going to drive to Hampton Court, across the bridge, and into the open country. Does that meet your views?"

"Excellently," he laughed.

She did not speak until they were clear of Hampton and had struck a secondary roads then she pulled the car to the side of the roadway and stopped the engine.

"If people see us they will take an obvious view. I hope it won't embarrass you?" she said with a laugh. Jack smiled but blushed.

"You look a capable sort of person," she went on, eyeing him with frank approval, but I don't quite know in what capacity Mr. Hemmer has sent you." She hesitated. "You're not a detective, are you?"

"No," laughed Jack. "I'm not exactly a detective. I might be more properly described as a bravo."

It was her turn to laugh.

"A hired assassin? Well, I don't want anybody assassinated. Captain Bryce, but I am very much worried about my brother. I despair of checking his excesses, and, although my best friend, Mrs. Fleming—you probably know Mrs. Fleming?"

"I don't go about much," said Jack, "except by motor 'bus."

Again she laughed.

"She has advised me to let Dennis go his own pace. Now I'll tell you my plan."

She sat back in her seat, her hands clasped about her knees, as wholesome a picture of British girlhood as Jack Bryce had ever seen. "I have some friends in Australia, and they wrote me some months ago, telling me that a young man named Mortimer, the son of a rich squatter, was coming with a letter of introduction, and Dennis and I were going show him round To-day I got a cable from my friends saying that he could not sail for six months, and apologizing for not having advised me sooner."

"I see," said Jack, nodding, "You would like me to be Mr. Mortimer?"

"You've got it. We have promised to put him up for a day or two, and his room is quite ready. I had to see you, you know. I'm so scared about the people that lawyers employ, but you look the part."

"Prepare the blue bedroom." said Jack solemnly. "I will arrive in Park Lane at seven o'clock this evening."

At seven o'clock that night Jack, appropriately dressed in a travelling ulster, with two large portmanteaux (he had bought one that afternoon in Victoria Street) was picked up by an apologetic chauffeur, who presented his mistress's compliments and regrets for keeping him waiting. He did not see the girl when he got to the house, but when he was dressed for dinner he found her waiting in the drawing-room, and with her was a young man who sat hunched up on a settee, his hands in his pockets and a frown on his sallow face.

"Mr. Mortimer? I am glad to see you," said the girl. "This is my brother Dennis." The young man uncoiled himself from the sofa and offered a limp hand. He stood eyeing the newcomer with a certain amount of disfavour.

"How do?" he grunted ungraciously. "Is dinner ready?"—this to his sister.

Dinner was announced at that moment. Throughout the meal the young man scarcely spoke a word. Jack Bryce talked entertainingly of Australia (he had spent two hours reading an Australian novel to get the local colour), and the girl was entertained and secretly amused. Before the end of the dinner the young man got up, and with a look at his wrist-watch—

"I have an appointment. You'll excuse me, Mr. Mortimer?" he said. "My sister will see you to your room. I hope you're comfortable. What is the matter?"

His sister was pulling a wry face. "I've just remembered that I have to go to a dance," she said. "That means that poor Mr. Mortimer will be left all alone in the house. I am awfully sorry."

"Don't worry about me," declared Jack cheerfully. "I can amuse myself. I know t London rather well. I was here about four years ago. But apart from that, if you give me a pack of cards I can amuse myself by playing solitaire."

There was a twisted little smile on Dennis Wollaston's face.

"Pretty slow playing against yourself, isn't it?" he asked.

"I get a lot of amusement out of it." said Jack. "I have rather a passion for cards."

"Do they play high in Australia?" asked Dennis, interested.

"Oh, pretty high," said the other carelessly. "Of course, the clubs don't allow you to lift the roof, but you can always get a little party, and in Melbourne—" He smiled suggestively, as if at a pleasant reminiscence.

The young man hesitated.

"Good night," he said. A little while later they heard the whine of his car as he drove away from the door.

The girl looked at Jack.

"Well?" she asked.

"I think he'll be easy," said that confident young man.

She was looking through the window into Park Lane. A car had drawn up at the door, and she turned to Jack.

"This is my friend. Fanny Fleming," she said. "I will introduce you."

"Not as Captain Bryce," he said quickly. "To everybody I meet here I must be Mr. Mortimer."

She hesitated.

"It doesn't matter about Fanny," she began.

"It matters about everybody. You must help me if I am to help you. Miss Wollaston."

So it was as "Mr. John Mortimer" that he was introduced to the slight, pretty woman of thirty who had come to take Grace Wollaston to a dance,

"You're from Australia, are you?" she asked languidly. "That is the one place I never want to go. What are you going to do with yourself in London?"

He shrugged.

"Just fool around and spend money, I expect," he said. "I am going into the country next week, but I shall be most of the time in town."

"You must get Dennis to show you round," she said with a half smile. "How did you like Dennis? I suppose you met him?"

He nodded. "Yes. A very charming man."

She smiled again.

"How diplomatic!" she said, and at that moment Grace Wollaston came in.

It was two o'clock before she returned, to find him playing patience on a little table in the drawing-room.

"Aren't you in bed?" she asked in surprise.

"No," he replied carelessly, as he gathered up the cards; "I'm waiting to see your brother."

She shook her head.

"He won't be in until four o'clock," she said, "and this is the earliest. Take my advice and go to bed, Captain Bryce. You can't do anything to-night."

"If you don't mind," he said as he rose, "I think I'll stay on."

She laughed.

"Well, you're an obstinate man. Good night."

At four o'clock that morning Mr. Dennis Wollaston came home, and, seeing a light in the drawing-room, he walked in—not, it must be confessed, in the best of humours.

"What are you doing, Mr. Mortimer?" he asked.

Jack had dealt two hands of five cards, and was now looking at one of them.

"I'm playing poker against myself," he said, "and I've already lost three thousand pounds."

"Have you ever lost as much as that in your life?" sneered Dennis.

"I have lost fifty thousand pounds," replied the other calmly, and Dennis looked at him with a new respect.

"That was going some," he said. "Where did this occur?"

"It occurred twice—once in Melbourne and once on the ship from Melbourne to Colombo. I got more than my losses back in Melbourne; but I was a loser, not to the full amount, but quite enough, on the ocean trip."

Dennis seated himself and offered his cigarette case to the other.

"Do you like high play?" he asked.

"I love it," said Jack.

"You do, eh? Well, I can take you to a place where you can lose a hundred thousand pounds in a hundred minutes."

"Here in London?" said the other contemptuously. "There isn't a sport in London who'd risk a hundred thousand shillings."

"That shows what a fool you are," declared Mr. Dennis Wollaston rudely. "Why, man, I've lost forty thousand pounds in this last two days."

"A straight game?"

"Of course it's a straight game," said the other indignantly. "Do you think I'm the type of man they could take in by a crooked game?"

Jack was silent.

"I'll give fifty thousand a flutter on the first opportunity."

"You can come to-morrow night," said the other quickly. "But you've got to be very careful. This is the hottest place in town. It is run by Boolby. He's a pretty well-known character, and as tough as they make them, but he's straight."

"Quite," said the other dryly.

"But you mustn't say a word to my sister, you understand. She's a fool about cards."

"Don't worry about that."

"And not a word to Mrs. Fleming. I hate her, though she did me a good turn when she introduced me to Boolby's. Now meet me to-morrow at the Cridero at eleven o'clock. I'll pick you up in my car."

At eleven o'clock Jack was keeping his appointment. He had told the girl before he left the house what were his plans for the night.

Mr. Dennis was not as prompt as his sister had been. It was nearly a quarter to twelve before his big, boat-like limousine swerved up to the kerb.

"Jump in quick," he said, and Jack obeyed. "I have to dodge about the town, because all sorts of detectives chase me. They know that Boolby's running a big game, and they think that I'm one of the goats."

He drove swiftly down the Bayswater Road, and turned into a terrace of big houses. Before one of these he stopped and jumped out.

The door of the house was opened by a sedate manservant, and the two were ushered in. It looked for all the world like the abode of a middle-class household. A dim gaslight was burning in the hall; a solid mahogany hatstand and a barometer, beside a chair and a table were the only ornaments the hall contained.

Dennis led the way down a passage, and opened a small door which appeared to be a cupboard. "Come in," he said, and Jack followed.

The door slammed there was a rumble, and the "cupboard" started moving up wards.

"An elevator. It's the only way you can get to the top floor," chuckled Wollaston. "The stairs end at the third floor, and if you don't know the ropes you could no more get into Boolby's place than fly."

"Boolby's place" proved to be a large room, ornamented with a big, green, baize-covered table at which about fifty men and women were grouped. The game in progress was baccarat.

"I'll watch the run of the cards for a bit," said Jack. "Let me introduce you to Boolby."

Mr. Boolby was a large man, who might have been an ex-prize-fighter, an ex-butler, or an ex-gentleman. He extended a huge hand to Jack.

"Any friend of Mr. Wollaston is a friend of mine," he said.

Jack turned his attention to the table, and he had not been watching long before he saw that the game was crooked. It was the dealer who betrayed the fact—the dealer who reached out to rake in the money before he had turned the cards.

It was only by a fraction of a second that he made the mistake, a mistake that escaped the observation of everybody except Jack. He looked round the table, and presently spotted the decoy duck—a tall, slim young man with whom Dennis had been exchanging friendly glances.

"I'm going to have a plunge," said this youth after the game had been in progress for an hour. "What is the bank, Jackson?"

"A hundred thousand, sir."

The youth looked at Dennis.

"I'll go banko if you'll stand half, Dennis," he said, and Dennis nodded. "Banko," then declared the young man.

"Wait a bit," said a quiet voice. It was Jack who spoke, and the people at the table craned round. He was smiling.

"I'll bet anybody here twenty thousand pounds that the bank's cards are two nines," he drawled; "who'll take me?"

"What the dickens do you mean?"

The big figure of Boolby elbowed a way through the press about the table.

"I mean this is a crooked game," said Jack calmly; and, stooping swiftly, he turned the cards.

As he had said, the bank's were two nines, which would beat anything.

"Every fifth, sixth, and seventh coup the bank wins," Jack went on. "And that stool pigeon"—he pointed to the slim young man—"kids somebody to come in."

By this time Boolby was facing him.

"Get out," said Boolby curtly. "Bring that lift up, Jones."

His hand was on Jack's arm, but the next instant he went down to the ground with a smashing blow in the face.

Instantly there was pandemonium. Four attendants rushed at the young man: the first he picked up and flung against the wall; the second he lifted bodily above his head; and the other two stopped in their tracks.

He took a quick glance round, then flung the man upon the green table, which collapsed with a crash under the impact, scattering cards and money in all directions.

Then he gripped Dennis by the arm. "Come along," he said.

"What have you done!" wailed the youth. "You have acted disgracefully, you blackguard."

Jack released his arm and went back to Mr. Boolby, who was sitting on the floor, his hand to his swollen jaw. He jerked the man to his feet.

"Show me the way out of this."

"I'll kill you!" hissed Boolby, and swung his arm. Again that smashing fist struck him, this time on the body, and he gasped.

"Show me the way out," repeated Jack; "or, better still, show me the way to your office."

The man was breathing heavily, and it was some time before he could speak.

"Come on," he snarled at last. "But don't forget I'll fix you for this."

They went through to another room, and through a door, down a flight of stairs, and Dennis followed. Boolby opened the door.

"Come in here," he growled.

A woman was sitting in the room, and she sprang to her feet as they entered.

"My wife. If you're a policeman, you'll know she's not in this," mumbled Boolby, but Jack was smiling at Mrs. Fanny Fleming.

"So you're the real decoy duck, are you? I presume you're the person who gave away every attempt to save this boy. Come in, Wollaston."

He dragged the young man into the room, and Dennis stared from one to the other.

"Now, Boolby, you can open that safe of yours and pay over to Mr. Dennis Wollaston the money he has lost since he has been your patron."

"I'll—" Boolby, spluttering with rage, could not find words to complete the sentence.

"You'll do as you're told," said Jack calmly.

"Suppose I don't?"

Jack looked round. There was a window at the end of the apartment. He walked quickly to it, pulled the blinds, opened the lower sash, and looked out.

"I guess that's far enough," he remarked. "You'll either do as I tell you, or I'll throw you out of that window. You doubt my ability?"

"Oh, pay him, pay him!" It was the white-faced Mrs. Fleming who spoke. "He'll do it. I ought to have known he was a detective."

Jack was silent, but no more silent than Mr. Dennis Wollaston, who seemed bereft of speech. The big man unlocked the safe and took out a bundle of notes.

"How much have you lost, you dirty little pup?" he asked.

Smack! It was the back of Jack's hand across the big man's face, and the woman shrieked.

"With men like you," said Jack, "it seems to me that only brutality counts."

Mr. Boolby paid.