Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [77]
But Bones had formed one definite conclusion, and had settled upon the action he intended taking. Mr Hyane, entering the study, saw the cheque book on the desk, and was cheered. Bones had to clear his voice several times before he could articulate.
“Mr Hyane,” he said huskily, “I have been thinking matters out. I am a great admirer of yours – of your – of yours – a tremendous admirer of yours, Mr Hyane. Anything that made her happy, old Mr Hyane, would make me happy. You see?”
“I see,” said Mr Hyane, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that he, a student of men, had not misread his victim.
“Fourteen thousand pounds,” said Bones, turning abruptly to the desk and seizing his pen. “Make it payable to you?”
“You’re too kind,” murmured Hyane. “Make it an open cheque, Mr Tibbetts – I have to pay the agents in cash. These Indian merchants are so suspicious.”
Bones wrote the cheque rapidly, marked it “Pay Cash,” and initialled the corrections, then tore the slip from the book and handed it to the other.
“Of course, Mr Tibbetts,” said Hyane reverentially, “I regard half this as a loan to me and half as a loan to my dear wife. We shall never forget your kindness.”
“Rot!” said Bones. “Nonsense! I hope you’ll be happy, and will you tell her–” He swallowed something.
There was a faint tinkle of a bell in the hall, and Ali, his servant, poked an ebony face round the corner of the door.
“Sir,” he said, “the telephonic apparatus demands conversation.”
Bones was glad of the interruption, and, with a muttered apology to his gratified guest, he strode out into the hall. Ali had accustomed himself to answering the telephone, but this time he had not understood the preliminary inquiry from the exchange.
“Hello!” said Bones into the transmitter. “Who’s that?”
At the sound of the voice which answered him he nearly dropped the receiver.
“Is that Mr Tibbetts?”
“Yes,” said Bones hoarsely, and his heart beat a wild rataplan.
“I’m speaking from York, Mr Tibbetts. I wanted to tell you that the key of the safe is in the drawer of my desk – the top drawer.”
“That’s all right, dear old – dear Mrs Hyane.”
“What is that you say?” asked the voice sharply.
“Congratulations, dear old missus,” said Bones. “Hope you’ll be awfully happy on your plantation”
“What do you mean?” asked the voice. “Did you call me Mrs Hyane?”
“Yes,” said Bones huskily.
He heard her laugh.
“How ridiculous you are! Did you really think I would ever marry my cousin?”
“But haven’t you?” yelled Bones.
“What – married? Absurd! I’m going to Scotland to see about some family matter.”
“You’re not – not a Mrs?” asked Bones emphatically.
“And never will be,” said the girl. “What does it all mean? Tell me.”
Bones drew a long breath.
“Come back by the next train, young miss,” he said. “Let that jolly old family affair go to blazes. I’ll meet you at the station and tell you everything.”
“But – but–” said the girl.
“Do as you’re told young miss!” roared Bones, and hung up the receiver with a seraphic smile.
The door of his study was a thick one, and it was, moreover, protected from outside noises by a large baize door, and the student of men had heard nothing. Bones strode back into the room with a face so changed that Mr Hyane could not but observe that something remarkable had happened.
“I’m afraid I’m keeping you up, Mr Tibbetts,” he said.
“Not at all,” said Bones cheerfully. “Let’s have a look at that cheque I gave you.”
The other hesitated.
“Let me have a look at it,” said Bones, and Mr Hyane, with a smile, took it from his pocket and handed it to the other.
“Half for you and half for her, eh, dear old thing?” said Bones, and tore the cheque in two. “That’s your half,” he said, handing one portion to Mr Hyane.
“What the devil are you doing?” demanded the other angrily, but Bones had him by the collar, and was kicking him along the all-too-short corridor.
“Open the door, Ali!” said Bones. “Open it wide, dear old heathen! Ooff!”
The “Ooff!