Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [20]
“Hullo!” he said huskily. “I was asleep.”
He recognized Mr Sole, and led the way to his little bunk-house.
“Look here, Tester,” said Sole, who had appointed the man, “did a young swell come down here today?”
“He did,” said Mr Tester, “and a young lady. They gave Mr Staines’ name, and asked to be showed round, and,” he added, “I showed ’em round.”
“Well, what happened?” asked Staines.
“Well,” said the man, “I took ’em in the factory, in the big building, and then this young fellow asked to see the place where the metal was kept.”
“What metal?” asked three voices at one and the same time.
“That’s what I asked,” said Mr Tester, with satisfaction. “I told ’em Stivvins dealt with all kinds of metal, so the gent says: ‘What about gold?’”
“What about gold?” repeated Mr Staines thoughtfully. “And what did you say?”
“Well, as a matter of fact,” explained Tester, “I happen to know this place, living in the neighbourhood, and I used to work here about eight years ago, so I took ’em down to the vault.”
“To the vault?” said Mr Staines. “I didn’t know there was a vault.”
“It’s under the main office. You must have seen the place,” said Tester. “There’s a big steel door with a key in it – at least, there was a key in it, but this young fellow took it away with him.”
Staines gripped his nearest companion in sin, and demanded huskily: “Did they find anything in – in the vault?”
“Blessed if I know!” said the cheerful Tester, never dreaming that he was falling very short of the faith which at that moment, and only at that moment, had been reposed in him. “They just went in. I’ve never been inside the place myself.”
“And you stood outside, like a – a–”
“Blinking image!” said the explosive companion. “You stood outside like a blinking image, and didn’t attempt to go in, and see what they were looking at?” said Mr Staines heatedly. “How long were they there?”
“About ten minutes.”
“And then they came out?”
Tester nodded.
“Did they bring anything out with them?”
“Nothing,” said Mr Tester emphatically.
“Did this fellow – what’s his name? – look surprised or upset?” persisted the cross-examining Honest John.
“He was a bit upset, now you come to mention it, agitated like, yes,” said Tester, reviewing the circumstances in a new light. “is ’and was, so to speak, shaking.”
“Merciful Moses!” This pious ejaculation was from Mr Staines. “He took away the key, you say. And what are you supposed to be here for?” asked Mr Staines violently. “You allow this fellow to come and take our property away. Where is the place?”
Tester led the way across the littered yard, explaining en route that he was fed up, and why he was fed up, and what they could do to fill the vacancy which would undoubtedly occur the next day, and where they could go to, so far as he was concerned, and so, unlocking one rusty lock after another, passed through dark and desolate offices, full of squeaks and scampers down a short flight of stone steps to a most uncompromising steel door at which they could only gaze.
3
Bones was at his office early the following morning, but he was not earlier than Mr Staines, who literally followed him into his office and slammed down a slip of paper under his astonished and gloomy eye.
“Hey, hey, what’s this?” said Bones irritably. “What the dooce is this, my wicked old fiddle fellow?”
“Your cheque,” said Mr Staines firmly. “And I’ll trouble you for the key of our strong-room.”
“The key of your strong-room?” repeated Bones. “Didn’t I buy this property?”
“You did and you didn’t. To cut a long story short, Mr Tibbetts, I have decided not to sell – in fact, I find that I have done an illegal thing in selling at all.”
Bones shrugged his shoulders. Remember that he had slept, or half-slept, for some nine hours, and possibly his views had undergone a change. What he would have done is problematical, because at that moment the radiant Miss Whitland passed into her