Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [14]
“So you got there?” said Bones sympathetically.
“Six weeks I was on Lomo. Ate nothing but crabs, drank nothing but rain-water. But the stuff was there all right, only” –he was very emphatic, was this simple old sea-dog – “it wasn’t under the third tree, but the fourth tree. I got down to the first of the boxes, and it was as much as I could do to lift it out. I couldn’t trust any of the Kanaka boys who were with me.”
“Naturally,” said Bones. “An’ I’ll bet they didn’t trust you, the naughty old Kanakas.”
“Look here,” said Mr Dibbs, and he pulled out of his pocket a handful of gold coins which bore busts of a foreign-looking lady and gentleman. “Spanish gold, that is,” he said. “There was four thousand in the little box. I filled both my pockets, and took ’em back to Sydney when we were picked up. I didn’t dare try in Australia. ‘That gold will keep,’ I says to myself. ‘I’ll get back to England and find a man who will put up the money for an expedition’ – a gentleman, you understand?”
“And then I met Harry and Jim. They said they’d got somebody who would put the money up, an American fellow, Rockefeller. Have you ever heard of him?”
“I’ve heard of him,” said Bones; “he’s got a paraffin mine.”
“It may be he has, it may be he hasn’t,” said Mr Dibbs and rose. “Well, sir, I’m very much obliged to you for your kindness. If you’ll direct me to Mr Tibbetts’ office–”
It was a dramatic moment.
“I am Mr Tibbetts,” said Bones simply. Blank incredulity was on the face of Mr Dibbs.
“You?” he said. “But I thought Mr Tibbetts was an older gentleman?”
“Dear old treasure-finder,” said Bones, “be assured I am Mr Tibbetts. This is my office, and this is my desk. People think I am older because–” He smiled a little sadly, then: “Sit down!” he thundered. “Let us go into this.”
He went into the matter, and the City clocks were booming one when he led his mariner friend into the street.
He was late at the office the next morning, because he was young and healthy and required nine hours of the deepest slumber that Morpheus kept in stock.
The grey-eyed girl was typing at a very respectable speed the notes Bones had given her the evening before. There was a telegram awaiting him, which he read with satisfaction. Then: “Leave your work, my young typewriter,” said Bones imperiously. “I have a matter of the greatest importance to discuss with you! See that all the doors are closed,” he whispered; “lock ’em if necessary.”
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” said the girl.
“You see, if anybody came and found all the doors locked–”
“Idiot!” said Bones, very red.
“I beg your pardon,” said the startled girl.
“I was speaking to me,” said Bones rapidly. “This is a matter of the greatest confidence, my jolly old Marguerite” – he paused, shaking at his temerity, for it was only on the previous day that he had discovered her name – “a matter which requires tact and discretion, young Marguerite–”
“You needn’t say it twice,” she said.
“Well once,” said Bones, brightening up.
“That’s a bargain – I’ll call you Marguerite once a day. Now, dear old Marguerite, listen to this.”
She listened with the greatest interest, jotting down the preliminary expenses. Purchase of steamer, five thousand pounds; provisioning of same, three thousand pounds, etc., etc. She even undertook to make a copy of the plan which Mr Dibbs had given into his charge, and which Bones told her had not left him day nor night.
“I put it in my pyjama pocket when I went to bed,” he explained unnecessarily, “and–” He began to pat himself all over, consternation in his face.
“And you left it in your pyjama pocket,” said the girl quietly. “I’ll telephone to your house for it.”
“Phew!” said Bones. “It seems incredible. I must have been robbed.”
“I don’t think so,” said the girl; “it is probably under your pillow. Do you keep your pyjamas under your pillow?”
“That,” said Bones, “is a matter which I never discuss in public. I hate to disappoint you, dear old Marguerite–”
“I’m sorry,” said the girl, with such a simulation of regret that Bones dissolved into a splutter of contrition.