Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [83]
“Come, now, be reasonable. Don’t be suspicious, Mr Tibbetts,” said the other genially. “Your friend’s interests are all right, and the shareholders’ interests are all right. You might do worse than get control of the company yourself.”
Bones nodded.
“I was thinking of that,” he said.
“I assure you,” said Mr de Vinne with great earnestness, “that the possibilities of the Mazeppa Trading Company are unlimited. We have concessions from the Great River to the north of the French territory–”
“Not worth the paper they’re written on, dear old kidder,” said Bones, shaking his head. “Chiefs’ concessions without endorsement from the Colonial Office are no good, dear old thing.”
“But the trading concessions are all right,” insisted the other. “You can’t deny that. You understand the Coast customs better than I do. Trading customs hold without endorsement from the Colonial Office.”
Bones had to admit that that was a fact.
“I’ll think it over,” he said. “It appeals to me, old de Vinne. It really does appeal to me. Why own the shares?”
“I can give you a list,” said Mr de Vinne, with admirable calm, “and you’d be well advised to negotiate privately with these gentlemen. You’d probably get the shares for eighteen shillings.” He took a gold pencil from his pocket and wrote rapidly a list of names, and Bones took the paper from his hand and scrutinized them.
Hamilton, a silent and an amazed spectator of the proceedings, waited until de Vinne had gone, and then fell upon his partner.
“You’re not going to be such a perfect jackass–” he began, but Bones’ dignified gesture arrested his eloquence.
“Dear old Ham,” he said, “senior partner, dear old thing! Let old Bones have his joke.”
“Do you realise,” said Hamilton, “that you are contemplating the risk of a quarter of a million? You’re mad, Bones!”
Bones grinned.
“Go down to our broker and buy ten thousand shares in old Mazeppa, Ham,” he said. “You’ll buy them on the market for nineteen shillings, and I’ve an idea that they’re worth about the nineteenth part of a farthing.”
“But–” stammered Hamilton.
“It is an order,” said Bones, and he spoke in the Bomongo tongue.
“Phew!” said Hamilton. “That carries me a few thousand miles. I wonder what those devils of the N’gombi are doing now?”
“I’ll tell you something they’re not doing,” said Bones. “They’re not buying Mazeppa shares.”
There were two very deeply troubled people in the office of Tibbetts and Hamilton. One was Hamilton himself, and the other was Miss Marguerite Whitland. Hamilton had two causes for worry. The first and the least was the strange extravagance of Bones. The second – and this was more serious – was the prospect of breaking to Sanders that night that he had been swindled, for swindled he undoubtedly was. Hamilton had spent a feverish hour canvassing City opinion on the Mazeppa Trading Company, and the report he had had was not encouraging. He had, much against his will, carried out the instructions of Bones, and had purchased in the open market ten thousand shares in the Company – a transaction duly noted by Mr de Vinne and his interested partner.
“He is biting,” said that exultant man over the ’phone. “All we have to do is to sit steady, and he’ll swallow the hook!”
It was impossible that Marguerite Whitland should not know the extent of her employer’s commitments. She was a shrewd girl, and had acquired a very fair working knowledge of City affairs during the period of her employment. She had, too, an instinct for a swindle, and she was panic-stricken at the thought that Bones was marching headlong to financial disaster. Hamilton had gone home to his disagreeable task, when the girl came from her office and stood, her hands clasped behind her, before the desk of the senior partner.
Bones peered up in his short-sighted way.
“Well, young miss?” he said quietly.
“Mr Tibbetts,” she began a little unsteadily, “I’m going to be very impertinent.”
“Not at all,” murmured Bones.
“I’ve been with you for some time now,” said the girl, speaking rapidly, “and I feel that I have a better right