Читать книгу The Woman from the East - Edgar Wallace - Страница 4

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In the year of grace 1919 there were two partners to the firm of Covent Brothers. John Covent had died suddenly in India, and the business had passed into the hands of his son and his nephew, the latter of whom had inherited his mother's share in a business which had been in the same family for two hundred years.

Martin Covent was a tall, well-dressed man of twenty-seven. He had none of his late father's genial demeanour. The lips were harder, the brow straighter and the face longer than the expansive representative of the firm who had preceded him.

He sat at his great table, his elbows on the blotting-pad, and looked across towards his junior partner. And a greater contrast between himself and his cousin could not he imagined. Tom Camberley was two years his junior and looked younger. He had the complexion of a man who lived an open-door life, the eyes of one who found laughter easy. He was not laughing now. His forehead was creased into a little frown, and he was leaning back in his chair regarding Martin Covent through narrowed eyelids.

"I hate to say so, Martin," he said quietly, "but I must tell you that, in my judgment, your scheme is not quite straight."

Martin Covent laughed.

"My dear boy," he said, with a hint of patronage in his tone, "I am afraid the mysteries of the banking profession are still—mysteries to you."

"That may be so," returned Tom Camberley coolly. "But there are certain basic principles on which I can make no mistake. For example, I am never mystified in distinguishing between right and wrong."

Martin Covent rose.

"I have often thought," he said, with a hint of irritation in his voice, "that you're wasted on the Indian banking business, my dear Tom. You ought to be running the literary end of a Bible Mission. There's plenty of scope in India for you if your conscience will not permit you to soil your hands with sordid business affairs."

The other laughed quietly.

"You're always suggesting I should clear out of the firm, and I should love to oblige you. But, bad business man as I am, I know the advantage of holding a position which brings me in the greater part of ten thousand a year. Anyway, there's no sense in getting angry about it, Martin. I merely offer you an opinion that to employ clients' money for speculative purposes without having secured the permission of those clients is dishonest. And really, I don't know why you should do it. The firm is on a very sound basis. We are making big profits, and the prospect is in every way healthy."

The other did not immediately reply. He paced the big private office with his hands in his pockets, whistling softly. Suddenly he stopped in his stride and turned.

"Let me tell you something, Tom Camberley," he said, "and stick this in your mind. You think you're on a good thing in holding shares in Covent Brothers. So you are. But ten years ago this firm was on the verge of bankruptcy, and your shares would have been worth about twopence net."

Tons raised his eyebrows.

"You're joking," he said.

"I'm serious," said the other grimly. "We're talking as man to man and partner to partner, and I tell you that ten years ago we were as near bankruptcy as that." He snapped his fingers. "Fortunately the governor got hold or that fool Butilata. Butilata was rich; we were nearly broke. The governor took his finances in hand and rebuilt the firm."

"This is news to me," said Tom. "I was at school at the time."

"So was I, but the governor told me," said Martin. "It was touch and go whether Butilata put his affairs in the hands of Covent Brothers or not. Happily the governor was able to render him a service. Butilata was staying in this country, and when he wasn't drinking like a fish he was mad keen on dancing, and fell in love with a girl—an actress at one of the theatres here, who taught him a few steps. He married her—"

"Married?" said Tom incredulously. "Is the Ranee of Butilata an English girl?"

Martin nodded.

"It was the governor who brought it about. Clever old devil, God rest him! was the governor. Of course, he had his qualms about it. He often told me that he thought it wasn't playing the game. He knew the kind of life that she was going to; but after all, she was only a chorus girl, and probably she had a much better time than you or I."

Tom Camberley made a little face.

"That sounds rather horrible," he said. "What happened to the girl?"

Martin shrugged his shoulders.

"She survived it," he replied. "They were married and went out the next week to India. The governor never saw her again, though he frequently went to Butilata. When the rajah died she came to England. She doesn't suspect that we played the part we did, or we shouldn't have her account."

Tom shivered.

"It is not a nice story," he said. "I could wish that we had made our money in some other way."

"What do you mean?" asked Martin gruffly. "We didn't make it out of the girl. It is true that the governor put himself right with the Rajah over that business."

Tom laughed again, but this time there was a little note of hardness in his merriment.

"Butilata died a comparatively poor man though his wife seems to have plenty of money—probably she bagged the Butilata pearls—good luck to her, poor girl. But if the Rajah of Butilata became poor, the firm of Covent Brothers became correspondingly rich. Did your father oblige the Rajah in any other way?"

The other shot a suspicious glance at him.

"If you're being sarcastic you're wasting your breath. I merely want to point out to you that this business, which you regard as the safest investment you could find, was re-established by a fluke. Now be sensible, Tom." He came round the desk and sat on a corner, looking down at the other. "Here we have a prospect of making a million by the use of a little common sense. I tell you, Roumania is a country of the future, and these oil properties which have been offered to us will be worth a hundred per cent more than we can get them for today—and that in a year's time."

Still Tom Camberley shook his head.

"If you want to invest money, why not approach your clients?" he said. "We have no right whatever to touch their reserves or engage in any speculation which is not to the advantage of those who trust us with their balances. I notice too from the memo you sent me that you have earmarked the balance of this very woman—the Ranee. Surely you have done that woman sufficient injury!"

Martin Covent slipped down from the table with a snort.

"Anyone would think, to hear you speak," he said sarcastically, "that we were the Bank of England or one of the big Joint Stock concerns. Can't you get it in your head that we are bankers and merchants, and being bankers and merchants, we are necessarily speculators?"

"Speculate with your own money," said the other doggedly, and Martin Covent slammed out of the office.

His cousin sat deep in thought for five minutes, then he pushed a bell. A little while later the door opened and a girl came in. He noticed with surprise that she was wearing a coat and hat, and looked up at the clock.

"Gracious heavens!" he said in comical despair. "I hadn't the slightest idea it was so late, Miss Mead."

The girl laughed. Tom noticed that she had a pretty laugh, that her teeth were very white and very regular, and that when she laughed there were pleasant little wrinkles on each side of the big grey eyes. He had duly noted long before that her complexion was faultless, that her figure was slim, and that her carriage and walk were delightfully graceful. Now he noticed them all over again, and with a start realised that he had got into this habit of critical and appreciative examination.

The girl noticed, too, if the faint flush which came to her cheeks meant anything, and Tom Camberley rose awkwardly.

"I'm awfully sorry, Miss Mead," he said. "I won't keep you now that it is late."

"Is there anything I can do?" said the girl. "I have no particular engagement. Did you want me to type a letter?"

"Yes—no," said Tom, and cursed himself for his embarrassment. "The fact was, I wanted to see the Ranee of Butilata's account."

The girl smiled and shook her head.

"Miss Drew has the accounts, you know, Mr. Camberley. I only deal with the correspondence."

Tom Camberley did know. When he had pressed the bell he had had no plan in his mind, and was as far from any definite scheme now.

"Where does the Ranee live?" he asked.

"I can get that for you," said the girl, and disappeared, to return in a few minutes with a slip of paper.

"The Ranee of Butilata, Churley Grange, Newbury," she read.

"Do you know her?"

The girl shook her head.

"All her business is done by Miss Drew who goes down to see her," she said. "Miss Drew told me that she is always veiled—she thinks that there is some facial disfigurement. Isn't it rather dreadful an English girl marrying an Indian? Would you like to see Miss Drew in the morning?"

"No, no," he said hastily. He had no desire to discuss the matter with Miss Drew. Miss Drew had complete control of the accounts, and he suspected her of enjoying more of his partner's confidence than he did. To him she was a statuesque, cold-blooded plodder with a mathematical mind, who was never known to smile, and he was a little in awe of the admirable Miss Drew.

"Sit down," he said, and after a second's hesitation the girl obeyed.

Tom walked to the door and shut it—a proceeding which, if it aroused any apprehension in the girl's mind, did not provoke any objection.

"Miss Mead," he said, "I am going to take you into my confidence. In fact, I am going to ask you to do something just outside your duty, and I am relying upon you to keep the matter entirely to yourself."

She nodded, wondering what was coming next.

"The Ranee is not one of our richest clients," he said. "But she has a large deposit account with us, and she has frequently invested money on our advice in certain speculative propositions which have been put before her. My partner and I have a scheme for buying up a block of oil properties in Rumania, and he—Mr. Covent—has told me that her highness is willing to invest to any extent."

He was doing something which he knew was unpardonable. Not only was he suspecting his partner of a lie, but he was conveying his suspicion to an employee in the firm. In his doubt and uncertainty he had blundered into an act which had the appearance of being dishonourable; for he was now within an ace of revealing the secrets of partnership, which should not go outside.

He looked round apprehensively toward the door through which his partner had disappeared. He knew, however, that Martin was a creature of habit, and by now would be driving away in his car, and that there was no fear of interruption. The girl was waiting patiently. To say that she was not curious would be to mis-state her attitude. She had need of patience, for it was some time before he spoke; but when he did speak, his mind was made up.

"I want you to do me a favour," he said, "and undertake an unusual mission. Will you go down to Churley Grange to-night and see the Ranee?"

"To-night?" said the girl in surprise.

He nodded.

"I have told you that this business is confidential, and I don't think it is necessary to emphasize that fact. I want you to see her as from me, and ask her the amount she wishes to invest in Rumanian Oils. You can say we have mislaid her letters, and that I have sent you down before the office opens in the morning so that no mistake shall be made. If she expresses surprise, and cannot recollect having authorized us to invest money in Rumanian Oils, I want you to pretend that there is some mistake and that you were not quite certain whether she was the client concerned, and use your native wit to get out of the situation as well as you can. You quite understand?"

She nodded slowly.

"I understand a little," she smiled. "But wouldn't it be better to see Miss Drew in the morning? She deals with the Ranee."

Tom shook his head.

"No, no," he said. "I want you to get down, and I don't want Miss Drew to know anything about it, nor my partner."

He looked at his watch.

"The trains to Newbury are fairly frequent, I think," he said, "and at any rate we will look up the time-table."

There was a train down in an hour; the last train back reached Paddington at half past eleven.

"I will be waiting for you at the station with a car," he said. "Here is five pounds for expenses. Now will you do this for me?"

"Certainly, Mr. Camberley," said the girl, and then, with a smile in her eyes, "It sounds horribly mysterious, but I just love mystery."

"And I just hate it," said Tom Camberley.