Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [23]
She was dressed neatly. He observed, too, that she had an open book under her arm and a pencil in her hand, and it dawned upon him slowly that this radiant creature was – Bones’ secretary!
Bones’ secretary!
He stared at Bones, and that young man, very red in the face, avoided his eye.
Bones was standing by the desk, in the attitude of an after-dinner speaker who was stuck for the right word. In moments of extreme agitation Bones’ voice became either a growl or a squeak – the bottom register was now in exercise.
“Did – did you want me, young miss?” he demanded gruffly.
The girl at the door hesitated.
“I’m sorry – I didn’t know you were engaged. I wanted to see you about the Abyssinian–”
“Come in, come in, certainly,” said Bones more gruffly than ever. “A new complication, young miss?”
She laid a paper on the desk, taking no more notice of Hamilton than if he were an ornament on the chimney-piece.
“The first instalment of the purchase price is due today,” she said.
“Is it?” said Bones, with his extravagant surprise. “Are you certain, young miss? This day of all days – and it’s a Thursday, too,” he added unnecessarily.
The girl smiled and curled her lip, but only for a second.
“Well, well,” said Bones, “it’s a matter of serious importance. The cheque, jolly old young miss, we will sign it and you will send it off. Make it out for the full amount–”
“For the three thousand pounds?” said the girl.
“For the three thousand pounds,” repeated Bones soberly. He put in his monocle and glared at her. “For the three thousand pounds,” he repeated.
She stood waiting, and Bones stood waiting, he in some embarrassment as to the method by which the interview might be terminated and his secretary dismissed without any wound to her feelings.
“Don’t you think tomorrow would do for the cheque?” she asked.
“Certainly, certainly,” said Bones. “Why not? Tomorrow’s Friday, ain’t it?”
She inclined her head and walked out of the room, and Bones cleared his throat once more.
“Bones–”
The young man turned to meet Hamilton’s accusing eye.
“Bones,” said Hamilton gently, “who is the lady?”
“Who is the lady?” repeated Bones, with a cough. “The lady is my secretary, dear old inquisitor.”
“So I gather,” said Hamilton.
“She is my secretary,” repeated Bones. “An extremely sensible young woman, extremely sensible.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Hamilton. “Plenty of people are sensible. When you talk about sensible young women, you mean plain young women.”
“That’s true,” said Bones; “I never thought of that. What a naughty old mind you have, Ham.”
He seemed inclined to change the subject. “And now, dear old son,” said Bones, with a brisk return to his what-can-I-do-for-you air, “to business! You’ve come, dear old thing, to consult me.”
“You’re surprisingly right,” said Hamilton. “Well,” said Bones, trying three drawers of his desk before he could find one that opened, “have a cigar, and let us talk.”
Hamilton took the proffered weed and eyed it suspiciously.
“Is this one that was given to you, or one that you bought?” he demanded.
“That, my jolly old officer,” said Bones, “is part of a job lot that I bought pretty cheap. I’ve got a rare nose for a bargain–”
“Have you a rare nose for a cigar, that’s the point?” asked Hamilton, as he cut off the end and lit it gingerly.
“Would I give you a bad cigar?” asked the indignant Bones. “A gallant old returned warrior, comrade of my youth, and all that sort of thing! My dear old Ham!”
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” said Hamilton, and took two draws.
Bones, who was no cigar smoker, watched the proceedings anxiously. Hamilton put the cigar down very gently on the corner of the desk.
“Do you mind if I finish