Home > Authors Index > E. Phillips Oppenheim > Profiteers > This page
The Profiteers, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
||
Chapter 19 |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XIX Lord Dredlinton's impatience was almost feverish. One would have imagined that Stanley Rees had been one of his dearest friends, instead of a young man whom he rather disliked. "Come in. Inspector," he invited. "Come in. Glad to see you. Any news?" "None whatever, my lord," was the laconic reply. Dredlinton's face fell. He looked at his visitor, speechless for a moment. The inspector gravely saluted Josephine and accepted the chair to which she waved him. "Upon my word," Dredlinton declared, "this is most unsatisfactory! Most disappointing!" "I was afraid that you might find it so," the inspector assented. Josephine turned in her chair and contemplated the latter with some interest. He was quietly dressed in well-cut but unobtrusive clothes. His long, narrow face had features of sensibility. His hair was grizzled a little at the temples. His composure seemed part of the man, passive and imperturbable. "Isn't a disappearance of this sort rather unusual?" she enquired. "Most unusual, your ladyship," the man admitted. "I scarcely remember a similar case." "'Unusual' seems to me a mild word!" Dredlinton exclaimed angrily. "Here is a well-known young man, with friends in every circle of life and engagements at every hour, a partner in an important commercial undertaking, who is absolutely removed from his rooms in one of the best-known hotels in London, and at the end of three days the police are powerless to find out what has become of him!" "Up to the present, my lord," the inspector confessed, "we certainly have no clue." "But, dash it all, you must have some idea as to what has become of him?" his questioner insisted. "Young men don't disappear through the windows of the Milan Bar, do they?" "If you assure us, my lord, that we may rule out any idea of a voluntary disappearance--" "Voluntary disappearance be damned!" Dredlinton interrupted. "Don't let me hear any more of such rubbish! I can assure you that such a supposition is absolutely out of the question." "Then in that case, my lord, I may put it to you that Mr. Rees' disappearance is due to the action of no ordinary criminal or blackmailer, but is part of a much more deeply laid scheme." "Exactly what do you mean?" was the almost fierce demand. "It appears that Mr. Rees," the inspector went on, speaking with some emphasis, "is connected with an undertaking which during the last few weeks has provoked a wave of anger and disgust throughout the country." "Are you referring to the British and Imperial Granaries, Limited?" his interlocutor enquired. "That, I believe, is the name of the company." Lord Dredlinton's anxiety visibly increased. He was standing underneath the suspended globe of the electric light, his fingers nervously pulling to pieces the cigarette which he had been smoking. There was a look of fear in his weak eyes. Josephine surveyed him thoughtfully. The coward in him had flared up, and there was no room for any other characteristic. Fear was written in his face, trembled in his tone, betrayed itself in his gestures. "But, dash it all," he expostulated, "there are other directors! I am one myself. Don't you see how serious this all is? If Rees can be spirited away and no one be able to lift up a finger to help him, what about the rest of us?" "It was in my mind to warn your lordship," Shields observed. Dredlinton's fear merged into fury,--a blind and nerveless passion. "But this is outrageous!" he exclaimed, striking the table with his fist. "Do you mean to say that you can come here to me from Scotland Yard--to me, a peer of England, living in the heart of London--and tell me that a friend and a business connection of mine has been kidnapped and practically warn me against the same fate? What on earth do we pay our police for? What sort of a country are we living in? Are you all nincompoops?" "We remain what we are, notwithstanding your lordship's opinion," the inspector answered, with a shade of sarcasm in his level tone. "I may add that I am not the only one engaged in this Investigation, and I can only do my duty according to the best of my ability." "You've done nothing--nothing at all!" Dredlinton protested angrily. "Added to that, you actually come here and warn me that I, too, may be the victim of a plot, against the ringleaders of which you seem to be helpless. The British and Imperial Granaries is a perfectly legitimate company doing a perfectly legitimate business. We're not out for our health--who is in the City? If we can make money out of wheat, it's our business and nobody else's." The inspector was a little weary, but he continued without any sign of impatience. "I know nothing about the British and Imperial Granaries, my lord," he said. "My time is too fully occupied to take any interest in outside affairs. In the course of time," he went on, "we shall inevitably get to the bottom of this very cleverly engineered conspiracy. Crime of every sort is detected sooner or later, except in the case, say, of a single-handed murder, or an offence of that nature. In the present instance, there is evidence that a very large number of persons were concerned, and detection finally becomes, therefore, a certainty. In the meantime, however, I thought it as well to pass you a word of warning." "Warning, indeed!" Dredlinton muttered. "I won't move out of the house without a bodyguard. If any one dares to interfere with me, I'll--I'll shoot them! What happens to a man, Inspector, if he shoots another in self-defence, eh?" "It depends upon the circumstances, my lord," was the cautious reply. "The law in England requires self-defence to be very clearly established." Dredlinton moved to the sideboard, poured himself out a liqueur and drank it off. "Will you take something. Inspector?" he asked, turning around. "I thank your lordship, no!" Dredlinton thrust his hands into his pockets and returned to his seat. "I don't want to lose my temper," he said,--"I am perfectly cool, as you see, Inspector---but put yourself in my position now. Don't you think it's enough to make a man furious to have an official from Scotland Yard come into his house here in the heart of London and warn him that he is in danger of being kidnapped?" "I don't think that I went quite so far as that," the inspector objected, "nor do I in any way suggest that, sooner or later, the people who are responsible for Mr. Rees' disappearance will not be brought to justice. But I considered it my duty to point out to you that the directors of your company appear to have excited a feeling throughout the whole of England, which might well bring you enemies wholly unconnected with the ordinary criminal classes. That is where our difficulty lies." Lord Dredlinton had the air of a man argued into reasonableness. "I see, Inspector. I quite understand," he declared. "But listen to me. I shall throw myself upon your protection. In Mr. Rees' absence, it is of vital importance, during the next few days, that nothing should happen to Mr. Phipps, Mr. Martin or myself. You must have us all shadowed. You must see that I am not lost sight of for a moment. Here is a little earnest of what is to come," he went on, drawing out his pocketbook and passing a folded note over towards his visitor, "and remember, Mr. Phipps has offered five hundred pounds for the discovery of the person who is responsible for his nephew's disappearance." Shields made no movement towards the money. He shook his head gently. "I shall be glad to take the reward, my lord, if I am fortunate enough to earn it," he said, rising to his feet. "Until then I do not require payment for my services." Dredlinton replaced the note in his pocket. "Just as you like, of course, Inspector. I only meant it as a little incentive. And I want you to remember this--do rub it into your Chief--I have already called to see him twice, and it doesn't seem to me that the authorities are looking upon our position seriously enough. We have a right to the utmost protection the law can give us, and further, I must insist upon it that every effort is made to discover Mr. Rees before it is too late." The butler stood on the threshold. He had entered in response to Lord Dredlinton's ring, with the perfect silence and promptitude of the best of his class. His master stared at him for a moment uneasily. The man's appearance, grave and respectable though he was, seemed to have startled him. "Show the inspector out," he directed. "Good night, Mr. Shields." The man bowed to Josephine. "Good night, my lord!" Dredlinton stared at the closed door. Then he turned around with a little gesture of anger. "Every damned thing that happens, nowadays, seems designed to irritate me!" he exclaimed. "That man Shields is nothing but a poopstick!" "I differ from you entirely," Josephine declared. "I thought that he seemed a very intelligent person, with unusual powers of self-restraint." "Shows what your judgment is worth! I can't think what Scotland Yard are about, to put the greatest lout they have in the service on to an important business like this. And what the mischief are we always changing servants for? There were two new men at dinner, and that butler of yours gives me the creeps. What on earth has become of Jacob?" "You told Jacob yourself to go to hell, a few days ago," Josephine reminded him. "You can scarcely expect any self-respecting butler to stand your continual abuse." "Or a self-respecting wife, eh?" he sneered. Josephine regarded him coldly. "One's servants," she remarked, "have an advantage. Jacob has found a better place." "Precisely what you'd like to do yourself, eh?" "Precisely what I intend to do before long." "Well, then, why don't you do it?" he demanded brutally. "You think that everything I said the other day was bluff, eh, and that Stanley Rees' disappearance has driven everything else out of my head? Well, you're wrong, madam. As soon as this infernal business is done with, I am going to pay a visit to my lawyers." "For once," she said, with a faint smile, "you will take my good wishes with you." "You mean," he exclaimed, moving from his place and standing before her with his hands in his pockets, "that you want to get rid of me, eh?" She met his scowling gaze fearlessly. "Of course I do. I don't think that any woman could have lived with you as long as I have and not want to get rid of you. On the other hand, as you know--as in your heart you know perfectly well," she went on, "I have remained a faithful wife to you, and it is not my intention to have you take advantage of a situation for which you were entirely responsible. You will have to remember, Henry, that the reason for my leaving your house in the middle of the night will scarcely help your case." Dredlinton stood and glared at his wife, his eyes narrowing, his mean little mouth curled. "Josephine," he cried, "I don't care a damn about your leaving my house, then or at any time, but the more I think of it, the stranger it seems to me that this friend of yours, Wingate, should come to the office and threaten me for my connection with the B. & I., and at the moment of leaving offer to sell wheat. I am getting a little suspicious about your friend, my lady. I have given them the tip at Scotland Yard and I only hope they take advantage of it." "Why single out Mr. Wingate?" she asked, "He certainly is not alone in his antipathy to your company." "Don't I know that?" Dredlinton exclaimed angrily. "Don't I get a dozen threatening letters a day? Men take me on one side and reason with me in the club. I had a Cabinet Minister at the office this afternoon. I begin to get the cold shoulder wherever I turn, but, damn it all, don't you understand that we must have money?" Josephine regarded him with a cold lack of sympathy in her face. "I understand that you have had about a hundred thousand pounds of mine," she remarked. "Like your generosity, my dear, to remind me of it," he sneered. "To you it seems, I suppose, a great deal of money. To me--well, I am not sure that it was fair compensation for what I have never had." "What you have never had, you never deserved, Henry." He flung himself towards the door. "Josephine," he said, looking back, "do you know you are one of the few women in the world I can't even talk to? You freeze me up every time I try. I wonder whether the man who is so anxious to stand in my shoes--" She was suddenly erect, her eyes flaming. He shuffled out and slammed the door after him with a little nervous laugh. _ |
||