Читать книгу The Big Four: Crooks of Society - Edgar Wallace - Страница 10

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TWO men sat outside the Café de Paris in Monte Carlo. They were both well-dressed, both clean-shaven, and had the appearance of citizens of the world, which meant that they may have been of any nationality but were probably American. The elder of the two was sucking a cigar thoughtfully and nodding his replies to the other. Presently he said:

"I've never met him, but I've heard about him. Jimmy, this place is not going to be healthy after Monday. I think we'll skip by the Sunday morning train. That gives us four days to draw dividends. What's this Brewer like?"

Jimmy shrugged.

"Search me," he said. "I know as much about him as you do."

"You are sure he is coming?" asked Reddy.

"Sure." The other nodded emphatically. "I saw the telegram engaging rooms on the clerk's counter this morning. It was sent from Paris, and asked for the best suite overlooking the entrance to the Casino. He said he would arrive on Monday, but if he didn't the rooms were to be held over for him until he did arrive."

Reddy nodded again.

"That gives us four days, and I think we shall get the stuff," he added confidently.

"Little William certainly looks like easy money."

He nodded toward the hotel, on the steps of which stood a resplendent figure in a shepherd's plaid suit and Homburg hat of dazzling whiteness.

"He almost sparkles from here," said Reddy admiringly. "Gee! That fellow is the nearest approach to cash in hand that I've ever struck."

"Who is he?" asked Jimmy curiously. "I saw you talking with him in the rooms last night."

"He's William Ford. His pa made enough to settle the British national debt out of fuses. When the war finished so did pa. He died off and left a car-load of money to Willie, and Willie's seeing life for the first time."

"What did you get him with?" asked Jimmy.

"With my Montana silver mine," replied the other. "He just fell for it. Come over and meet him."

The easy mark aforesaid was affixed to a long garden seat facing the Casino when they accosted him.

"Good morning, Mr. Ford, I want you to shake hands with Mr. James Kennedy, one of our millionaire ranchers from Texas."

William Ford blinked up at the newcomer and offered a limp hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Redwood," he said. "It's beastly hot, and I can't read this beastly French newspaper. Do you understand the beastly language?"

"Why, sure, Mr. Ford," and the other took the paper from the young man's hand.

"I've seen it, and there's nothing at all worth reading about unless you are interested in French racing."

"I hate racing, I think it's beastly."

Mr. Ford adjusted an eye-glass with apparent difficulty. "I am a business man, y'know, Mr. Redwood; gambling doesn't appeal to me. My dear old governor was a business man, too, and I am what you might call a chip of the old block. Haw! Haw!"

They joined in his laughter politely.

"Yes, I'm a business man," Mr. Ford went on in a tone which suggested that the last word had been said on the subject. "I risk a few thousands at the beastly table, but it bores me."

"Quite right, too," agreed Mr. Reddy heartily; "that's a fool's way of spending your money."

"Of course," admitted Mr. Ford modestly, "I can afford to lose. I brought a million francs in ready money."

"Which I hope you keep in the hotel safe," said Reddy warningly. "There are a great many dishonest people about in Monte Carlo."

"Not much," retorted Mr. Ford scornfully. "I always say if a man can't look after his beastly money he doesn't deserve to have it No, I keep it my room." Mr. Reddy drew a long breath. "I haven't come to Monte Carlo to learn how to protect myself."

"Quite right," said Reddy heartily, "and I hope you are not going to lose it at the tables."

"I'll watch it!" replied Mr. William Ford. "No, sir. Gambling isn't any attraction to me."

He changed his tone suddenly.

"As a business man," he went on, "and without any beastly beating about the bush, what do you want for this fifth share in your mine?"

Reddy removed his cigar and looked at it.

"Well, I don't know that I want to sell," he answered modestly. "I have come to Monte Carlo to enjoy myself and not to deal in stocks and shares."

"You do too much of that at home, Mr. Redwood," chimed in Jimmy, feeling it was his turn to speak. "Why, Mr. Redwood is known from one end of Colorado to the other—"

"Montana," whispered Mr. Redwood.

"From one end of Colorado to the other end of Montana," amended Jimmy obligingly, "as the biggest man in the mining world. I suppose you deal in five million shares a year, don't you, Mr. Redwood?"

"About that," confessed the modest Reddy. "Probably not so many, but somewhere about that figure."

Young Mr. Ford was staring at him with an amused smile.

"You can't frighten me with talk of millions," he said. "I understand that your Montana mine is capitalized at a million dollars."

Mr. Redwood nodded.

"You say you want two hundred thousand dollars for a fifth interest?"

Mr. Redwood nodded gravely.

"The shares stand at two dollars and fifty cents in the open market," he said, "and a fifth share is worth more than twice as much as I am asking for it. I'm tired of mining; tired of making profits. I am going to get out of my holdings, Jimmy," he added, turning to the "rancher." "This gentleman wants to buy a share of the Montana Deep. He's a business man, and there's something about him that I like."

"But surely," said the shocked rancher, "you are not going to sell out your holdings in the Mohtana Deeps. Why, they are the richest mines in the West. There would be a sensation if this was known in Wall Street."

Reddy made no reply. He took from his inside pocket a thick package, and unrolling it, disclosed some beautifully printed share certificates stamped and sealed. These he looked at musingly, even regretfully.

"When I think," he said, "of the trouble I have taken to make this mine a success, why, I hate the idea of parting with them. I shall be giving them to you, Mr. Ford, for a mere bagatelle. Exactly the amount you have brought to Monte Carlo in ready money expecting to lose!"

"Of course I haven't made up my mind that I am going to buy them," rejoined the young man hastily.

"And I haven't made up my mind that I'm going to sell them, either," smiled the other. "Come and have a drink."

He was too wily a bird to press his victim, and made no further reference to the deal for two days.

"The time is getting short," quoth Reddy on the Saturday after lunch. "Did you hear from Paris?"

Jimmy nodded and produced a telegraph form.

"Brewer is staying at the Hotel Maurice," he said. "At least that was where his telegram was sent from. I wired him last night in the name of the hotel to ask if he stull wanted the rooms, and I watched the counter all the morning to see if he replied. Here is a copy of the telegram. It came just before lunch."

He handed the scribbled slip of paper to the other, who read:

Yes, of course, I want the rooms. Brewer.

"The hotel people were a bit puzzled by the wire, but that's nothing. We shall be gone anyway before he arrives. Now what about this boob?"

"He's bitten but he looks like taking a few days to land," said Reddy. "I had a chat with him, and exchanged confidences, told him that I always kept my money under my pillow, and went out this morning forgetting to take it with me. He said he kept his money in the bottom drawer of his bureau under his clothes. If we don't get his stuff to-day legitimately, Jimmy, we are going to get it to-night by coarse and violent methods. Don't trouble to cancel the sleeper, but we are going to get away by another route."

"How's that?" asked Jimmy.

"I have ordered a car from Nice to meet me outside the post- office at two o'clock to-morrow morning. We will take the road as far as Marseilles, slip on through Narbonne across the frontier into Spain, and lie low at Barcelona for a little while. I fixed another car to meet us at Marseilles on Sunday afternoon outside the Hotel d'Angleterre."

"Good," said Jimmy.

"Our room is on the same floor as his. It is easy to swing from one balcony to another, and he sleeps with his windows open. I will get into the room and open the door. You will come in, and if he gives any trouble, put him to sleep. We ought to make Marseilles before midday."

"Perhaps hell buy the goods," suggested Jimmy hopefully.

"He'd better," retorted the older man with a grim smile. "Look, there he goes, over to the rooms! Let's see what he is doing."

They went through the big pillared hall. passed through the doors into the salle, and spent the next half-hour wandering from table to table in the track of their victim, who occasionally hazarded a louis upon a number, but was not apparently engaged in any serious betting.

The rooms are open from ten in the morning till eleven, but most of the best class gamblers patronize the cercle privée, a handsome saloon leading from the main hall, admission to which can only be secured by subscription. Into this room they followed Ford, and found him standing at the trente et quarante table watching some exceptionally high play. Trente et quarante is a game played with six packs of cards. The dealer lays out in one line as many cards as will make something over thirty and under forty. The first line of cards stands for black, the second line he deals stands for red. If the top line counts thirty-one and the bottom line thirty-two, black wins, and those who have laid their money upon the space on the table have their stakes doubled.

Mr. Ford turned, saw the two Americans, and favored them with a pitying smile.

"Beastly nonsense, don't you think?" he said. "I say, let's get out of this place. It makes me ill to see people wasting their money."

They followed him obediently and he went back to his favorite garden-seat before the Casino.

"I've been thinking about that mining proposition, and do you know I nearly decided to buy your shares, then it struck me that Montana was a beastly long way off, and I know nothing about mining."

"Fortunately you don't have to know," replied Reddy. "There's just nothing for you to do but to sit tight in your beautiful home in London and watch the dividends pile up."

"That's all right, my friend," said the young man in a superior tone, "but suppose they don't pile up, hey? I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll write to a friend of mine, my broker, a beastly clever chap, and get him to telegraph me. Or suppose I wired him—yes, that's a wonderful idea. Telegrams are so much quicker. I'll telegraph to him. You don't mind, do you, Mr. Redwood? We business people have to be very cautious."

"Not at all," said Mr. Redwood calmly, "and if he replies favorably, as of course he will, you will give us a check?"

"Oh, no," said the young man, "I will pay you cash."

"I thought you, might have put the money into the bank." Mr. Redwood was greatly relieved.

"Not a bit of it, I always say that if a fellow can't look after his beastly money himself he doesn't deserve to have it."

"Those are my sentiments, too," said Mr. Redwood with genuine heartiness.

"Oh, by the way, I have had a telegram from a fellow named"—Ford fumbled in his pockets—"from a fellow named Brewer. A beastly impertinent telegram, telling me to do nothing until I have seen him. Who the deuce is Brewer?"

"Brewer," said Mr. Redwood with great earnestness, "is one of the worst crooks on the Continent. Whatever he lays his hands on is as good as lost."

"You don't say so!" gasped Mr. Ford. "Well, of all the cheek! Do you think I ought to notify the police?"

"It is quite unnecessary." Reddy was thoroughly enjoying the humor of the situation.

Mr. Ford looked at his watch.

"I'm going up to La Turbie. I have ordered a motor-car. Would you two gentlemen like to join me?"

"No, thanks," answered Reddy, "I have a lot of work to do this afternoon—letters to write and all that sort of thing."

The work that Reddy had to do was peculiar to his profession. He had to study road maps and improvise time-tables. He had to telegraph to one of the Big Four of Crime who was in temporary retirement at Montdidier to fix a passport which would enable him to cross the frontier. He had to pack his scanty belongings and make a further reconnaissance of Mr. Ford's room. He had already discovered that it was impossible to get into it by day. By special arrangement with the hotel proprietors a man stood on guard in the corridor all the time Mr. Ford was out—a guard who, owing to the young man's confidence in himself, was removed at night.

At midnight the rooms closed and a big crowd flocked out, the doors of limousines banged, there was a great melting away of people, and presently the space before the Casino was clear. Mr. Ford was one of the last to leave the rooms.

Observing him from an upper window in the hotel, Reddy nudged his companion.

"There he is," he said. "He will have his glass of lemonade in the lounge and then he'll come up. He was boasting to me that it took him less than ten minutes to get to sleep. We will give him an hour. That will allow for the hotel quieting down. By the way, I have re-arranged the timetable, and the motor-car will be on the corner at one."

By one o'clock most of the regular habitués of the Casino had either gone home or had passed across to the Sporting Club, which did not close till four in the morning, and where baccarat was played for high stakes, and when Reddy stepped out onto the balcony there was not a soul in sight. He waited until he saw a big limousine come slowly into the square and take up its position at a corner of the hotel block.

"I think we can afford to leave our trunks," he said, with a touch of humor. "I guess if we attempted to hustle 'em through the lounge to-night there would be some commotion. Did you tell that guy on the door that we were going over to the Sporting Club?"

"Sure," said the other.

Reddy made another reconnaissance.

"It's all right," he said. "Stroll into the corridor in three minutes' time. I'll have the door open ready for you."

He waited till Jimmy disappeared, then swung himself over the iron rail of the balcony, reached out for the next, and in this way traversed the three balconies which separated him from Mr. Ford's room. The windows were wide open, only the wooden jalousies being closed, and these he opened noiselessly. He slipped into the room and closed the wooden doors behind him. To make his way across the floor and unlock the door leading to the corridor was the work of a few seconds. He had listened intently on entering the place, and had been rewarded by hearing the regular breathing, not to say occasional snore, of his victim.

As Reddy unlocked the outer door, Jimmy slipped in, closing it noiselessly behind him and turning the key. Reddy felt for the bottom drawer of the bureau, and he had pulled it open and his hand was dexterously searching amidst a mass of clothing when the room was suddenly flooded with light.

Mr. Ford was sitting up in bed, balancing a wicked-looking Browning pistol on his knees.

"Put up your hands, Reddy," he said.

"What do you mean?" Reddy waxed indignant. "I've got into the wrong room. I'm surprised at you, Mr. Ford."

Mr. Ford slipped from his bed, and Reddy noticed he was fully dressed, for his coat.

"I've been waiting for you, Reddy," Mr. Ford went on. "I am taking you into custody on a charge of burglary, attempted fraud by misrepresentation, and upon impersonation. I'm taking your pal, too."

"Who are you?" demanded Reddy.

"My name is Bob Brewer," replied the young man, "you may have heard of me. I am a notorious crook who takes everything I can lay my hands on. Put up yours. I'm going to lay hands on you."