Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [6]
“I must confess, Mr Tibbetts,” said Fred, “that I have often had qualms of conscience about your uncle, and I have been on the point of coming round to see you several times. This morning I said to my brother, ‘Joe,’ I said, ‘I’m going round to see Tibbetts.’ Forgive the familiarity, but we talk of firms like the Rothschilds and the Morgans without any formality.”
“Naturally, naturally, naturally,” murmured Bones gruffly.
“I said: ‘I’ll go and see Tibbetts and get it off my chest. If he wants those ships back at the price we paid for them, or even less, he shall have them.’ ‘Fred,’ he said, ‘you’re too sensitive for business.’ ‘Joe,’ I said, ‘my conscience works even in business hours.’”
A light dawned on Bones and he brightened visibly.
“Ah, yes, my dear old Pole,” he said almost cheerily, “I understand. You diddled my dear old uncle – bless his heart – out of money, and you want to pay it back. Fred” – Bones rose and extended his knuckly hand – “you’re a jolly old sportsman, and you can put it there!”
“What I was going to say–” began Fred seriously agitated.
“Not a word. We’ll have a bottle on this. What will you have – ginger-beer or cider?”
Mr Fred suppressed a shudder with difficulty.
“Wait, wait, Mr Tibbetts,” he begged; “I think I ought to explain. We did not, of course, knowingly rob your uncle–”
“No, no naturally,” said Bones, with a facial contortion which passed for a wink. “Certainly not – We businessmen never rob anybody. Ali bring the drinks!”
“We did not consciously rob him,” continued Mr Fred desperately, “but what we did do – ah, this is my confession!”
“You borrowed a bit and didn’t pay it back. Ah, naughty!” said Bones. “Out with the corkscrew, Ali. What shall it be – a cream soda or non-alcoholic ale?”
Mr Fred looked long and earnestly at the young man.
“Mr Tibbetts,” he said, and suddenly grasped the hand of Bones, “I hope we are going to be friends. I like you. That’s my peculiarity – I like people or I dislike them. Now that I’ve told you that we bought two ships from your uncle for one hundred and forty thousand pounds when we knew – yes, positively knew – they were worth at least twenty thousand pounds more – now I’ve told you this, I feel happier.”
“Worth twenty thousand pounds more?” said Bones thoughtfully. Providence was working overtime for him, he thought.
“Of anybody’s money,” said Fred stoutly. “I don’t care where you go, my dear chap. Ask Cole – he’s the biggest shipping lawyer in this city – ask my brother, who, I suppose, is the greatest shipping authority in the world, or – what’s the use of asking ’em? – ask yourself. If you’re not Saul Tibbetts all over again, if you haven’t the instinct and the eye and the brain of a shipowner – why, I’m a Dutchman! That’s what I am – a Dutchman!”
He picked up his hat and his lips were pressed tight – a gesture and a grimace which stood for grim conviction.
“What are they worth today?” asked Bones, after a pause.
“What are they worth today?” Mr Fred frowned heavily at the ceiling. “Now, what are they worth today? I forget how much I’ve spent on ’em – they’re in dock now.”
Bones tightened his lips, too.
“They’re in dock now?” he said. He scratched his nose. “Dear old Fred Pole,” he said, “you’re a jolly old soul. By Jove that’s not bad! ‘Pole’ an’ ‘soul’ rhyme – did you notice it?”
Fred had noticed it.
“It’s rum,” said Bones, shaking his head, “it is rum how things get about. How did you know, old fellow-citizen, that I was going in for shippin’?”
Mr Fred Pole did not know that Bones was going in for shipping, but he smiled.
“There are few things that happen in the City that I don’t know,” he admitted modestly.
“The Tibbetts Line,” said Bones firmly, “will fly a house-flag of purple and green diagonally – that is, from corner to corner. There will be a yellow anchor in a blue wreath in one corner and a capital T in a red wreath in the other.”
“Original, distinctly original,” said Fred in wondering admiration. “Wherever did you get that idea?”
“I get ideas,” confessed Bones, blushing, “some times in the night,