Bones in London. Wallace Edgar
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"It is certain to be about three thousand pounds – it may be amillion or two million. It'll be good for you, dear old stenographer."
She looked at him.
"I have decided," said Bones, playing with his paper-knife, "to allowyou a commission of seven and a half per cent. on all profits. Sevenand a half per cent. on two million is, roughly, fifty thousandpounds – "
She laughed her refusal.
"I like to be fair," said Bones.
"You like to be generous," she corrected him, "and because I am a girl, and pretty – "
"Oh, I say," protested Bones feebly – "oh, really you are not pretty atall. I am not influenced by your perfectly horrible young face, believe me, dear old Miss Marguerite. Now, I've a sense of fairness, asense of justice – "
"Now, listen to me, Mr. Tibbetts." She swung her chair round to facehim squarely. "I've got to tell you a little story."
Bones listened to that story with compressed lips and folded arms. Hewas neither shocked nor amazed, and the girl was surprised.
"Hold hard, young miss," he said soberly. "If this is a jolly oldswindle, and if the naughty mariner – "
"His name is Webber, and he is an actor," she interrupted.
"And dooced well he acted," admitted Bones. "Well, if this is so, whatabout the other johnny who's putting up ten thousand to my fifteenthousand?"
This was a facer for the girl, and Bones glared his triumph.
"That is what the wicked old ship-sailer said. Showed me the money,an' I sent him straight off on the job. He said he'd got a StockExchange person named Morris – "
"Morris!" gasped the girl. "That is my step-father!"
Bones jumped up, a man inspired.
"The naughty old One, who married your sainted mother?" he gurgled.
"My miss! My young an' jolly old Marguerite!"
He sat down at his desk, yanked open the drawer, and slapped down hischeque-book.
"Three thousand pounds," he babbled, writing rapidly. "You'd betterkeep it for her, dear old friend of Faust."
"But I don't understand," she said, bewildered.
"Telegram," said Bones briefly. "Read it."
She picked up the buff form and read. It was postmarked from Cowes, and ran:
"In accordance your telegraphed instructions, have sold yourschooner-yacht to Mr. Dibbs, who paid cash. Did not give name ofowner. Dibbs did not ask to see boat. All he wanted was receipt formoney."
"They are calling this afternoon for my fifteen thousand," said Bones, cackling light-headedly. "Ring up jolly old Scotland Yard, and ask 'emto send me all the police they've got in stock!"
CHAPTER III
BONES AND THE WHARFINGERS
The kite wheeling invisible in the blue heavens, the vulture appearingmysteriously from nowhere in the track of the staggering buck, possessqualities which are shared by certain favoured human beings. Nonewspaper announced the fact that there had arrived in the City ofLondon a young man tremendously wealthy and as tremendouslyinexperienced.
There were no meetings of organized robber gangs, where masked men laidnefarious plans and plots, but the instinct which called the kite tohis quarry and the carrion to the kill brought many strangers – who wereequally strange to Bones and to one another – to the beautiful officewhich he had fitted for himself for the better furtherance of hisbusiness.
One day a respectable man brought to Mr. Tibbetts a plan of awarehouse. He came like a gale of wind, almost before Bones haddigested the name on the card which announced his existence andidentity.
His visitor was red-faced and big, and had need to use a handkerchiefto mop his brow and neck at intervals of every few minutes. Hisgeniality was overpowering.
Before the startled Bones could ask his business, he had put his hatupon one chair, hooked his umbrella on another, and was unrolling, withthat professional tremblement of hand peculiar to all who unroll largestiff sheets of paper, a large coloured plan, a greater portion ofwhich was taken up by the River Thames, as Bones saw at a glance.
He knew that blue stood for water, and, twisting his neck, he read"Thames." He therefore gathered that this was the plan of a propertyadjacent to the London river.
"You're a busy man; and I'm a busy man," said the stentorian manbreathlessly. "I've just bought this property, and if it doesn'tinterest you I'll eat my hat! My motto is small profits and quickreturns. Keep your money at work, and you won't have to. Do you seewhat I mean?"
"Dear old hurricane," said Bones feebly, "this is awfully interesting, and all that sort of thing, but would you be so kind as to explain whyand where – why you came in in this perfectly informal manner? Againstall the rules of my office, dear old thing, if you don't mind mesnubbing you a bit. You are sure you aren't hurt?" he asked.
"Not a bit, not a bit!" bellowed the intruder. "Honest John, Iam – John Staines. You have heard of me?"
"I have," said Bones, and the visitor was so surprised that he showedit.
"You have?" he said, not without a hint of incredulity.
"Yes," said Bones calmly. "Yes, I have just heard you say it, Honest
John Staines. Any relation to John o' Gaunt?"
This made the visitor look up sharply.
"Ha, ha!" he said, his laugh lacking sincerity. "You're a bit of ajoker, Mr. Tibbetts. Now, what do you say to this? This is Stivvins'Wharf and Warehouse. Came into the market on Saturday, and I bought iton Saturday. The only river frontage which is vacant between Greenwichand Gravesend. Stivvins, precious metal refiner, went broke in theWar, as you may have heard. Now, I am a man of few words andadmittedly a speculator. I bought this property for fifteen thousandpounds. Show me a profit of five thousand pounds and it's yours."
Before Bones could speak, he stopped him with a gesture.
"Let me tell you this: if you like to sit on that property for a month, you'll make a sheer profit of twenty thousand pounds. You can affordto do it – I can't. I tell you there isn't a vacant wharfage betweenGreenwich and Gravesend, and here you have a warehouse with thirtythousand feet of floor-space, derricks – derrick, named after thehangman of that name: I'll bet you didn't know that? – cranes, everything in – Well, it's not in apple-pie order," he admitted,"but it won't take much to make it so. What do you say?"
Bones started violently.
"Excuse me, old speaker, I was thinking of something else. Do you mindsaying that all over again?"
Honest John Staines swallowed something and repeated his proposition.
Bones shook his head violently.
"Nothing doing!" he said. "Wharves and ships —no!"
But Honest John was not the kind that accepts refusal without protest.
"What I'll do," said he confidentially, "is this: I'll leave the matterfor twenty-four hours in your hands."
"No, go, my reliable old wharf-seller," said Bones. "I never go up theriver under any possible circumstances – By Jove, I've got an idea!"
He brought his knuckly fist down upon the unoffending desk, and Honest
John watched hopefully.
"Now, if – yes, it's an idea!"
Bones seized paper, and his long-feathered quill squeaked violently.
"That's it – a thousand members at ten pounds a year, four hundredbedrooms at, say, ten shillings a night – How many is four hundredtimes ten shillings multiplied by three hundred and sixty-five? Well, let's say twenty thousand pounds. That's it! A club!"
"A club?" said Honest John blankly.
"A river club. You said Greenhithe – that's somewhere near Henley, isn't it?"
Honest