Читать книгу The Iron Grip - Edgar Wallace - Страница 4

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"Wireless" Bryce

"Well, Captain Bryce, I didn't expect to send for you so soon, but I think we have another Job which you can carry through for us?"

Mr. James Hemmer, of the firm of Hemmer & Hemmer, shook hands with the tall young man who had come into his office, and motioned him to a chair. "Were you satisfied with the fee for the Down Under case?"

"Perfectly," replied Jack gratefully. "I really didn't expect anything like that sum, "Mr. Hemmer—"

Mr. Hemmer stopped him with a gesture. "It was well worth the money to get that young man out of the clutches of such scheming rascals," he said, and looked at Jack admiringly.

There was a tap at the door, and a cleric came in, and, leaning over the table, whispered to the lawyer. Mr. Hemmer nodded.

"I have an appointment just now," he said, looking at Jack Bryce. "Do you mind waiting in the outer office?"

Jack Bryce made his exit and, taking the chair which the clerk put for him, waited. When he went back to the outer office he found a frail old lady waiting, and, as she was immediately taken into Mr. Hemmer's office, he gathered that she was the client who had interrupted his interview.

The door had closed, and he was speculating upon what manner of business such an old person might have to conduct when the door of the outer office was flung open violently, and a man stalked in. He was tall and broad, florid of face, perfectly dressed, and carried himself with such an air of assurance that Jack, who was quick in his likes and dislikes, marked him down unfavourably.

"Tell Mr. Hemmer I am here," he said loudly to the clerk, and without so much as glancing at Jack he seated himself, opened a newspaper, and began to read.

The clerk came back from the lawyer's office and beckoned him forward, and he strode through the door and closed it behind him.

"That's a nice gentleman—I don't think," remarked the clerk, and Jack smiled.

From the inner office came the sound of the visitor's voice. It was loud and strident, and held a note of defiance. He seemed to be the only one speaking, but Jack guessed that that was because his voice was louder, and drowned all other conversation.

Presently the door of the office opened, and he flounced out, followed by the lawyer. "I assure you, my dear Mr. Benson—" began Hemmer.

"Don't dear Mr. Benson me, please," said the other savagely. "I tell you that all the darned lawyers in the world, and all the darned old women in the world, will not stop me from marrying whom I choose. This is an affair which concerns Miss Colebrook and myself. She is of age, and can do as she wishes."

Hemmer was obviously nettled. "That is just what I suggest she is not doing," he retorted with asperity. "She is a foolish girl, led away by her enthusiasm. She is without experience of the world, and she has simply taken the first plausible man who has come along."

Mr. Benson swung round. "If you insult me," he shouted, "whether you're a lawyer or not a lawyer, you know what I'll do to you!"

Mr. Hemmer, in spite of his self-possession, went a shade paler, and, observing this, Benson turned with a laugh, and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him. The lawyer stood for a little while, then, turning slowly, went back to his room and closed the door. Jack caught the clerk's smiling eye.

"We see a bit of life now and again, don't we?" commented that gentleman.

"Who is he?" asked Jack.

"Mr. Larry Benson. You've heard of him?"

"I don't know him from a crow," Jack admitted.

"He's pretty well known up West," said the clerk, working as he spoke, and that seemed to summarise Mr. Larry Benson's character.

Half an hour passed, and another quarter, and still the interview went on, and Jack was beginning to wonder whether Hemmer would have the opportunity of seeing him.—the more so as he heard the clerk fix a telephone appointment for twelve o'clock. Then, when he had almost given up all hope, Mr. Hemmer appeared in the doorway.

"Will you come in for a moment, Mr. , Bryce?" he said.

Jack obeyed with alacrity.

"This is Mrs. Dermot." He introduced him to the old lady. "This is Mr. Bryce, of whom I have been speaking."

The old lady had evidently been crying, for her eyes were red, and she looked anxiously at Jack.

"He's certainly good-looking," she said. Jack blushed.

"Mrs. Dermot and I have been having a talk, Mr. Bryce," Mr. Hemmer explained, resuming his seat at his desk. "You probably saw the interview I had with the gentleman who left this office a few moments ago?" Jack nodded. "Well, I will tell you the whole story before I put any proposal to you," he went on. "Mr. Larry Benson is a well-known man-about-town, though he is not so well known that I have heard anything very good of him. It has been our misfortune that he has met Mrs. Dermot's niece, who is an heiress in her own right, and inherits a large sum of money—next June. Miss Colebrook is a charming girl, but she has been quite carried off her feet by this"—he seemed at some loss to discover a word—"person. Now we have thought of a scheme—or, rather, I have thought of it. It is not one which I would ordinarily care to recommend to a client; but, under the circumstances, I think I am justified in putting it forward." Mrs. Dermot assented. "Mrs. Dermot and her niece are staying at a large hotel in Surrey. Mr. Benson is also staying there, and every effort Mrs. Dermot has made to induce her self-willed niece to leave has been unsuccessful."

Mr. Hemmer paused to frame his proposal. "We believe," he continued slowly, "that Benson has only been successful because he has never had any kind of dangerous rival, and we want to say that we honestly believe that he has only been successful at all because he has played upon the girl's imagination by representing himself as a hero. He is, as you see, a tremendous bully, and that sometimes passes for heroism to the uninitiated, and, taking the two things in conjunction, if the right kind of man is planted at Colby Hall—that is the name of the hotel—he might induce this young lady to break an engagement which can only end disastrously."

"I see," said Jack after a moment's thought. "Am I the successful rival?"

Hemmer nodded.

"I don't know whether I can play that part," said Jack doubtfully. "You see, I've had to make a rather large inroad upon my wardrobe."

Mr. Hemmer smiled.

"Are your things pawned or sold?" he asked, and Jack flushed.

"They are pawned."

"That can be arranged." said the lawyer. "The question is, will you do it?"

"Yes, I'll do it," agreed Jack, again considering. "I don't want to hurt the girl, but from what I saw of the gentleman, I certainly do not regard him as an ideal husband'

The old woman rose and walked across to him, laying her hand upon his arm. "You will be careful, young man," she said. "He has a violent temper, and is most brutal. I saw him strike a boy most cruelly because he dropped a golf club on his foot."

"He won't strike this boy most cruelly," declared Jack confidently.

That afternoon he carried the lawyer's cheque to the bank, and made divers calls at queer little shops, and the next morning a remarkably well-dressed young man, carrying two suitcases, alighted at the Ackmere Station, and entered the Colby Hall motor bus.

Mr. Larry Benson was, by his own confession, a most patient man, but there was, he said, a limit to his patience. He walked gloomily along one of the garden paths—for Colby Hall was situated in the midst of a big estate—and the girl at his side was alternately angry and tearful. She was not very tall, but she was very pretty. She was the fluffy, golden type, and if her features were regular they were a trifle weak.

"I "won't have it, May," said Mr. Benson violently. "He's only been here three days, and yet every time I come back from town I find him with you. Who is this Captain Bryce?"

"He is very nice indeed," she said. "Now, Larry, don't be silly and jealous. You know how I love you. Tell me how you killed those seven Germans and captured their machine guns."

But Larry was in no mood for reminiscence, and was not to be smoothed down. If he had been, the sudden appearance of a tall young man in flannels who emerged from one of the side paths would have been sufficient to throw him back into his condition of smouldering fury.

Jack Bryce walked up to the girl, lifting his straw hat with a smile.

"What about that game of tennis you promised me, Miss Colebrook?"

"Miss Colebrook is not playing tennis this evening," exploded Benson, glaring at the intruder.

Jack met the glare with smiling eyes. "Are you going to play, Miss Colebrook?"

She was in a flutter of indecision, looking from one man to the other.

"Haven't I told you," said Benson savagely, "that Miss Colebrook is not playing tennis?"

"I didn't ask you," pointed out the other with his sweetest smile.

"You asked this lady's fiancé," roared Benson, purple of face.

"What relationship you are, or hope to be, to Miss Colebrook is entirely her trouble," said Jack. "I asked her if she was playing tennis with me, and, of course, she will tell me herself. I don't know a great deal of Miss Colebrook," he added with his most winning smile, "but I doubt if she is the kind of young lady who would be bullied into breaking an engagement. You're not exactly married, Mr. Benson, and, if you will allow me to say so," Jack was in his gravest and most paternal mood, "if this is the attitude you will adopt after your marriage, it is not a bright outlook for Miss Colebrook."

Benson was now speechless with rage, but the girl had plucked up a little spirit. Jack had gauged her accurately the first time he met her, and he knew just what chords to play.

"Don't be absurd, Larry!" she pouted. "Of course I'm going to play with Captain Bryce. You're very horrid and nasty." And with a toss of her head she turned and fell in by Jack's side, and they walked across to the tennis courts.

It was nearly dark before the game had finished, and Jack had seen the girl back to the hotel. On the way they passed Mrs. Dermot being wheeled home in her bath-chair from her daily "constitutional." The girl was a little sad and rather thoughtful. "I do hope I haven't hurt Larry's feelings," she said.

"Oh, nonsense!" replied Jack cheerfully. "After all, what does it matter if you have hurt his feelings?"

"Well, you see, one ought to take notice of one's future husband," she began, and Jack laughed.

"I think you're the wickedest little girl in the world," he said; and she, surprised, stared at him. It is a painful truth that the majority of humanity are flattered by being called wicked. Miss Colebrook was no unusual specimen of humanity.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, but not resentfully.

"To play with the feelings of a man like that," said Jack admiringly. "My dear girl," he went on glibly, "you're not in love, you're just in love with love. You like nice people and nice men, but you certainly are not the type—and I think I know humanity rather well—to tie your life to Larry Benson or to any other man."

She smiled. Of course, she had never thought of her engagement to Larry Benson in any other than the most serious light, with one inevitable consequence. But she smiled.

"He's an awfully nice boy," she said with a sigh, "and so brave."

"A little on the fat side," remarked Jack critically. "I'm going to see you after dinner aren't I?"

She dropped her eyes. "If you like, and," hurriedly, "if Larry doesn't object."

"Forget Larry," he said.

At dinner that night Mr. Larry Benson, who invariably dined with his fiancée—Mrs. Dermot did not come down to dinner—left her to eat in solitary state.

"All alone?" asked Jack, entering the dining-room resplendent in evening kit. "Y-yes," replied the girl, and glanced across the tables, where a scowling Larry Benson was eating by himself.

"Fine!" observed Jack coolly, and sat down in the unoccupied chair.

He could be very amusing, for he had a fund of anecdotes which seemed inexhaustible, and there seemed to be no interval between the girl's laughter—or so it seemed to jealous Mr. Benson. His mind was made up. He saw Bryce and the girl go out, and followed them. They were walking through the darkened grounds, and Jack was spreading his overcoat on one of the garden seats, when Larry Benson overtook them.

"A word with you," he snarled.

"You can have two," said Jack.

"You can leave that lady where she is, and go back to the hotel," said Benson, "or I'll give you the biggest flogging any man has ever had in his life."

The girl came forward in alarm.

"Oh, please, don't, Larry, please!" she pleaded. But he pushed her aside so roughly that she would have fallen, had not Jack caught her by the arm.

"Are you going back?" asked Benson.

"I would rather stay and be killed," Jack remarked lightly; and then, with an oath, Larry Benson struck at him.

The blow did not get home. A battering-ram caught him square under the jaw, and he fell to the ground. He jumped up, and, leaping forward, took a flying kick at his opponent. But Jack had anticipated the assault, and stepped aside. In another second a hand like a steel vice gripped Larry by the neck, another caught him by the slack of the trousers, and he found himself lifted up and. flying through space. A clump of bushes broke his fall, and he lay groaning till Jack walked across to him, and, jerking him to his feet, shook him like a rat.

A deep and genuine love would probably have succoured the discomfited champion, but Jack had been very near the mark when he told her that she was only in love with love. And a feeling of this kind is rarely proof against the discovery of the unworthiness of the object that has inspired it.

The girl was watching the downfall of her mighty man of valour with wide-open mouth and staring eyes. But it was not until Mr. Benson began to weep that she realized the full extent of the catastrophe, and drew the half-hoop of diamonds from her finger with becoming dignity.

"Mr. Benson," she said, "here is your ring."

He took the ring, because Mr. Benson was a man who never left any of his property in other people's possession if he could help it.

"And I want to say this," declared the girl, "that I don't believe you ever did kill seven Germans with your own hand—or even six."

They watched him stagger away, and then—

"Sit down with me, little friend," said Bryce, "and let's talk about love."

"Yes, auntie," said May Colebrook next morning, and she was quite brisk and business-like, "I've broken off my engagement with Mr. Benson. I don't think he's the type of man that one could respect. You may think I'm romantic, but I must have a man I respect."

"Yes, my dear," agreed the meek Mrs. Dermot.

"I had a long talk with Mr. Bryce last night, and he really is a sensible man, and I'm awfully sorry he's gone away this morning," she said. "You know, I was never in love at all, I was merely in love with love. That's quite a different thing. And I've got too many responsibilities in this world to marry in haste. If one has a lot of money, one ought to take the greatest care that it doesn't fall into hands which might employ it for evil."

Mrs. Dermot was staggered, and quite justifiably so, for she had never heard her niece talk in this strain before.

"I think you're very sensible, May," she remarked. "When did you reach this conclusion?"

"Oh, I've been thinking matters out," said her niece.

But she did not say that she had been thinking matters out with Jack Bryce, and that the admirable sentiments which she enunciated were merely echoes of his.