Читать книгу The Mouthpiece - Edgar Wallace - Страница 4

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THE man who entered flung his hat unceremoniously on Stuckey's desk and sank heavily, without invitation, into the only chair which offered any degree of comfort. He glanced around at Bells, and jerked his head faintly but authoritatively in the direction of the door. The clerk turned on his heel and vanished into the outer office.

Charles Stuckey looked supremely uncomfortable, as he always did in the presence of this paunchy, over-fed man with the florid countenance and the faintly mocking expression in the dark brown eyes, which were a thought too small and set a shade too closely together.

For some moments no word was spoken: the two men sat regarding each other. A man in the early fifties, Colonel Alec Lutman had once been a handsome and imposing figure. Those who knew him best and disliked him most said that Lutman's name could not be found in the Army List, and that the prefix 'Colonel' had, indeed, no more justification, when applied to Lutman, than the fact that women succumb more readily to a title, particularly a military one.

At last the solicitor, with an obvious effort as of a man shaking himself free from some dominating influence, broke the silence.

"What have you come for, Lutman?"

The smile on the other's face widened.

"My dear Charles!" he protested. "Scarcely the way to greet an old—er— friend! I do hope you don't employ the same effusive manner towards all your— er—clients."

The solicitor scowled.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm in no mood this morning for badinage. Did you want to see me about anything in particular? Because if not, I have several appointments..."

Colonel Lutman regarded him with an air of appreciative benevolence.

"The one thing I admire most about you, Charles, is your stern sense of duty. It is that which makes rising young lawyers—er—rise," he finished, rather lamely.

Stuckey made an impatient gesture, and looked at his wrist-watch.

"I hope," went on his visitor, "that you have not, under pressure of your professional duties, overlooked one very important appointment this morning."

Charles frowned.

"You mean?"

"I see you have. Even promising young solicitors—"

"Oh, for God's sake, Lutman, come to the point."

The Colonel sighed and dropped his bantering tone.

"All right, I will," he said. "Jim Asson comes out of Dartmoor this morning, and is by now"—he glanced up at the clock on the dusty mantelpiece— "well on his way to London and to this office." Stuckey gave a violent start.

"Jim? Out! But I thought..."

"Quite. You thought he wasn't due for another six months. But Jim has been a very blue-eyed boy and has earned a special remission for something or other. He should be here in about an hour." The solicitor's features registered his distaste.

"But what's he coming here for? I don't want to see him."

"Perhaps not." The Colonel's manner reverted to the grandiose. "But I deemed it advisable that the—er—reunion should take place here under the aegis, as it were, of our legal representative. You see," he went on to explain, "when I heard from Jimmy the glad tidings of his early release, I gathered from his tone that he was feeling somewhat—er—sore with me concerning his incarceration."

"You mean, he knows you shopped him?"

Lutman raised a hand in a gesture of protest.

"'Shopped,' Charles? Really, that is hardly a dignified word—"

"Dignity be damned!" Stuckey interrupted. "I speak the language of my clients. And it's not so unfamiliar to you, either." Lutman waved the point aside.

"Anyway," he continued, "Jimmy, as I say, is feeling a sense of grievance and is breathing vengeance and slaughter against me. I therefore wrote to him and arranged to meet him here. You see, Charles"—again his wordy prose dropped from him, and he spoke simply and earnestly—"something's got to be done about Jimmy."

"I've often thought that," grunted the other. "He's a lousy—"

"Yes, yes, I agree: he's all that and more. But I mean that we've got to find a way of making it up to him. He's done eighteen months' imprisonment; the proceeds of the little affair which got him the sentence are practically all gone, and Jimmy will want considerable—er—smoothing down."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean," said the Colonel, "that we've got to find a way of presenting Jimmy with some easy money. I'm nearly broke—" The ringing of the telephone bell interrupted him. Charles lifted the receiver, listened, grunted a few monosyllables, and then replaced the instrument.

"I'll have to slip out for a few minutes," he told Lutman. "Would you rather wait, or—?"

"Oh, I'll wait here," was the reply. "Maybe the acute legal atmosphere with which you have permeated your surroundings will induce a bright idea."

Charles grunted.

"I'll not be long," he said, and passed through the outer offices. Left alone, the caller glanced around the dusty office with distaste. It was poorly, if adequately, furnished. A shelf of law books stood affixed by brackets on the opposite wall of the room; a few black-japanned deed boxes, the names on which were quite illegible under the thick coating of dust, occupied the farther corner of the floor to his left. His gaze wandered to the large, littered desk which occupied the centre of the room and by the side of which stood the arm-chair in which he was now sitting. On the blotting-pad was a small pile of letters, opened and unopened. Lutman reached out a hand and drew these casually towards him. It was with him not so much a principle as a habit of mind to keep himself as well informed as possible on all affairs, his own or anybody else's.

The cablegram arrested his attention, and he read its contents, idly at first, then a second time with quickened interest. The message, which came from a firm of New York lawyers, informed Messrs. Stuckey & Stuckey, as the legal accredited representatives of Mrs. Millicent Smith and her daughter Jacqueline, that the latter had been bequeathed by her deceased uncle, Mr. Alan Redfern, the whole of his residual estate, amounting to some 1,500,000 dollars.

Lutman read and re-read the cablegram. His mind held no idea at the moment in what way the facts disclosed could be of any possible interest to him; but one of his most abiding principles was that money in the possession of other people was always of absorbing interest to a man of his own sybaritic needs. He never heard or read stories of the accession of sudden wealth without his ingeniously fertile brain being set to work overtime on evolving schemes whereby the transference of that wealth to his own banking account could be effected with the minimum of risk to himself. That such schemes rarely attained to fruition was no deterrent to Colonel Lutman; he continued to indulge his habit of evolving them.

He sat for some moments in concentrated thought, the cablegram dangling loosely from his fingers. When Stuckey re-entered his office some ten minutes later, it was to find his visitor sitting bolt upright in his chair, a sparkle in his small, acquisitive eyes, his whole expression that of a man who has solved a difficult problem.

The solicitor glanced at the cablegram in the Colonel's hand and frowned.

"Look here, Lutman," he began irritably, "what the devil—"

The other stopped him with a gesture.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed exultantly.

"Well, put it back: it's not addressed to you. What do you mean—"

"Oh, drop it, Charles," said the Colonel. "What on earth does it matter if I read your letters? You've no secrets from me, remember."

Stuckey's face grew sullen. He knew how true were the words, and knew also, to his bitterness, the significance of the caller's last remark.

"Look here," continued Lutman, "who are these Smith people?"

"Mrs. Smith," said Charles, "is one of my oldest and most valued clients."

Lutman grinned.

"And I suppose Miss Smith is the other?... Well, never mind that now— where do they live? Have they had this news yet?"

"Mind your own damn business," began Charles, and Lutman grinned again.

"And whose business is this, if it isn't mine?" he asked calmly. "I gather that word of this windfall has not yet gone to your old and valued clients? Well, it need not."

The solicitor stared at him.

"What on earth are you getting at, Lutman?"

"Money," said the other laconically. "The only thing I want to get at. Money for you and Jimmy—and for me, of course."

"Of course." Charles smiled sardonically. "But you can't pinch a legacy!"

An expression of pained fastidiousness crossed the Colonel's face.

"Really, Charles," he expostulated, "I think that for the future you would do well to leave personal contact with your—er—clients to the excellent Mr. Bells, and thus preserve, maybe, at least some of the usages of polite language. Now listen"—his tone changed, and he became serious—"I am not proposing that I should—er—pinch the legacy. What sort of a girl is Miss— Jacqueline, was it?"

"Just what do you mean?"

"I mean," explained the visitor, "has she any attractions—other, of course," tapping the cablegram, "than the all-important one conferred by this news?"

Charles shrugged his shoulders.

"I've never seen her—or her mother," he admitted.

"Where does she live?"

"Ever since I've known her she and her daughter have been— er—moving around the Continent. But listen, Lutman, what's in your mind? I'll have no funny business—"

"Please, Charles! You jar me. I am proposing nothing that is not strictly honest and—er—straightforward. We've got to make some money somehow; moreover, we must placate friend Jimmy—who will be here," glancing at his watch, "very soon now. My idea, briefly stated, is this: let us marry Jimmy to the, we will hope, attractive Jacqueline." He leaned back in his chair to watch the effect of his words on the other man.

For some moments Stuckey stared at him in amazement.

"Marry—Jimmy—to Jacqueline!" he repeated.

"Why not? As far as I know, the admirable Jimmy has never married."

"But how on earth will that help—you?"

"'Us,' you mean," said Lutman. "I should have thought it was quite simple, my dear Charles. The young woman and her mother are at present in ignorance of their good fortune. Let them remain so. Before the marriage takes place—oh, we'll get them married, all right—have the girl sign a deed of assignment, or whatever you call it, of all her property to her husband—"

Stuckey jumped to his feet.

"I'll have nothing to do with it!" he stormed. "It's an outrage! It's monstrous...."

"Sit down and shut up," said the Colonel. "Now be sensible, Charles. There's three hundred thousand pounds here—fallen from heaven, as it were. We cut it five ways, and I take three. That'll mean sixty thousand each for Jimmy and you—and Jimmy gets the girl thrown in. He may, of course," he added reflectively, "want more for that, but never mind that now."

The solicitor's eyes were fixed on Lutman with a stare of intense but impotent hatred. His fists clenched; his right arm was drawn back as though he would throw himself violently upon the other man. With a tremendous effort of self-restraint, however, he drew himself to his full height, and shook in Lutman's direction a hand, the fingers of which quivered convulsively.

"I tell you once and for all, Lutman," he raged, "I'll have nothing to do with it!—"

"But—-"

"But nothing! Get out!"

The Colonel rose. On his face was still the sardonic smile—it was rarely missing—but now his voice had taken on a different note: a note of authority, of menace....

"Don't try me too far, Stuckey," he barked. "There is a limit even to my patience. You'll do as I tell you!" He extended a finger almost melodramatically, at the other man. "Unless"—he spoke slowly and very deliberately—"you want very bad trouble."

He took out his pocket-book and extracted from it a folded sheet of paper.

"Do you know this?"

Charles had sunk back into the chair in front of his desk. His weak fury had gone from him, and in its place had appeared a look of dumb resignation.

"It seems familiar," he muttered.

"It's an historical document," the Colonel went on. "A request for a loan of three hundred and fifty pounds by a young solicitor's clerk who had misapplied the money of one of his employer's clients and had to put it back in a hurry."

"What a fool I was, Lutman, ever to come to you—a moneylender—with my secrets!"

"You were rather," admitted the other.

Charles leaned across his desk, his forearms resting on his blotting-pad, his hands lightly clasped, and looked at the older man.

"I was rather an impulsive kind of lad, you know, and I thought you were my friend. I'd done one or two dirty jobs for you—remember? I'm not so sure I didn't save you once from doing time." The Colonel smiled.

"Very likely; in fact, I believe you did."

"Why do you keep that piece of evidence in your pocket?"

"Don't worry," said Lutman, "I shan't lose it. And I also carry a little memorandum book that I wouldn't let the police see for worlds. I thought the sight of your letter might stimulate you to agree to what I propose."

"Melodramatic," said Charles, "but not very effective. There is a Statute of Limitations which applies even to embezzlement." The older man chuckled.

"The Law Society doesn't recognize the Statute of Limitations Now come, Charles—you want to go higher in your profession, don't you?"

"I couldn't go very much lower, could I?"

"Well, now, listen, and let's hear no more nonsense. We'll send Jimmy out to wherever these women are living. He'll scrape an acquaintance with them, make love to the girl—he's a suave devil—and try to get things fixed amicably. Before the marriage you'll draw up a deed of—whatever it is—whereby the girl assigns him all her property."

"But why should she?" expostulated Charles. "I don't see—" Lutman regarded him pityingly.

"And you a rising young lawyer!" he murmured. "Listen, my poor ass: Jimmy is a wealthy young man, desperately in love with the, let us hope, beautiful Miss Smith. His whole idea is to safeguard the interests of her and her mother. The mother's very important, Charles. You did say they were hard up, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever hear of a woman—a hard-up woman—who wouldn't fall for any scheme—any honourable scheme, of course—which involved the payment to her of an annuity of, say, a thousand?"

Charles grunted non-committally.

"I see you didn't. Now, once this document is signed—"

"But suppose the girl doesn't fall for Jimmy?"

The Colonel smiled complacently.

"I shall be there, keeping an avuncular eye on the romance. Should it be necessary, I have no doubt I can find ways and means of bringing pressure to bear in Jimmy's favour. As I say, once the deed is signed, the happy pair are married, and the money is ours. The mother is satisfied, you and I and Jimmy are satisfied, and, we will hope, the girl will be satisfied. Until then, of course, they must know nothing."

Charles was fingering the cablegram.

"But—" he began.

The older man made an impatient gesture.

"You can acknowledge receipt of this cable and tell the New York lawyers that you are instituting immediate inquiries into the whereabouts of your clients of which you are at the moment ignorant. The rest you may leave to Jimmy and me."

Charles sat for some moments in gloomy silence. His fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the desk in front of him. If only there were some way out for him! He cursed himself a dozen times a day for the youthful folly which had thrown him, irrevocably, it seemed, into the power of this soulless and unscrupulous rogue, from whose domination he would have given anything in the world to escape. But what could he do?

"Well, Charles, what do you think of my scheme?" Lutman asked.

The solicitor roused himself.

"It's vile and abominable," he exclaimed, bitterly.

"But clever, eh, Charles?"

"Oh, yes, it's clever."

"Does your acute legal mind perceive any—er—snags?"

"Only that you may not be able to persuade the girl," said Charles curtly.

The Colonel's smile positively oozed complacence.

"Don't worry about that, my boy," he said. "Love will find a way.... That sounds like the return of Jimmy."

Sounds of commotion in the outer office reached their ears, and the next moment the door connecting the two rooms was thrown violently open and a tall, slim young man burst in, followed by a perturbed Bells, his right hand outstretched as though he sought to restrain such undignified procedure from disturbing the traditional serenity of the profession to which he belonged.

Inside the door, the newcomer turned on the managing clerk.

"All right, Bells," he said, "you can beat it."

Bells looked inquiringly at his employer, and, in response to Charles's gesture, turned on his heel and went back into his own office.

With a nod to the solicitor, the visitor strode towards Lutman, his rage-distorted face working convulsively.

"Now, you double-crossing blackguard—" he began, his arm upraised, as if to strike.

"That'll do, Jimmy," the Colonel said, in his silkiest tones. His right hand rose leisurely from his side; it held a businesslike-looking automatic, which he pointed straight at the other man. "Any—er—trouble, and I'll shoot you as dead as—let me see: as yesterday, shall we say? Self-defence, you know...."

The man he addressed made a tremendous effort to gain self-control. It was evident that he was labouring under the stress of some very powerful emotion; but there is nothing like a pistol a few feet away from one's ribs to induce self-control in such circumstances. He fell back a pace or two, his hands falling to his sides, impotence and hatred blazing in his eyes.

Colonel Lutman was speaking again.

"Don't let's have any bad feeling, Jimmy. I only did what I thought was best for everyone—"

"And I got the raw end of the deal!" complained Asson. Lutman's voice was soothing.

"Yes, I know," he said. "But this time, my boy, you're going to get the business end."

Jimmy scowled at him questioningly.

"What do you mean—'this time'?"

The Colonel beamed.

"It's like this," he explained. "During your—er—absence, your friends— Charles here, and I—have not been idle...." He proceeded to lay before the younger man the details of the proposed coup. Jimmy listened attentively for ten minutes. Then:

"What's this girl like?" he asked.

Stuckey was about to answer, but the Colonel stopped him with a gesture.

"Lovely, my boy—lovely. If I were a younger man..."

"I'm not very keen on marriage," grumbled Jimmy.

"I've noticed that," replied Lutman, with a smile. "Your amorous adventures have never brought you within the scope of that—er—highly speculative investment. And quite rightly," he hastened to add. "But this need be nothing more than a formality. A brief honeymoon, if you like, with a lovely girl"—his eyes twinkled lecherously—"and certainly no tie more enduring than you care to make it."

Jimmy Asson sat thoughtfully for some moments. At last: "All right," he said. "But mind, any funny business and I'll—" He made a threatening gesture.

"Don't worry, Jimmy; whatever fun there may be you're going to get—and a share of the loot," he added, with a departure from his customary elegance.

Jimmy, his sense of grievance still rankling, but looking more subdued than when he entered, had found time on the way out through the clerks' office to lean over Elsie Harringay, seated before her typewriter, and exchange a few confidential words with that young lady.