Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [82]
The girl laughed.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking about,” she said, “but you never strike me as being particularly funny, or poor, or old, for the matter of that,” she added demurely.
Bones stooped down from the table and laid his big hand on her head, rumpling her hair as he might have done to a child.
“You’re a dear old Marguerite,” he said softly, “and I’m not such a ditherer as you think. Now, you watch old Bones.” And, with that cryptic remark, he stalked back to his desk.
Two days after this he surprised Hamilton. “I’m expecting a visitor today, old Ham,” he said. “A Johnny named de Vinne.”
“De Vinne?” frowned Hamilton. “I seem to know that name. Isn’t he the gentleman you had the trouble with over the boots?”
“That’s the jolly old robber,” said Bones cheerfully. “I’ve telegraphed and asked him to come to see me.”
“About what?” demanded Hamilton.
“About two o’clock,” said Bones. “You can stay and see your old friend through, or you can let us have it out with the lad in camera.”
“I’ll stay,” said Hamilton. “But I don’t think he’ll come.”
“I do,” said Bones confidently, and he was justified in his confidence, for at two o’clock to the second Mr de Vinne appeared.
He was bright and cheerful, even genial to Bones, and Bones was almost effusive in his welcome.
“Sit down there in the most comfortable chair, happy old financier,” he said, “and open your young heart to old Bones about the Mazeppa Trading Company.”
Mr de Vinne did not expect so direct an attack, but recovered from his surprise without any apparent effort.
“Oh, so you know I was behind that, do you? How the dickens did you find out?”
“Stock Exchange Year Book, dear old thing. Costs umpteen and sixpence, and you can find out everything you want to know about the directors of companies,” said Bones.
“By Jove! That’s clever of you,” said de Vinne, secretly amused, for it was from the Year Book that he expected Bones to make the discovery.
“Now, what’s the game, old financial gentleman?” asked Bones. “Why this fabulous salary to friend Sanders and selling this thousands of pounds’ worth of shares, eh?”
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“My dear chap, it’s a business transaction. And really, if I thought you were going to interrogate me on that, I shouldn’t have come. Is Mr Sanders a friend of yours?” he asked innocently.
“Shurrup!” said Bones vulgarly “You know jolly well he’s a friend of mine. Now, what is the idea, young company promoter?”
“It’s pretty obvious,” replied de Vinne, taking the expensive cigar which Bones had imported into the office for the purpose. “The position is a good one–”
“Half a mo’,” said Bones. “Do you personally guarantee Mr Sanders’ salary for five years?”
The other laughed.
“Of course not. It is a company matter,” he said, “and I should certainly not offer a personal guarantee for the payment of any salary.”
“So that, if the company goes bust in six months’ time, Mr Sanders loses all the money he has invested and his salary?”
The other raised his shoulders again with a deprecating smile.
“He would, of course, have a claim against the company for his salary,” he said.
“A fat lot of good that would be!” answered Bones.
“Now, look here, Mr Tibbetts” – the other leaned confidentially forward, his unlighted cigar between his teeth – “there is no reason in the world why the Mazeppa Company shouldn’t make a fortune for the right man. All it wants is new blood and capable direction. I confess,” he admitted, “that I have not the time to give to the company, otherwise I’d guarantee a seven per cent dividend on the share capital. Why, look at the price of them today–”
Bones stopped him.
“Any fool can get the shares up to any price he likes, if they’re all held in one hand,” he said.
“What?” said the outraged Mr de Vinne.
“Do you suggest I have rigged the market? Besides, they’re not all in one hand. They’re pretty evenly distributed.”
“Who holds ’em?” asked Bones curiously.
“Well, I’ve got a parcel, and Pole Brothers have a parcel.”
“Pole Brothers, eh?” said Bones,