Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [80]
“We’ll get a managing director,” said Mr de Vinne solemnly. “A man who is used to the handling of natives, a man acquainted with the West Coast of Africa, a man who can organize.”
“Bones?” suggested Mr Fred.
“Bones be – jiggered!” replied de Vinne scornfully. “Do you think he’d fall for that sort of thing? Not on your life! We’re not going to mention it to Bones. But he has a pal – Sanders; you’ve heard of him. He’s a commissioner or something on the West Coast, and retired. Now, my experience of a chap of that kind who retires is that he gets sick to death of doing nothing. If we could only get at him and persuade him to accept the managing directorship, with six months a year on the Coast, at a salary of, say, two thousand a year, conditional on taking up six or seven thousand pounds’ worth of shares, what do you think would happen?”
Mr Fred’s imagination baulked at the problem, and he shook his head.
“I’ll tell you what would happen,” said Mr de Vinne. “It happened once before, when another pal of Bones got let in on a motorcar company. Bones fell over himself to buy the shares and control the company. And, mind you, the Mazeppa looks good. It’s the sort of proposition that would appeal to a young and energetic man. It’s one of those bogy companies that seem possible, and a fellow who knows the ropes would say straight away: ‘If I had charge of that, I’d make it pay.’ That’s what I’m banking on.”
“What are the shares worth?” said Fred.
“About twopence net,” replied the other brutally. “I’ll tell you frankly that I’d run this business myself if I thought there was any chance of my succeeding. But if Bones finds all the shares in one hand, he’s going to shy. What I’m prepared to do is this. These shares are worth twopence. I’m going to sell you and a few friends parcels at a shilling a share. If nothing happens, I’ll undertake to buy them back at the same price.”
A week later Hamilton brought news to the office of Tibbetts and Hamilton, Limited.
“The chief is going back to the Coast.”
Bones opened his mouth wide in astonishment.
“Back to the Coast?” he said incredulously. “You don’t mean he’s chucking jolly old Twickenham?”
Hamilton nodded.
“He’s had an excellent offer from some people in the City to control a trading company. By the way, did you ever hear of the Mazeppa Company?”
Bones shook his head.
“I’ve heard of Mazeppa,” he said. “He was the naughty old gentleman who rode through the streets of Birmingham without any clothes.”
Hamilton groaned.
“If I had your knowledge of history,” he said despairingly, “I’d start a bone factory. You’re thinking of Lady Godiva, but that doesn’t matter. No, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Mazeppa Company; it did not operate in our territory.”
Bones shook his head and pursed his lips.
“But surely,” he said, “dear old Excellency hasn’t accepted a job without consulting me?”
Hamilton made derisive noises.
“He fixed it up in a couple of days,” he said, after a while. “It doesn’t mean he’ll be living on the Coast, but he’ll probably be there for some months in the year. The salary is good – in fact, it’s two thousand a year. I believe Sanders has to qualify for directorship by taking some shares, but the dear chap is enthusiastic about it, and so is Patricia. It is all right, of course. Sanders got the offer through a firm of solicitors.”
“Pooh!” said Bones. “Solicitors are nobody.” He learnt more about the company that afternoon, for Sanders called in and gave a somewhat roseate view of the future.
“The fact is, Bones, I am getting stale,” he said, “and this looks like an excellent and a profitable occupation.”
“How did you get to hear about it, Excellency?” asked Bones.
His attitude was one of undisguised antagonism. He might have been a little resentful that the opportunity had come to Sanders through any other agency than his own.
“I had a letter from the solicitors asking me if the idea appealed to me, and recalling my services on the Coast,” said Sanders. “Of course I know very little about the Mazeppa Trading Company, though I had heard