Читать книгу The Gunner - Edgar Wallace - Страница 10

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The General Manager of Maddison's Bank was not a man who could easily be taken by surprise. He had the fatalistic qualities which are peculiar to all men engaged in the business of finance. The vagaries of markets, the incidence of bank rates and the fluctuations of trade left him unmoved. He had once been held up by an armed robber and did not so much as change colour.

Yet he stared with amazement and was physically incapable of coherent speech when he saw Luke Maddison walk through the outer office towards his private room.

"It's all right, Steele," smiled Luke. "You're not seeing a ghost."

Mr Steele recovered his speech. "I thought—um—"

"You thought I was on my honeymoon, but I'm not," said Luke as he preceded the manager to his room. He stopped on the threshold at the sight of a burly figure disposed in the easiest arm-chair.

"Mr Bird called, and I was—er—I thought you wouldn't mind if I saw him in your office."

Luke Maddison was already shaking hands with his visitor.

"Thought you might turn up," said The Sparrow cheerfully. "I noticed you weren't on the honeymoon express."

Luke laughed. "You were at Waterloo, I suppose?"

"Me and about fourteen crooks various," said the detective, "but only two of us interested in the boat-train. All the rest were low, common luggage-pinchers, but they didn't stay long. Me and him held on to the Paris Limited till it went out."

"Who was the 'him'?" asked Luke, but Mr Sparrow was not informative.

"Nothing wrong, Mr Maddison? Yes, know that your good lady is far from well, but nothing serious?" It was queer to hear Margaret referred to as a 'good lady', and Luke found himself laughing quietly.

"I've come up to see you about a cheap little lobcrawlin' roustabout," explained The Sparrow. "If it's not asking you to betray a criminal's confidence, I'd like to know what brought Lewing to you yesterday?"

Luke hesitated: he was loth to say anything which might get the man or his principal into trouble.

"He didn't come for money perhaps—on behalf of the Gunner?" Mr Bird was watching him keenly. "I thought so. The Gunner's appealin', that's true, an' I think he'll get away with it. I was discussin' it in the exercise yard at Brixton Prison, and this Lewing must have been walking round and overheard. What did you give him?"

As nearly as he could recall Luke gave him the gist of the interview. The Sparrow was amused. "The Gunner wouldn't talk to a man like Lewing. Haynes belongs to what the newspaper writers call the aristocracy of crime. If you'll prosecute I'll pull him in." But Luke was in no sense agreeable to such a course. "All right—leave him. He'll go around workin' against the children of the poor till one day he'll fall an' I shall be on top of him."

The phrase again attracted Luke's attention, and he asked a question. The Sparrow pursed his thick lips. "People like you, Mr Maddison, don't understand. Look out of your window now"—he pointed, and Luke walked to the window. "See that girl-typist or somep'n. Two pound a week. She's one of a family of six (I'm makin' all this up) an' lives in Bermondsey. Every hand's against her. You don't think so? I'm tellin' you. They rob her, they lay in wait for her. They crowd round buses an' pinch her purse. Maybe some smart-lookin' lad asks her to go to the pictures—then one evenin' she'll go to supper in a flash night club. See that man? Old feller? Brought up a family on nothin'—he's a workin' carpenter by his bag. Do you know what they'll do to him? They'll get him tight, pinch his tools and turn out his pockets. That's why I'm drawin' so much a week: for protectin' the children of the poor. Do you get that?"

"But I thought that thieves only went after the rich?" said Luke.

Mr Bird guffawed. "What have the rich got? Their money's in safes. They've servants and telephones, and the law's on their side. A thief would rather rob the poor than rob anybody. They're helpless. I'll tell you, Mr Maddison, you've no idea what the poor are like, and you've no idea of what the rats are like. I could take you to a place in South London where they live in herds—little wicked thieves—just like in books. Livin' together in cellars and old warehouses. They'd hold you face down in the river mud till you were dead—that's if they had twenty pounds to split between four of 'em."

Luke shivered. "It doesn't seem possible."

Mr Bird smiled broadly. "I hope you'll never know how possible it is—what about that Lewing?" Luke shook his head, and The Sparrow, heaving himself from the chair, grunted his disapproval of such mercy. "He's one of the worst. Breakin' an' enterin', did he tell you? He's got the heart of a worm—he wouldn't break or enter anything more dangerous than a veal an' ham pie! He's a shore thief—I'll tell you all about it one day."

During the talk Steele had appeared in the doorway twice. He was obviously worried; frowned at Bird, and by such signs as Luke understood signified his desire for an early interview. The detective was hardly out of the office before Steele came in. "That cheque you signed yesterday for ninety-seven thousand—the bank manager says he wants to see you urgently. He wouldn't tell me what it was about, after I had told him you were still in town."

Luke frowned. "But it was on my private account," he said.

"That is exactly what I told him. I explained that you were transferring that amount to the bank account, but he says he must see you."

The bank was not very far distant, and ten minutes later Luke was in the manager's office. He had first to receive the congratulations of that official and to explain his presence in town. Margaret was feeling better—he had telephoned to her early that morning, and her message was reassuring. "Now about this cheque, Mr Maddison." The manager became suddenly businesslike. "You realize, of course, that it cannot be honoured?"

"What?" Luke looked at him incredulously and the manager laughed.

"Sounds queer, doesn't it? Especially queer to me when I realize that I am talking to the head of Maddison's Bank; but it is a fact. It is the merest formality, of course, but you as a banker will realize that banking is based upon formalities—"

"Will you please tell me what you mean?" said Luke impatiently. "I have six hundred thousand—"

"You had," smiled the manager; "but you seem to forget, Mr Maddison, that you settled all your money and your securities on your wife!"

And then it dawned upon Luke Maddison that he was a penniless man. His smile grew broader, his chuckle became a roar of laughter in which the manager joined.

"That is the best joke I've heard." Luke wiped his eyes. "Of course, I had forgotten. I will see Mrs Maddison"—he lingered on the words—"and ask her to oblige me with a cheque for the amount."

"Early," warned the manager. "You know, of course, that I must return this cheque unless I have her authority to pay?"

If Luke Maddison's smile was a little contemptuous, he was justified by his own standards. He did not even trouble to see Margaret at once. Before lunch he remembered and telephoned. "I want to see you, darling," he began.

"Why?" It was difficult to disguise the suspicion she felt.

"I want you to sign a little document," he said gaily.

So that was it! Danty had warned her. Only she had never dreamed that she would be asked to renounce her marriage portion so soon.

"A document?"

"I want you to transfer some money to me," he said. "It is the merest formality—I've discovered that I have rather less than I need."

She thought quickly. "Very well, come to the house at three o'clock."

He forgot that the bank closed at three-thirty and agreed. After all, it did not greatly matter if the cheque was returned. It was merely a transference from his personal account to the bank's.

He was, true to his methods, five minutes late, and was shown into her little sitting-room. The first thing that struck him was that she was dressed. He had pictured her resting in her negligee—in bed even. She was not as pale as she had been. It was when he went to take her in his arms that he had his first shock.

"Don't kiss me—please!" It was not a request: it was a peremptory command.

"Why—what is wrong, darling?" She shook her head impatiently.

"Please tell me what you want." Her tone turned him cold. It was hard, almost antagonistic. He could hardly believe the evidence of his senses.

Stammering like a schoolboy, he told her in disjointed sentences of the situation which had arisen, and she listened and did not speak until he stopped.

"Ninety-seven thousand pounds," she said. "A tenth of that would have saved Rex."

He could only stare at her uncomprehendingly.

"It was rather dreadful to see a man make a god of money, Luke, and to know that for its sake he is willing to sacrifice even a young life..." To him her voice sounded like the clang of a bell; to herself it hardly seemed that it was she who was speaking. "And to accuse this poor dead boy of forgery—to add that infamy to the other!"

"I...you are speaking of me?" he said in a whisper.

She nodded. "Of you. I knew that you were coming to get your money back—that is why I did not go with you to France. I wanted it to happen here. Here, where I have friends and can meet you on even terms." A pause, and then: "Luke...I am giving you no money. You gave it to me—it is mine. Not a penny can you have—not a penny!" She wished he would speak during the silence that followed. She wished he would rave, curse her, do all the things that were consistent with her picture of him.

But he said nothing. He was not even looking at her, but was studying the pattern of the carpet. Presently he jerked up his head.

"Good-bye," he said, and turned on his heel.

She heard the door close on him, and then there came to her a realization that made her brain reel. She loved him.