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The New Tenant, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Chapter 11. Levy & Son, Private Agents |
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_ CHAPTER XI. LEVY & SON, PRIVATE AGENTS "Anything in the letters, guv'nor?" "Nothing so far, Ben, my boy," answered a little old gentleman, who was methodically opening a pile of envelopes, and carefully scrutinizing the contents of each before arranging them in separate heaps. "Nothing much yet. A letter from a despairing mother, entreating us to find her lost son. Description given, payment--tick! Won't do. Here's a note from Mr. Wallis about his wife's being at the theater the other night, and a line from Jack Simpson about that woman down St. John's Wood way. Seems he's found her, so that's off." "Humph! business is slack," remarked a younger edition of the old gentleman, who was standing on the hearth rug, with his silk hat on the back of his head, in an attitude of unstudied grace. "Say, guv'nor, you couldn't let me have a fiver, could you? Must keep up the credit of the firm, don't you know, and I'm awfully hard up. 'Pon my word, I am." "I couldn't do anything of the sort!" exclaimed the old gentleman testily. "Certainly not. The way you spend money is grievous to me, Benjamin, positively grievous!" He turned round in his chair, and with his spectacles on the top of his head surveyed his son and heir with a sorrowful interest. "Oh, hang it all, some one must spend the money if we're to keep the business at all!" retorted Mr. Benjamin testily. "I can't live as I do without it, you know; and how are we to get the information we want? Look at the company I keep, too." The old gentleman seemed mollified. "There's something in that, Ben," he remarked, slowly wagging his head. "There's something in that, of course. Bless me, your mother was telling me you was with a lord the other day!" Mr. Benjamin expanded a little with the recollection, and smiled gently. "That was quite true, dad," he remarked with a grandiloquent air. "I was just going into the Cri--let me see, on Tuesday night it was--when whom should I run up against but little Tommy Soampton with a pal, and we all had drinks together. He was a quiet-looking chap, not dressed half so well as--er----" "As you, Ben," interposed his father proudly. "Well, I wasn't thinking of myself particularly," Mr. Benjamin continued, twirling an incipient mustache, and looking pleased. "But when Tommy introduced him as Lord Mossford, I was that surprised I nearly dropped my glass." "What did you say to him, Ben?" asked the little old gentleman in an awed tone. Ben drew himself up and smiled. "I asked him how his lordship was, and whether his lordship'd take anything." "And did he, Ben?" asked his father eagerly. "Rather! He was just as affable as you like. I got on with him no end." The little old gentleman turned away to his letters again to hide a gratified smile. "Well, well, Ben, I suppose you must have it," he said leniently. "Young men will be young men. Only remember this, my boy--wherever you are, always keep an eye open for business. Never forget that." Benjamin, junior, slapped his trousers pocket and grinned. "No fear, dad. I don't forget the biz." "Well, well; just wait till I've gone through the letters, and we'll see what we can do. We'll see. Ha! this reads well. I like this. Ben, we're in luck this morning. In luck, my boy!" Mr. Benjamin abandoned his negligent attitude, and, drawing close to his father, peered over his shoulder. The letter which lay upon the desk was not a long one, but it was to the point. "DEAR SIRS, "I am recommended to consult your firm on a matter "Yours truly, "To Messrs. Levy & Son,
"Something in it, I think, Benjamin, eh? Thurwell Court! Coat of Arms! Lady signs herself Miss Thurwell! Money there, eh?" Mr. Benjamin was looking thoughtfully down at the signature. "Thurwell, Thurwell! Where the mischief have I heard that name lately. Holy Moses! I know," he suddenly exclaimed, starting up with glistening eyes. "Dad, our fortune's made. Our chance has come at last!" In the exuberance of his spirits he forgot the infirmities of age, and brought his hand down upon his father's back with such vehemence that the tears started into the little old gentleman's eyes, and his spectacles rattled upon his nose. "Don't do that again, Benjamin," he exclaimed nervously. "I don't like it; I don't like it at all. You nearly dislocated my shoulder, and if you had, I'd have stopped the doctor's bill out of your allowance. I would, indeed! And now, what have you got to say?" Mr. Benjamin had been walking up and down the office with his hands in his trousers' pockets whistling softly to himself. At the conclusion of his father's complaint he came to a standstill. "All right, guv'nor. Sorry I hurt you. I was a bit excited. Don't you remember having heard that name Thurwell lately?" Mr. Levy, senior, shook his head doubtfully. "I'm afraid my memory isn't what it used to be, Benjamin. The name sounds a bit familiar, and yet--no, I can't remember," he wound up suddenly. "Tell me about it, my boy." "Why, the Kynaston murder, of course. That was at Thurwell Court. Sir Geoffrey Kynaston was engaged to Miss Thurwell, you know, and she was one of the first to find him." "Dear me! Dear me! I remember all about it now, to be sure," Mr. Levy exclaimed. "The murderer was never found, was he? Got clean off?" "That's so," assented Mr. Benjamin. "Dad, it's a rum thing, but I was interested in that case. There was something queer about it. I read it every bit. I could stand a cross-examination in it now. Dad, it's a lucky thing. She's coming here to consult us about it, as sure as my name is Ben Levy. And, by jabers, here she is!" There was the sound of a cab stopping at the door, and through a chink in the blinds Mr. Benjamin had seen a lady descend from it. In a moment his hat was off and on the peg, and he commenced writing a letter at the desk. "Dad," he said quickly, without looking up, "leave this matter to me, will you? I'm up in the case. A lady, did you say, Morrison?"--turning toward the door. "Very good. Show her in at once." _ |
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