Читать книгу The Woman from the East - Edgar Wallace - Страница 7

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Dora was early at the office the next morning but there was one before her, a slim pretty girl of 26 who looked up under her level black eyebrows as Tom Camberley's secretary came into the office. She noted the girl's tired eyes and white face but made no comment until she had hung up her coat and hat, then waiting until Dora was seated at her desk she lit a cigarette and swung round in her swivel chair.

If Dora saw the movement she took no notice. Martin Covent's confidential stenographer could not by any stretch of imagination be described as her friend. At the same time she always felt that Grace Drew was not ill-disposed towards her and had she been in a less perturbed frame of mind she would have responded more quickly to this unaccustomed action on the part of her fellow worker.

"You went to the Ranee of Butilata's last night," said Grace quietly and Dora looked round startled.

"Yes," she confessed. "I did. How do you know?"

Miss Drew laughed, a quiet little laugh that might have meant anything or nothing.

"She's been through on the 'phone this morning apologising for her rudeness to you. Was she very rude by the way?"

Briefly the girl related what had happened to her on the previous night and Grace Drew listened with interest.

"She's a queer woman," she said when the other had finished. "A little mad, I think."

"Have you ever seen her?" asked Dora with interest.

Miss Drew shook her head.

"She is usually veiled or else speaks to me through a curtain," she said. "Mr. Martin thinks that there is some deformity of face."

Dora nodded.

"It was dreadful, wasn't it?" she said.

"What was dreadful?" asked Miss Drew puffing out a cloud of smoke and following its flight ceilingward.

"She was an English girl," said Dora, "and was trapped into a marriage with an Indian."

"Who told you that?" asked Miss Drew quickly, and Dora laughed.

"I don't know it for certain," she said. "I do know she married the Indian and somehow I have a feeling that she was trapped."

"I don't know that I should be sorry for her," said Miss Drew after a pause. "She has plenty of money."

"Money is not the only thing," said Dora quietly. "I think you've got rather a wrong view of things, Grace."

"Maybe I have," said the other turning to her work. "Anyway you'll have to explain to Mr. Covent why you went to Newbury last night. I shall have to tell him because it was a message to him."

Dora shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know that I shall tell him anything," she said. "I simply went—" she hesitated, "on instructions."

"On instructions from Mr. Camberley, I presume!" said Grace without raising her eyes.

The girl made no reply.

Miss Drew opened a little ledger on her desk and ran through the pages with deft touch. It impressed Dora that she was doing this more or less mechanically and that her object was to gain time.

"The Ranee is coming up today," she said.

"To the office?"

Miss Drew nodded.

"She generally comes up once a month," she said. "Oh no, she never comes actually into the office but poor I have to go out and interview her in her car. Would you like to meet her?"

Dora shuddered.

"No thank you," she said promptly and Grace Drew laughed.

Tom Camberley and his partner arrived at the office almost simultaneously and Tom went straight to his room with no more than a brief nod to his secretary. Through the glass partition she saw him come out again after a few minutes, and go into his partner's room. Grace Drew was also watching, it seemed, for a little smile was playing about the corner of her mouth.

"I don't think there will be any need for me to make my report," she said without stopping her work, and her surmise was justified.

Tom Camberley walked into Martin's room and closed the door behind him.

"Hello," said Covent, "what's the trouble?"

Tom drew up a chair to the big desk and sat down.

"Martin'," he said, "I'm going to be perfectly frank with you."

"That's a failing of yours," replied the other with the suggestion of sarcasm.

"Last night," Tom went on ignoring the interruption, "I was worried about this Roumanian Oil deal of yours and particularly in reference to your scheme for applying clients' money."

"Are we going to have that all over again?" demanded Martin Covent wearily.

"Wait," said the other, "I haven't finished. I wasn't quite satisfied that you were playing the game with the Ranee of Butilata and I sent Miss Mead to Newbury—"

"The devil you did!" said Martin flushing angrily. "That's a pretty low game to play, Camberley."

"If you come to a question of ethics," said Tom, "I think the balance of righteousness is on my side. I tell you I sent Miss Mead to Newbury to interview the Ranee and she was most disgracefully treated."

Martin was on his feet, red and lowering.

"I don't care a damn what happened to Miss Mead," he said. "What I want to know is what do you mean by sending a servant of the firm to spy on me and give me away. You must have taken the girl Mead into your confidence or she would not have known what inquiries to make. The most disgraceful thing I've ever heard!"

"I daresay you'll hear worse," replied Tom coolly. "But that also is beside the question. I want to see the Ranee's account."

Neither man heard the gentle tap at the door nor saw it open to admit Grace Drew.

"You want to see the Ranee's account do you?" snarled Martin, "Well, it's open to you any time you want. And I guess you'd better see all the accounts, Camberley, because I'm not going to carry on this business on the present basis much longer."

"In other words you would like to dissolve the partnership," said Tom quietly.

"I should," was the emphatic reply and Tom nodded.

"Very well, then," he said. "We can't do much better than call in a chartered accountant to straighten things out and see where we stand. I am not going to be a party to these queer business methods of yours."

"What do you mean by queer business methods?"

"You told me yesterday," said Tom, "that the firm was built up on the suffering you brought to an innocent girt. You boasted of the fact that the firm of Covent Brothers took up slavery as a side-line."

"Innocent!" laughed the other harshly. "A chorus girl!"

"So far as you and I know, that girl was as straight and as pure as any," said Tom sternly, "but if she were the worst woman in the world I should still regard the transaction as beastly."

"Remember you are talking about my father," stormed Martin.

"I am talking about the firm of Covent Brothers," said Tom Camberley, "and I repeat that you have done enough harm to this unfortunate woman without risking her money in your wildcat schemes."

Martin Covent was pacing the room in a fury and now he turned suddenly and for the first time saw Miss Drew standing by the door. There were few secrets which he did not share with this girl and possibly her presence was an incentive to his fury.

"I tell you, Camberley," he said, "that you have gone far enough. This woman—this Ranee—was business. I don't care a curse whether she was happy or unhappy—she saved the firm from going to pot. And I tell you too that if the same opportunity occurred to me as occurred to my father and I could save the firm by sacrificing a thousand chorus girls I should do so!"

Tom Camberley shrugged his shoulders and amusement and disgust were blended in his face.

"That is your code, Covent," he said, "but it is not mine and the sooner you bring in your chartered accountants the better."

Turning he left the room. There was a silence which the girl broke.

"I don't think so," she said.

"Don't think what?" asked Covent in a surprisingly mild tone.

"I don't think we'll call in the chartered accountants," said the girl coolly and helped herself to a cigarette from the open silver box.

He stared gloomily through the window and followed the girl's example lighting his cigarette from the glowing end of hers.

"If this had only happened in three months' time," he said, "when Roumanian Oils—"

She laughed.

"Roumanian Oils will have to bounce to get you out of your trouble, Martin," she said.

He sat at his desk, looking up at her from under his lowered brows.

"You know a great deal about the business of this firm," he said.

"I know enough to make it extremely unpleasant for you if you do not keep your promise to me," said the girl. "I know that you have been raiding your clients' accounts and that the last person in the world you want to see in this office is a representative from a firm of chartered accountants."

"The firm is solvent," he growled.

She nodded.

"It may be solvent, and yet it would be very awkward if the accounts were examined."

She puffed a ring of smoke into the air, a trick of hers, and then asked:

"Why not offer Mr. Camberley a lump sum to get out?"

"What good would that do?" he asked.

"It would save an examination of the accounts," she repeated patiently, "and I rather fancy Mr. Camberley would accept if the sum were big enough. At any rate, you cannot push him off until the half-yearly audit."

"That's an idea," he said thoughtfully. "If the worst came to the worst, I know a pretty little villa in an Argentine town and a pretty little girl—" he reached out his hand for hers and caught it, but she made no response.

"I think there's an idea in what you say," he went on. "At any rate, I'll see Camberley and try to get him out for a fixed sum—I can raise the money."

"I wonder," said the girl.

"You wonder what?" he asked quickly.

"Oh I wasn't thinking about the money but I was wondering whether you meant what you said, that you would sacrifice any woman for the firm's interest?"

"Any woman but you, darling," he said and, rising, kissed her. "Now, be a good girl and help me all you can. Some day you shall be Mrs. Covent, and who knows, Lady Covent?"

"Some day," she repeated.