Mr. J. G. Reeder Returns (6 page)

“Very distressing,” said Mr Reeder, and shook his head mournfully, as though the thought of the Treasury losing money cut him to the quick.

“There is a separate fund invested in high-class government security,” the major went on, “on which my niece and myself live. Naturally, the custody of such an enormous sum is a source of constant anxiety to me – in fact, only two years ago I ordered an entirely new strongroom to be built at a very considerable cost.”

He paused.

“And Buckingham?” asked Mr Reeder gently. “I will come to Buckingham,” said the major with great dignity. “He was one of the guards employed. There are in all seven. Each lives in his own quarters, and it is against the rules I have instituted that these men should meet except when they relieve one another of their post. The practice is for the guard on duty to ring a bell communicating with the quarters of his relief, who immediately comes to the treasure house and, after being identified, is admitted. Buckingham should have come on duty at six o’clock on Saturday night. His predecessor at the post rang the bell as usual, but Buckingham did not appear. After an hour the man communicated with me, by telephone – there is a telephone connection between my study and the dome – I call it the dome because of its shape – and I set immediately to find the missing man. His room was empty, there was no sign of him, and I ordered the emergency man to take his place.”

“Since then you have not seen him?”

The major shook his head.

“No, sir. Nor have I heard from him.”

“What salary did you pay this man?”

“Ten pounds a week, quarters, lighting and food. All the guards were supplied from the kitchen of the castle.”

“Had he any private means?”

“None,” said the other emphatically.

“Would you be surprised to know that he has been speculating heavily in land?” asked Mr Reeder.

The major rose to his feet, not quickly, but with a certain stately deliberation.

“I should be both surprised and horrified,” he said. “Is there any way by which he could have had access to the – um – treasure house?”

“No, sir,” said Olbude, “no method whatever, except through the door, of which I hold the key. The wall is made of concrete twelve inches thick and lined with half-inch steel. The locks are unpickable.”

“And the foundations?” suggested Mr Reeder.

“Eight feet of solid concrete. It is absolutely impossible.”

Mr Reeder rubbed his chin, looking down at the desk, his lips drooping dismally.

“Do you often go into the – um – treasure house?”

“Yes, sir, I go in every month, on the first day of every month. In other words, I was there last Friday.”

“And nothing had been disturbed?”

“Nothing,” said the other emphatically.

“I presume the bullion is in steel boxes–”

“In large glass containers. That was another of Mr Lane Leonard’s eccentricities. There are about six hundred of these, each containing two thousand five hundred pounds’ worth of gold. It is possible to see at a glance whether the money has been disturbed. The containers are hermetically closed and sealed. They stand on reinforced concrete shelves, in eight tiers, on three sides of the treasure house, each tier holding seventy-five containers. The treasure house, I may explain, consists of two buildings; the inner shell, which is the treasure house proper, and another separate building, as it were a box placed over this to give protection to the guard and sufficient space for them to promenade. The outer building contains a small kitchenette, with tables, chairs and the necessary accommodation for the comfort of the guard. Attached to this is a lobby, also guarded with a steel door, and beyond that an iron grille, above which is a powerful electric light to enable the inner guard to scrutinise his relief and make sure that he is the right man – that is to say, that he is not being impersonated.”

Mr Reeder was a little puzzled, but only a little.

“Very extraordinary,” he said, “can you tell me any more about Buckingham?”

The major hesitated.

“No, except that he went to town more frequently than any of the other guards. For this I was responsible, I am afraid! I gave him greater freedom because he was the doyen of the guards in point of service.”

“Extraordinary,” said Mr Reeder again.

The story had its fantastical and improbable side, and yet J G Reeder regarded it as being no more than – extraordinary. Misers there had been since there were valuable things to hoard. Every nation had its safe place where unproductive gold was hoarded. He knew of at least three similar cases of men who had maintained in vaults vast sums in bullion.

“I should like to come down to – um – Sevenways Castle and see this man’s quarters,” he said. “It will be necessary to go through his possessions. Had he any friends?”

The major nodded.

“He had a friend, I believe, in London – a girl. I don’t know who she was. To tell you the truth, Mr Reeder, I have an idea that he was married, though he never spoke of his wife. But what were you telling me about his having money? That is news to me.”

J G Reeder scratched his chin and hesitated.

“I am not quite sure whether I have absolute authority for saying that he was the head of a certain land corporation, but as his staff have recognised his photograph–”

He sketched the story of the Land Development Company, and Major Olbude listened without interruption.

“Then it was in one of his own fields that he was found? When I say his own fields, I mean on land which he himself owned. That is amazing. I am afraid I can tell you no more about him,” he said, as he took up his hat and stick, “but of course I am available whenever you wish to question me. There may be some things about him that I have forgotten, but I will write my telephone number on your card and you may call me up.”

He did this with his pencil, Mr Reeder standing by and watching the process with interest.

He accompanied his guest down the stairs into Whitehall, and arrived in time to witness a peculiar incident. A Rolls was drawn up by the kerb and three persons were standing by it. He recognised the girl instantly. Larry’s back was towards him, but he had no difficulty in identifying the broad shoulders of that young man. The third member of the party was evidently the chauffeur. He was red of face, talking and gesticulating violently. Mr Reeder heard him say: “You’ve got no right to speak to the young lady, and if you want to talk, talk in English so as I can understand you.”

The major quickened his pace, crossed to the group and spoke sharply to the chauffeur.

“Why are you making a scene?” he demanded.

Larry O’Ryan had walked away, a surprising circumstance, for Larry was the sort that never walked away from trouble of any kind.

Mr Reeder came up to the group. The major could do no less than introduce him.

“This is my niece, Miss Lane Leonard,” he said.

She was lovely; even Mr Reeder, who was no connoisseur, acknowledged the fresh beauty of the girl. He thought she was rather pale, and wondered whether that was her natural colour.

“What is the trouble, my dear?” asked the major.

“I met a friend – the man who saved me from being run over by a motor car,” she said jerkily. “I spoke to him in – in French.”

“He speaks English all right,” growled the unpleasant-looking chauffeur.

“Will you be quiet! Was that all, my dear?”

She nodded.

“You thanked him, I suppose? I remember you telling me that you did not have the opportunity of thanking him before. He went away before you could speak to him. Modesty in a young man is most admirable. And it was in Whitehall that it happened?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

Mr Reeder felt that she was looking at him, although her eyes were fixed upon her uncle. He saw something else; her gloved hand was trembling. She was trying hard to control it, but it trembled.

The major turned and shook hands with him.

“I shall probably be seeing you again, Mr Reeder,” he said.

He turned abruptly, helped the girl into the car and the machine drew away. Reeder looked round for Larry, saw him staring intently into a doorway, and as the car passed him, saw him turn so that his back was to the vehicle.

Larry walked quickly towards him.

“Sorry,” he said; “but I wanted to see you and I was hanging around till you came out.”

His eyes were bright; his whole attitude was tense, electric; he seemed charged with some suppressed excitement.

“You met the young lady?”

“Yes. Interesting, isn’t she?”

“Why didn’t you stay and meet her uncle?”

“Rather embarrassing – fine-looking old boy. Perhaps I was a little conscience-stricken. That chauffeur…”

He was not smiling; his eyes were hard, his lips were set straight.

“He never had a narrower escape than he did today. Have you ever wanted to kill somebody, Mr Reeder? I’ve never had it before – just a brutal desire to maim and beat, and mutilate–”

“Why did you speak in French?”

“It’s my favourite language,” said Larry glibly. “Anyway, she might have been French; she’s got the chic of a Parisienne and the loveliness of an Italian dawn.”

Mr Reeder looked at him oddly.

“Why are you being so mysterious?” he asked.

“Am I?” Larry laughed. There was a note of hysteria in that laugh. The bright look had come back to his eyes. “I wonder if he did?”

“Did what?” asked Mr Reeder, but the young man answered him with a question.

“Are you going down to call on our friend? By the way, did he employ the man Buckingham?”

“What do you know about Buckingham?” asked Mr Reeder slowly.

“It’s in the papers this morning. I mean the man who was killed.”

“Did you know him?”

Larry shook his head.

“No. I’ve seen his portrait – a commonplace-looking hombre, hardly worth murdering, do you think? Lord, Mr Reeder, isn’t it great to be alive!”

A few spots of rain were falling. Mr Reeder was conscious of the fact that he was bareheaded.

“Come up to my office,” he said. “I’ll take the risk of being – um – reprimanded by my superior.”

Larry hesitated.

“All right, I’m all for it,” he said, and followed Mr Reeder up the stairs.

J G shut the door and pointed to a chair. “Why the excitement?” he asked. “Why the – um – champing of bits, as it were?”

Larry sat back in his chair and folded his arms tightly.

“I’ve got an idea I’m being six kinds of a fool for not taking you entirely into my confidence, but here’s adventure, Mr Reeder, the most glorious adventure that can come to a young man of courage and enterprise. And I think I’ll spoil it a little if I tell you. I’ll ask you one favour: was the major wearing his glasses when he came into the street?”

Mr Reeder nodded.

“I don’t remember that he took them off,” he said.

Larry frowned and bit his lip.

“I’ll tell you something. Do you remember when I lifted that young lady out of the way of a car? It was right outside this office, wasn’t it? She had just left her own car, and left it rather hurriedly, and was coming – where do you think? To this office, no less! She didn’t tell me so, but I’m pretty sure that was where she was bound. And the chauffeur was flying after her. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I realise it now. On the day before that happened there was an article in the
Megaphone
about you, rather a eulogistic one, and a pencil sketch of you. Do you remember?”

Mr Reeder blushed.

“There was rather a stupid – um – ill-informed – um–”

“Exactly. It was rather flattering. I don’t know how flattering it was, but your own conscience will tell you. I worked it out in two seconds; that was why she was coming to see you. This misguided and ill-informed writer in the
Megaphone
said you were the greatest detective of the age, or something of the sort. It probably isn’t true, though I’ll hand you all sorts of bouquets on a gold plate, for you certainly embarrassed me on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion. And she read it, found out where your office was – anyway, she wants to see you now. She said that much.”

“Wants to see me?” said Mr Reeder incredulously. Larry nodded. “Isn’t it amazing! I couldn’t have been speaking to her for more than a minute, and she’s the beginning and end of life to me.”

He got up and began to pace the room excitedly.

“To me, Mr Reeder, a crook of crooks, a burglar. But she’s worth a million and a half, and absolutely unreachable. I couldn’t propose to her. But if she said, ‘Walk into the middle of Westminster Bridge and jump into the river,’ I’d do it!”

Mr Reeder stared at him.

“It almost sounds as though you like her very much,” he said.

“It almost does,” said Larry savagely.

He stopped in his stride, pointed a finger of his extended hand towards Mr Reeder.

“I’m not going to jump from the middle of Westminster Bridge. It’s a far, far better thing that I do – or rather, I’m going to do a far, far better thing, and it’s going to make all the difference in life to me if I succeed.”

“If you will sit down,” said Mr Reeder mildly, “and talk a little less obscurely, perhaps I could assist you.”

Larry shook his head.

“No; I’ve got to blaze my own trail.” He chuckled. “My metaphors are a bit mixed, but then, so is my mind. When are you going to Sevenways Castle?”

“She told you she lived there, did she?” asked Mr Reeder.

“When are you going?”

J G considered.

“Tomorrow – tomorrow afternoon probably.” And then: “You don’t know Buckingham?”

“No,” said Larry. “I recognised him, of course, as the fellow who came up and spoke to you when we were at the Queen’s Hall. Odd coincidence, meeting him at all, wasn’t it?”

He walked to the door and opened it.

“I’ll go now, Mr Reeder, if you’ll excuse me. Perhaps I’ll call and see you tonight. By the way, are you in the American market?”

“I never speculate,” said Reeder primly. “I don’t think I have bought a stock or a share in my life, and certainly I should not buy now, I read the newspapers, of course, and I see the market is down.”

“And how!” said Larry cryptically.