Читать книгу Elegant Edward - Edgar Wallace - Страница 6

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MR. EDWARD FARTHINDALE (we may take his latest name as his best) descended from a taxi in the courtyard at King's Cross Station, and, for a man of his magnificent raiment, it appeared strange, indeed remarkable, that he should carry his own luggage, and that a battered brown Gladstone bag.

"Here, what's this?" asked the cabman ferociously.

Edward screwed a nearly-gold-rimmed monocle into his eye and surveyed the coin that was exposed in the centre of a large and grimy palm.

"That is a shilling, old thing. In the argot of your class and breeding you would describe it as a 'bob.' It is not only a shilling, my lamb, but it is also your legal fare. Hush! Not before the porters!"

He raised his gloved hand in solemn reproach to check the electric torrent of protest, and walked into the booking-hall. He was a man of middle height, slightly thin. His features, unevenly disposed, had a somewhat worn appearance. Beneath a small and shapeless nose he wore a jet-black moustache, waxed at both ends to needle points. His clothes were of the latest model, the morning coat fitting perfectly, the striped trousers as perfectly creased. On his head, as proof of his exclusiveness and respectability, was a shiny silk hat.

"Elegant Edward, or I'm a Dutchman," said the amazed Inspector Bright, travelling detective of the Great Northern Railway.

Edward saw the burly form out of the tail of his eye and became instantly absorbed in the display of a book-stall.

"Good morning, Elegance!" said a voice in his ear, and he turned with an affected start.

"My Gad, dear old Bright!" he said; but his astonishment did not deceive the man of law.

"You rumbled me," he accused. "I saw you giving me the 'once.'"

"I saw you, but I didn't see you," said Edward. "You were, as it were, part of the landscape. You were, as it were—"

"As you were!" said the detective good-humouredly. "And where are you going, Elegance?"

"I thought," said Elegant Edward carefully, "of running up to York for a few days. I've got a brother there—he's ill, Bright. Funny thing about our family is that we're devoted, so to speak, to one another—"

"Let's have a screw at your brief," said the officer inelegantly.

Reluctantly, Mr. Farthindale produced his railway ticket.

"Glasgow!" grunted the officer.

"When I said 'York' I meant 'Glasgow,'" said Edward hastily. "Queer how I always mix those places."

Bright handed back the ticket with a thoughtful frown.

"New hunting ground for you, isn't it, Edward?"

Edward looked pained.

"I don't follow you, Mr. Bright. I'm merely running up to see my sister—"

"You said 'brother' just now."

"My sister is looking after my brother —what a nurse that girl is," said Edward ecstatically. "She ought to get the Red Cross—she ought. really. Never leaves my brother day or night—"

"Cut out your relations," interrupted the other, "and take a word of advice. You haven't been too successful with your swindles in England—if I remember rightly, you've got five convictions behind you—but if you try 'em on the Scotch, they'll skin you. You haven't a chance, Edward."

Elegant Edward listened, an indulgent smile lifting the corners of his thin lips.

"There are people up there"—the earnest inspector pointed in the direction of Camden Town, but indicated the free citizens of Glasgow—"there are people up there who know the Scotch and talk their language, and even they can't get a living. There are only three solvent crooks in Scotland—two of 'em's in Perth gaol and the other's a lady, Aberdeen Annie. And she's only solvent because she works the south nine months in the year and waits for the shooting season to take the English mugs north."

"The lady I know, or, to speak the truth, Bright, I've heard about," said Elegant Edward wearily; "but what you've got to get into your nut is that I'm going up on pleasure."

Inspector Bright signified by a gesture that he left his hearer to his fate.

"Have your own way, Edward. I've nothing against you, because you're not in my orbit, so to speak. You belong to the real police. But I'll look for you coming back and have a blanket ready to put round you—you'll want it."

Elegant Edward had no fear. In the inside pocket of his morning coat were four bank-notes, each for a hundred pounds. Within the recesses of his Gladstone was the prospectus of the Papinico Oil Well Syndicate, with photographs showing long vistas of gushers. That the Papinico oil-fields had existence there is no doubt. They were floated immediately after the war by an enterprising American promoter, who raised enough money to sink bores, and on this to raise a beautiful home at Palm Beach, and motor cars of great power. He failed, however, to raise oil in marketable quantities; and the five-dollar shares were, at the moment, about as valuable as the Russian rouble and only a little more than the German mark.

Elegant Edward bought a hundred thousand for a pound, and the man who sold them to him felt that he had made a good bargain.

There was not, in all the land, a more ingenious man than Edward. He admitted this with great frequency. More reliable was the tribute paid by divers magistrates, who had told him on various occasions that if he only employed his undoubted talents to honest ends he would be a rich man.

Settling himself in the corner of an empty first-class carriage, he contemplated his coming task with the satisfaction of knowing that he was engaged in perfectly honest commerce; for Papinico oil was a reality, and you cannot be pinched for selling realities.

The train was on the point of starting when the door was jerked open violently, and a lady half-fell, half-sprang into the carriage.

"I am awfully sorry," she said apologetically.

Her voice was low and sweet, and Edward, who was something of a ladies man, took stock of his fellow passenger and approved. She was young, and her prettiness was of that spirituelle type which found most favour with this connoisseur of loveliness.

"Permit me," he said gallantly, and helped her to put her little case on the rack.

He did not fail to notice the golden coronet stamped on the purple leather, surmounting an intricate monogram which he could not decipher.

She was dressed exquisitely and yet severely, and the shy eyes that met his were of such a lovely blue that the sight of them almost took his breath away.

"Please don't stop smoking," she said, as Edward, after an elaborate preparation, lowered the window and prepared to throw away his cigarette. And then: "I suppose I am in the right train?"

"This is the Scottish express, madam," said Edward politely.

She heaved a sigh and smiled at the same time.

"Thank goodness!" she said. "I have a horrible weakness for catching the wrong train."

He saw at a glance she was an aristocrat; none but a highly bred young woman with perfect confidence in herself would have spoken to him. The twopenny-halfpenny people (so he told himself) would have raised their noses and sat frigidly in the corner. She, on the contrary, chatted gaily as she opened her little travelling case and took out a book.

"I don't mind travelling with men if they don't mind travelling with me," she said. "The last time I came down from the north I travelled with a woman." She made a little grimace.

"She wasn't very pleasant, miss?" suggested Elegant Edward with his most winning smile.

"She wasn't," said the girl emphatically. "She was a wretched thief—a girl well-known in Scotland—"

"Not Aberdeen Annie?" Edward was indiscreet enough to ask. "Not that I know anything about her," he went on hurriedly, "except what one reads in one's paper."

"It was Aberdeen Annie," said the girl emphatically, "and the pleasure of travelling with her cost me a two-hundred pound brooch—the wretched creature."

"It's curious," mused Edward, "how the criminal classes crop up here and there. You never know when you're safe, upon my word you don't. It's a curious coincidence that I was talking to a friend of mine at the station"—he coughed—"a high official of the police force, and we were discussing that young woman. What is she like?"

The girl shook her head.

"I don't know, except that she has red hair and very bold eyes. The police tried to get me to give a description of her, but I really didn't notice her; I was asleep most of the time. But there's no doubt that it was Aberdeen Annie."

"Curious," murmured Edward, "very curious."

A little later, by cleverly leading up to the subject, he discovered that she was Lady Evelyn Landip, the daughter of the Earl of Cheal.

"You're a soldier, aren't you?" she asked.

Edward blushed.

"I have been in the service," he said, "but not in the military service. In fact, it was secret service, if you understand me."

She opened her eyes wide.

"Really! Were you a secret service officer?"

"I was, until I went into the oil business," said Elegant Edward, who never lost an opportunity. "And when I think of how I might have been going on, earning a paltry few hundred a year, instead of making what I might term a fortune, as I have done, out of Papinico oil, I can tell you, miss, I'm not half relieved."

"Not half?" she repeated in a puzzled voice. "What does that mean? You mean you are relieved?"

"I do," said the abashed Edward. "That's exactly what I do mean."

He talked Papinico to her until the train reached York. She was good to practise on, and he had a not unnatural ambition to appear important in her eyes.

"Are the shares very valuable?" she asked, after a long and eloquent dissertation on the fortune that had been made (he did not tell her it was made by the promoter) out of Papinico.

"They are and they're hot," said Edward carefully. "Owing to trade depression and competition they are down to ten shillings, but they will see ten pounds."

"Really!" She was impressed, and pursed her pretty lips thoughtfully as she stared out of the window. "My father is interested in stocks and shares," she said. "I wonder whether you would like to meet him?"

Elegant Edward didn't even wonder. A man with a knowledge of stocks and shares would know enough about Papinico oil to have him arrested. The people he most earnestly desired to meet were those who knew nothing about the shares and their value.

"Poor daddy!" she went on with a faint smile. "He is such a stupid old dear about speculations. I don't think there has been a wild-cat scheme financed but daddy has had a big share in it."

Instantly, Elegant Edward began to look upon his travelling companion from a new angle. Only for a second did the spell of her beauty hold him to the path of rectitude, and then all there was of Adam in him stepped forth jauntily.

"If there's one person more than another I'd like to meet, miss," he said, "it's your noble parent."

She laughed.

"Then you'll have an opportunity," she said.

Then suddenly her manner changed.

She shivered slightly as she withdrew into her corner seat.

"Mr. Farthindale," she said (he had given her his card), "I wonder how you would feel if you were travelling north on as disagreeable an errand as mine—a visit which may end in the loss of my liberty."

Elegant Edward felt a cold shiver passing down his spine, but she undeceived him.

"I am going to Scotland to be married to a man I loathe—though I belong to a great house I am entirely without friends."

And then, as Edward was about to speak, she stopped him with a weary gesture.

"Forget what I have told you, Mr. Farthindale," she said sadly, and a few minutes later the train slowed for the terminus.

It was dark when the train drew in to Glasgow, and in the confusion of the arrival he missed her, and cursed himself heartily for his folly. Fortunately, he had given her the address of the by no means modest hotel where he intended putting up preparatory to his raid upon the pockets of credulous Scotland.

He did not ask why she had confided in him. Women took to him. He frequently said so. There was something about him that was very fascinating to the weaker sex. He confessed this so often that it cannot be said that he was immodest.

With an effort he put her out of his mind, resolved upon one good deed—that, if he met the red-haired girl who had robbed her, she should disgorge her ill-gotten gains. With this noble intention he busied himself from the moment of his arrival with the preparation of his campaign. In addition to a large quantity of prettily printed share certificates he had brought some two hundred and fifty addressed envelopes, supplied to him by a gentleman who specialized in cataloguing mug speculators. By eleven o'clock in the morning he had despatched these, each containing a copy of the prospectus and the announcement that our Mr. Edward Farthindale (London and Continental Agent for the Papinico Oil Fields) was at the most superior hotel in Glasgow, and would be ready and willing to supply information to intending investors.

It was in many ways an alluring letter, frank to an amazing degree. It pointed out that the value of the Papinico shares was to some extent problematical; but it was careful to relate a list of the eventually profitable oil companies that had been floated in the Papinico neighbourhood. It told the story of a young clerk who, with twenty dollars, had by judicious investment in an oil field (not the Papinico, though this fact was not emphasized) amassed a fortune of two million dollars; and it ended flourishingly, that he was "yours for service, Edward P. Farthindale."

His ground bait strewn, Edward went in search of congenial company, and found it in the shape of one Higgins, who supported Detective Inspector Bright's theory, that professional dishonesty did not flourish in Scotland, by instantly demanding the loan of a pound.

"I'm going back to London, Edward," said Higgins. "There's no confidence in this cursed country—why, you couldn't get a box of matches without a banker's reference."

Mr. Higgins was a long-firm dealer who, on the strength of expensive note-paper and an accommodation address, secured articles of marketable value.

"You'll get nothing up here," he said disgustedly, shaking his head. "There's more pickings in gaol than there is in Glasgow, though I'm willing to admit that your graft is a bit cleverer than mine. What are you selling—Russian crown jewels?"

Elegant Edward shook his head.

"No, sir," he said; "I'm running a straight business. I'm a broker."

The lip of his companion curled.

"You'll be more broke than that," he said ominously.

And then it occurred to Edward to ask his friend a question.

"Aberdeen Annie? No, I can't say that I've met her. She doesn't work this side of Scotland. Why?"

"I merely ask because she 'did it' on a friend of mine."

"She'd do it on anybody," growled Higgins.

Edward never abandoned hope of meeting his aristocratic acquaintance, but that hope was doomed to disappointment. He saw in a Glasgow paper that Lady Evelyn Landip was a member of a ducal house party, and speculated as to which of the lords and honourables in the same paragraph was her hateful fiancé. But he had little time to brood upon the exploitation of that gracious lady, for, by a miracle, the attractive nature of the Papinico investment appealed to some eighty per cent. of the people whom he had addressed, and letters began to flow in, and in a week from his arrival the first cheque had been received and through the instrumentality of Higgins, cashed. Not a day passed but a thousand ornamental share certificates were transferred to optimistic clients.

Papinico was booming, and Elegant Edward's £400 had grown to a thousand. And then, one morning, there walked into his room a broad-shouldered representative of the Glasgow detective force.

"'Morning, Mr. Farthindale or Ha'pennydale, or whatever your name is."

Elegant Edward was neither haughty nor misunderstanding. He knew the visitor for what he was, and knew that there is a time to be fresh and a time to be respectful.

"You're selling shares in a dud oil-field," said the officer; "and whilst, in the strict terms of the law, you're not swindling (otherwise I shouldn't be arguing the point with you) in another sense you are."

"If anybody says that there's no such company as the Papinico—" began Edward.

"Nobody does," interrupted the detective. "If there wasn't a Papinico oil-field I should pinch you. As it is"—he looked at his watch—"there's a train out of Glasgow to-night; you'd better take it, and if you follow my advice you'll go sharp."

Elegant Edward nodded gravely. "A word to the wise," said he, "is more than sufficient; it's enough."

The detective gone, Edward rushed his uncashed cheques to the obliging Mr. Higgins, and at four o'clock that afternoon, with his Gladstone packed, his bill paid, and a pleasing bulkiness of inside pocket, he strolled to the railway station.

And the first person he saw was Lady Evelyn Landip! She was more beautifully attired than ever, wearing a beautiful sable coat, but he recognized her instantly. To his amazement and gratification, she hurried across to greet him with a warmth which was most unexpected.

"I'm so glad, Mr. Farthindale!" she gasped. "I did want to see you, but I forgot your address. Can I speak to you?"

"My dear young lady," said Elegant Edward with a beatific smile, "you can speak to me anywhere you like."

"Come to my car," she said. "We will drive somewhere."

He hesitated.

"I'm going to London," he said.

"So was I, but I'm not now. Give me an hour," she pleaded.

It was not in Elegant Edward to have refused her. He deposited his bag in the cloakroom and followed her out into the station yard. A large and imposing limousine was waiting, and he followed her in. Leaning out of the window, she gave the driver instructions, and until they were clear of Glasgow and were passing through the green lanes of the country she did not speak. Then:

"I was married to-day," she said.

"Married to-day?" gasped Edward.

She nodded.

"Then—why—?"

"I have left my husband," she said. "Mr. Farthindale, I could not, could not stay with him!"

She was weeping softly into her handkerchief, and it would not have been like Elegant Edward to have denied her sympathy.

"Not before the chauffeur," she said in a low tone. "Remember you are a gentleman."

It was an effort, but Edward remembered.

They reached the edge of a little wood, and, tapping at the window, she stopped the car and alighted, Edward following her.

"There is something you ought to know," she said, and her little hand trembled for a moment in the crook of his arm. "It was always impossible, but a thousand times more impossible—after I met you."

Edward's heart stood still for a second; for a longer space of time his feet followed suit: he could only stare at her.

"My dear Miss—Lady—" he stammered.

"I love you," she murmured, and fell into his arms.

She had fainted! And then from behind a gruff voice hailed him.

"Hi, sir! What the devil do you mean, sir!"

He turned and saw a young man of great height and apparent muscularity, advancing on him with rapid strides.

"So I've caught you, have I? And you, Evelyn!"

The great brute shook the unconscious girl, and it required all Elegant Edward's self-possession to refrain from leaping at his throat. He was a much bigger man than Edward.

"Let me explain—" began Edward, clearing his voice.

"No explanation is necessary," said the young man furiously. "I find my bride in your arms! You shall answer for this, sir."

He almost snatched the fainting girl from Edward's half-hearted grip and, lifting her as though she were a child, carried her back to the car. In a few minutes the motor had disappeared in a cloud of dust.

He put his hand mechanically to the place where her head had rested and felt a strange vacuum. The inside pocket should have bulged with crisp notes. There was no bulge. He thrust his hand into his inside pocket. There was no excuse for a bulge—the money was gone!