The Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime - Michael Sims [29]
And he was gone before a double-knock on the outer door had done ringing through the rooms, to return next minute with an open telegram and a face full of news.
“What do you think?” said he. “Security’s that fellow Addenbrooke, the police-court lawyer, and he wants to see me instanter! ”
“And you’re going to him now?”
“This minute,” said Raffles, brushing his hat; “and so are you.”
“But I came in to drag you out to lunch.”
“You shall lunch with me when we’ve seen this fellow. Come on, Bunny, and we’ll choose your name on the way. Mine’s Saumarez, and don’t you forget it.”
Mr. Bennett Addenbrooke occupied substantial offices in Wellington Street, Strand, and was out when we arrived; but he had only just gone “over the way to the court;” and five minutes sufficed to produce a brisk, fresh-coloured, resolute-looking man, with a very confident, rather festive air, and black eyes that opened wide at the sight of Raffles.
“Mr.—Saumarez?” exclaimed the lawyer.
“My name,” said Raffles, with dry effrontery.
“Not up at Lord’s, however!” said the other, slyly. “My dear sir, I have seen you take far too many wickets to make any mistake!”
For a moment Raffles looked venomous; then he shrugged and smiled, and the smile grew into a little cynical chuckle.
“So you have bowled me out in my turn?” said he. “Well, I don’t think there’s anything to explain. I am harder up than I wished to admit under my own name, that’s all, and I want that thousand pounds reward.”
“Two thousand,” said the solicitor. “And the man who is not above an alias happens to be just the sort of man I want; so don’t let that worry you my dear sir. The matter, however, is of a strictly private and confidential character.” And he looked very hard at me.
“Quite so,” said Raffles. “But there was something about a risk?”
“A certain risk is involved.”
“Then surely three heads will be better than two. I said I wanted that thousand pounds; my friend here wants the other. Must you have his name too? Bunny, give him your card.”
Mr. Addenbrooke raised his eyebrows over my name, address, and club; then he drummed on my card with his fingernail, and his embarrassment expressed itself in a puzzled smile.
“The fact is, I find myself in a difficulty,” he confessed at last. “Yours is the first reply I have received; people who can afford to send long telegrams don’t rush to the advertisements in the Daily Telegraph; but, on the other hand, I was not quite prepared to hear from men like yourselves. Candidly, and on consideration, I am not sure that you are the stamp of men for me—men who belong to good clubs! I rather intended to appeal to the—er—adventurous classes.”
“We are adventurers,” said Raffles gravely.
“But you respect the law?”
The black eyes gleamed shrewdly.
“We are not professional rogues, if that’s what you mean,” said Raffles calmly. “But on our beam-ends we are; we would do a good deal for a thousand pounds apiece.”
“Anything,” I murmured.
The solicitor rapped his desk.
“I’ll tell you what I want you to do. You can but refuse. It’s illegal, but it’s illegality in a good cause; that’s the risk, and my client is prepared to pay for it. He will pay for the attempt, in case of failure; the money is as good as yours once you consent to run the risk. My client is Sir Bernard Debenham, of Broom Hall, Esher.”
“I know his son,” I remarked.
“Then,” said the solicitor, “you have the privilege of knowing one of the most complete young blackguards about town, and the fons et origo of the whole trouble. As you know the son, you may know the father also—at all events, by reputation; and in that case I needn’t tell you that he is a very peculiar man. He lives alone in a storehouse of treasures which no eyes but his ever behold. He is said to have the finest collection of the pictures in the south of England, though nobody ever sees them to judge; pictures, fiddles, and furniture are his hobby, and he is undoubtedly very eccentric. Nor can one deny that there has been considerable eccentricity in his treatment of his son. For years Sir Bernard paid