Читать книгу The Adventures Of Tyler Tatlock, Private Detective - James Edward Muddock - Страница 7

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It was a summer evening. Time, between seven and eight o'clock. The scene, Waverley Station, Edinburgh. The train from London had just come in, and the passengers were numerous and miscellaneous. The platform was thronged with an excited, jabbering crowd, made up of passengers and porters, friends and loiterers. It was an animated, bustling scene, full of life, movement, and noise.

A few moments after the train had come to a standstill at the platform, a tall, gentlemanly-looking man, dressed in the height of fashion, and wearing patent leather boots and canary-coloured kid gloves, descended from a first-class compartment and greeted another man who awaited him on the platform. The passenger appeared so dainty and fresh that he did not give one the impression of having travelled the whole of the hot and dusty journey from London. But such was the case. The friend who met him was a burly individual, whose general appearance suggested the flourishing tradesman. His hair was close-cropped. He had bushy red whiskers and moustache, and clean-shaven chin. The two men shook hands warmly, and stood chatting for some few minutes until a porter came up, touched his hat, and inquired of the passenger if he had any luggage.

'Yes, a leather portmanteau, marked in front with a blue cross, and on the top the initials R. B. painted white. You can't mistake it.'

'Where's it from, sir?'

'Euston.'

'Shall I get you a cab?'

'No, I have already got one,' answered the friend. 'It's standing over there, see, by the main entrance.'

'Right, sir. I'll bring the luggage to you,' answered the porter, as he went off to where a crowd was surging round the luggage van, which was being rapidly unloaded by a band of perspiring, grimy men.

The two friends continued their conversation for a little while. The new arrival carried over his arm a handsome rug, and in his hand a brown leather handbag. At last they moved slowly through the swirling human stream, and made their way to the vehicle which had already been engaged by the friend. In this the passenger deposited his rug and bag, and the two men fell to chatting again, lighting up cigars drawn from the passenger's handsome case, which he produced from his pocket.

At last the porter, labouring under the weight of a bulky portmanteau, which he bore on his shoulder, appeared, and the luggage having been deposited on the top of the vehicle the driver was ordered to proceed to a certain fashionable hotel in Princes Street, and the porter having been fee'd—evidently, by the expression on his face, to his entire satisfaction—the two gentlemen were driven away.

These two gentlemen had, all unknown to themselves, evidently been an object of peculiar interest to a little, dark-eyed, sharp-looking fellow, who came by the London train, and alighted at the same time that the handsomely-dressed traveller descended from the first-class carriage. From that moment the little man did not lose sight of him and the friend who met him, until they drove off to the hotel. Then the inquisitive and curious little stranger sauntered leisurely along the platform, claimed a portmanteau from the luggage van, and engaged the services of an outside porter to carry it to an hotel within a biscuit throw of the station, and lighting a cigarette he strolled after him.

Mr. John Rennie was the manager of the Scottish Finance Corporation, Limited. It was a big concern with many ramifications. They had branches in most of the principal towns of Scotland, and their operations embraced a very wide field. Chiefly they were concerned in lending money on mortgage, and in the purchasing and re-selling of estates. Mr. Rennie had occupied the important position of manager for a good many years, and was considered to be an exceedingly shrewd and clever man.

To him there came one morning a fashionably-dressed gentlemanly man, whose visiting-card bore the legend:

Col. John E. Pritchard.

'The Gables,' Richmond.

Army and Navy Club.

Colonel Pritchard had, apparently, important business to transact. He was desirous of raising a first mortgage on what was known as the Strathmain estate, situated in Perthshire. The estate included an old-fashioned and somewhat dilapidated mansion, containing about fifty rooms, with ample stabling, and about three thousand acres of land, only a small portion of which was under cultivation. The chief value of the property lay in its game, which consisted of fish and feather. As was well known, the property had been somewhat neglected owing to family disputes. A brother of the Colonel's, a Mr. Wilfrid Pritchard, who was reputed to have been a 'rapscallion' and ne'er-do-weel, had caused a good deal of bother, but at last he had sold his interests to the Colonel, and betaken himself to 'the wilds of Siberia on a shooting expedition'—at least, so it was reported by the Colonel, who apparently was displaying a laudable desire to retrieve the family fortunes and restore the good name, which, as the Colonel declared, had been so shamefully bespattered by Wilfrid Pritchard. Mr. Rennie received his visitor very courteously. He knew the Strathmain estate well by repute. Its neglected condition had afforded the gossips food for tattle for a long time; and there had been much speculation as to what would be the fate of the property ultimately. It was capable of almost any amount of development, and its value could be trebled.

'I want to explain,' said Colonel Pritchard blandly, 'that my object in raising a mortgage is with a view to developments.'

'What is the present rent-roll?' asked Mr. Rennie.

'Well, there are three farms, but the total amount realised from them is only about six hundred and twenty pounds. They are very much under-rented.'

'And the shootings, what do they realise?'

'Something under a thousand, but there again there has been gross mismanagement.'

'What amount of money are you proposing to raise?' 'I want at least twenty thousand pounds.'

'Is there any charge of any kind on the property at present?'

'None whatever.'

'It is absolutely free?'

'Absolutely.'

The result of this interview was that Mr. Rennie, on behalf of his company, undertook to have the estate surveyed and valued, and, as the Colonel represented the matter as being urgent, it was arranged that the business should be conducted with all despatch, and a week was named as the limit in which a decision might be looked for.

On this undertaking the Colonel went away, seemingly very happy and contented, and Mr. Rennie was of opinion that he had an opportunity of doing a good stroke of business for the Scottish Finance Corporation, Limited, of which he was the managing director, and an exceedingly enterprising one in the interests of his company.

On the evening of the day on which Colonel John E. Pritchard called upon Mr. Rennie with reference to the raising of a loan on the Strathmain estate, the passenger from London was entertaining three gentlemen in a private sitting-room of the hotel in which he was staying. Each man was enjoying the flavour of an excellent cigar from a box that stood on the table. And that the meeting was not a Temperance one was verified by the fact that whisky and brandy were also on the table, and before each gentleman was a glass, which was frequently raised to the lips of the gentle-man, and its liquid contents seemed to be much appreciated.

One of the gentlemen was the same person who had met the passenger from London on his arrival, and was addressed as 'Sandeman.' The other was a little squat man, with clean-shaven face, a somewhat bulbous nose of a vermilion hue, and a general suggestiveness that he loved the flesh-pots of Egypt a good deal more than he loved hard work. He answered to the name of Blagdon. The passenger was familiarly referred to as 'Jack.' The fourth man of the group answered to the name of Nick. He was a man of powerful build and horsy—decidedly horsy—as to his appearance.

These gentlemen smoked a good deal, and consumed liquor freely. The one with the vermilion nose patronised the brandy, but the whisky was evidently to the taste of the others. The business in which they were engaged seemed to be of an important character. Pens, ink, and paper were on the table. And 'Jack,' having filled a sheet of paper with writing, handed it to Sandeman, who perused it carefully, and passed it to Blagdon, who read it thoughtfully with the air, of a professional man, and marked several passages with pencil, and then gave it to Nick, who silently and with grave mien went through it, and having spent ten minutes or a quarter of an hour in mastering its contents said:

'This will have to be altered. It's not clear enough.'

'That's my opinion,' remarked Blagdon. 'Its terms are too vague, and the passages I have underlined in pencil are capable of various legal interpretations.'

'Ay, precisely,' put in Sandeman, speaking slowly and decisively. 'Oor friend Jock's a fine lad, but he's no equal to drawing up an agreement of this kind, except in so far as he would keep the oyster to himself, and gie us the shells.'

There was a little laugh at this sally, though Jack didn't join in it. The expression on his face rather indicated that he resented the soft impeachment. But he betrayed no anger in his voice, as, turning to Blagdon, he said:

Set your great legal brain to work, then, and produce something better.'

This suggestion met with the hearty approval of Sande-man and Nick, so Blagdon recharged his glass as a necessary preparation for the important work. He also threw away the remainder of the cigar he had been smoking, and lit a fresh one. Then, taking a sheet of foolscap paper, he doubled it up at the edge so as to form a margin, and, after this preliminary, he began to write, taking Jack's document as a basis for his own. He was quite an hour before he had completed his task, during which the conversation was general and desultory, though Blagdon worked quietly and in a perfectly absorbed way, so that he seemed quite oblivious of his surroundings. At last he finished. He read over what he had written, made one or two corrections, then with a self-satisfied air he handed it to Jack, with the remark—

'There; I think that meets the case.'

Jack read and frowned, but said nothing. He passed the paper to Sandeman, who expressed his approval by exclaiming—

'Capital, capital,' and he handed the document to Nick, who dwelt upon its contents until at last he also declared that it was all right.

'Very well,' said Jack, 'since you all approve of it, I've no objection to raise. As you are a good writer, Sandeman, make three more copies of this, so that we can each have one.'

Fresh cigars were lighted, more drink poured out, and then Sandeman set to work. It took him a good two hours to accomplish it. Then, the papers having been read, each appended his signature to all four; each folded up his copy and put it into his pocket, and the business of the meeting having been thus satisfactorily arranged, the gentlemen rose, shook and stretched themselves, and, as the hour was nearly eight o'clock, Blagdon expressed an opinion that it was time for the inner man to be attended to, and he suggested that Jack should order dinner; so the door was unlocked—it was strange they should have kept the door locked, but so it was—the bell rung, and when the waiter appeared he was told that the four gentlemen wished to dine; and the next move was for the four gentlemen to adjourn to Jack's bedroom to have a wash and brush up. No sooner had they left than a door at the end of the room opened. It was the door of a cupboard, and there stepped from the dark recess of the cupboard the little sharp-eyed man who had travelled from London in the same train as the 'Passenger.' He went downstairs, had a word or two with the landlord in the entrance hall, and about an hour later he left Edinburgh by the night mail for London.

A week passed, and in accordance with the arrangement previously made Colonel John E. Pritchard called upon Mr. Rennie to know what decision had been arrived at with reference to the mortgage.

'Well,' began Rennie, 'I have had the Strathmain estate carefully surveyed, and the report presented to me would not justify me in recommending my company to advance you twenty thousand pounds.'

'Indeed, how is that?' cried the Colonel, looking somewhat crestfallen.

'Because in its present condition the value of the security would not, in our opinion, sufficiently cover us against contingencies.'

'But I have always understood that the marketable value of the estate was between forty and fifty thousand pounds,' the Colonel said, with obvious anxiety and disappointment in his tone.

Mr. Rennie smiled as he replied softly:

'I am afraid you have been misinformed. There is no doubt the property is capable of much improvement, but it will take a long time and necessitate considerable outlay.'

'Well, what is the best you can do?'

'I have gone carefully into the matter, and don't think we could advance more than fifteen thousand pounds.'

'The deuce!' exclaimed the Colonel, biting his lip.

'I am sorry, but of course we have to look to the possibility of having to foreclose.'

The Colonel seemed terribly put out. He sucked his moustache and drummed irritably on the table with his fingers, until at last, brusquely and suddenly, he said:

'Make it sixteen.'

'I'm afraid I can't do that.'

'Then I'm hanged if I don't try some other firm,' cried the Colonel, as he jumped up with the air of a person who was annoyed and out of temper.

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and, in reply to Mr. Rennie's 'Come in,' a clerk entered, and handed the manager a slip of paper. Rennie glanced at it, and, turning to his visitor, said—'Excuse me for a few minutes, I will not keep you long.'

The Colonel sat down again, and Rennie left the room. He was absent about ten minutes, and when he re-entered he was followed by two tall, powerful men, one of whom approached the Colonel and said—'You are Colonel John E. Pritchard, I believe?'

The Colonel, who had jumped up, looked ill at ease, and stammered out—

'What has it got to do with you?' Then, suddenly changing his manner and tone, he added, 'Yes, that is my name. What do you want with me?'

'I hold a warrant for your arrest on a charge of conspiracy, fraud, and forgery.'

The Colonel's face grew deadly pale, and with a nervous, jerky movement he thrust his hand into his coat pocket, but the two men fell upon him, dragged his hand out, and with it a nickel-plated revolver, which dropped on to the floor, and one of the barrels exploded, but fortunately without damaging anyone. The carpet, however, was burned, and a hole drilled in the wall by the bullet. Very adroitly and rapidly the Colonel was handcuffed. Then, with a ghastly smile, he asked—Upon whose information is this absurd charge preferred?'

'Upon the information sworn to by one Tyler Tatlock, a private detective, of London, and your brother Wilfrid Pritchard.'

'My brother!' gasped the prisoner, as he reeled and seemed as if he would fall, but the men caught him, and supported him. He shook himself free, and with an effort recovered his self-possession.

'I shall have a full and complete answer to this monstrous charge,' he said.

Many a long day had passed since the newspapers had been able to furnish their readers with such sensational reading as that they printed on the morning following Colonel Pritchard's arrest. The story had in it all the elements of a thrilling romance. It appeared that John and Wilfrid Pritchard were the sons of a gentleman who had made a fortune in trade. Wilfrid was the elder brother, and inherited a considerable amount of property, including Strathmain. John had held a commission in the Militia, but had been compelled to resign it on account of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. Since then he had lived on his wits, and had associated himself with a disreputable barrister, named Blagdon, who had been struck oft the rolls; a Walter Sandeman, who had once kept a public-house in Glasgow, but for a long time had also lived by his wits; and one Harvey Nicolson, a racing tout. This quartette of unprincipled rascals had resorted to many schemes for keeping themselves supplied with coin of the realm, and at last the fertile brain of John E. Pritchard conceived a daring and desperate plan for raising the wind.

His brother Wilfrid Pritchard was a dipsomaniac, and sadly neglected his affairs. John, in connivance with the other three rascals, induced him to accompany him to Paris. There, by means of corruption and bribery, they got him shut up in a private lunatic asylum; and the road being thus cleared, the barrister Blagdon, with the aid of Sandeman and Nicolson, forged a transfer of the property to John, it being arranged that a mortgage should be raised, and the money shared in varying proportions. It was Sandeman who met Pritchard at the Waverley Station the night he arrived from London, and it was Sandeman who had arranged that the Finance Corporation should be applied to for a mortgage.

It chanced, however, that an aunt of the Pritchards, who disliked John very much, but had a strong regard for Wilfrid in spite of his faults, and had tried to reform him, became alarmed and suspicious by his sudden disappearance, and fearing that there had been foul play she enlisted the services of Tyler Tatlock, who shadowed John, followed him to Edinburgh, concealed himself in the cupboard in the room of the hotel, and overheard all that took place when the quartette met and drew up an agreement as to the amount each was to receive for his share in the villainy. Then he hurried south to report the whereabouts of Wilfrid, so that his friends could take steps to ensure his release, and he returned to Edinburgh in time to make his dramatic coup while John was conducting his negotiations with Rennie.

The four wretches had considered themselves so secure that their sudden arrest was like a bolt from the blue, and as the evidence accumulated and the net was tightened around them they felt that their doom was sealed.

The trial that followed in due course was something more than a nine days' wonder, and the result was inevitable from the first. The offence with which they were charged was an exceedingly serious one, and the punishment commensurate with so grave a crime. The sentence that was pronounced made it certain that Society would be in no further danger from the machinations of these accomplished scoundrels for a very long time.

It is perhaps needless to say that Tatlock was highly complimented on his skill in nipping this great conspiracy in the bud, and one more triumph was added to the many that had served to make his name famous as an unraveller of criminal mysteries.