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Till the Clock Stops, a fiction by John Joy Bell |
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Chapter 25 |
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_ CHAPTER XXV The inquest was over. A suggestion for an adjournment, half-heartedly expressed by one juryman, had been briefly discussed and withdrawn. Bullard had come through his ordeal without a spot of discredit. He looked pale and fagged, but what was more natural in the circumstances? A horrid experience it must have been, those present agreed, to behold a face and clutching hands fall away from a fourth-story window! And he was going to pay for a decent funeral for the abandoned wretch who might have murdered him! There was a gentleman for you! Nevertheless, more than once Bullard's nerve had been at breaking point. What was young France doing at the inquest? He was to know soon enough. Teddy was waiting for him just outside the door. "I have a taxi here, Mr. Bullard," he said, "so we can go to your office together. I have a little business to discuss--financial, I should say." "I'm afraid it must keep, Mr. France," Bullard managed to reply fairly coolly. "This is Saturday, you know, and after business hours." "You will see for yourself presently, Mr. Bullard, that it won't keep. In fact, if you don't step into that cab at once--" Bullard got in, Teddy followed, and the cab started. "Wow," began Bullard, "what the--" "Hope you don't mind my smoking," said Teddy, lighting a cigarette. "Rather an uncomfy corner you've just come out of, Mr. Bullard." "Kindly choose your words more carefully--'corner' does not apply to my recent unpleasant experience--and name your business." "We shall be in your office in a very few minutes, and I prefer to name it there." "Very well." Bullard restrained himself and fell to thinking hard. What had brought France to the inquest? The question repeated itself maddeningly. The tragedy had not been mentioned in the morning papers--their early editions, at any rate. Teddy gave him a minute's grace, then casually remarked-- "You heard from my friend, Alan Craig, this morning, I believe. Miraculous escape, wasn't it?" "Very.... Yes, I have a letter from Mr. Craig--to which I shall reply--direct." "Alan is an odd chap," Teddy pursued. "No sooner is he home and in safety than he makes his will. Did it at his lawyer's in Glasgow, the day before yesterday." After an almost imperceptible pause--"Indeed!" said Bullard, a little thickly. "Only I'm afraid I don't happen to be interested in Mr. Alan Craig's affairs." "Sorry," Teddy murmured, and gave him another minute's grace. Then-- "Awful end that for poor old Flitch, Mr. Bullard." The man's face, nay, his whole body, contracted for an instant; yet he was still master of himself. "Who?" "Flitch--the dead man, you know." "The man's name was Dunning, as you must have heard, and as the police discovered for themselves." "Really, I must go to an aurist! I've got it into my head as Flitch." "Confound you!" said Bullard, on the verge of a furious, crazy outbreak, "will you hold your tongue? I've business to think of. Lost a whole morning with that cursed inquest." "All right, Mr. Bullard. Don't apologise." There was no more talk till they reached the office. The clerks had gone. Bullard led the way, not to his own private room, but to Lancaster's. "Say what you've got to say quickly," he snapped. "This," said Teddy, looking leisurely about him, "is surely not the room where it happened.--What's the matter, Mr. Bullard?" Again Bullard caught and held himself on the verge. "I can give you five minutes, if you will talk sense," he said, taking the chair at Lancaster's desk, which had been left open. "Either you are drunk or you fondly imagine you have got hold of something. Now, go on! Come to the point!" "I will," said Teddy. "How much exactly does Mr. Lancaster owe the Syndicate?" Bullard started, but not without relief. The relief would have been fuller, however, but for the questioner's presence at the inquest. "What business is that of yours, Mr. France?" "Simply that I'm going to see it paid." "May I ask when?" "Within the next few minutes." Bullard saw light. Alan Craig's money! "Really?" he said. "But would it not be better if Mr. Lancaster were to make the payment personally?" "Does it matter to the Syndicate who pays the money?" "Of course not." "Thanks." Teddy brought forth a couple of bundles of bonds and share certificates. "How much is the debt?" "Twenty-four thousand and seventy-five pounds." "Wish I had that much," said Teddy, "but I can only give what I've got." He rose, placed the bundles on the desk, and sat down again. "There's a trifle over five thousand pounds in my little lot," he went on, "and with each certificate you'll find a signed transfer in your favour, Mr. Bullard. To save time"--he glanced at his watch--"I'll ask you to take my word for that." Bullard put out his hand and touched the bundles. "Your securities, you say, are worth a little over five thousand pounds?" "Right!" "Well?" "Well, Mr. Bullard?" "What about the balance of twenty--or say nineteen--thousand?" Teddy smiled. "That's your affair, Mr. Bullard." "I should be obliged," said Bullard slowly, "if you would talk sense." "I've written it down," Teddy said, and passed him a sheet of paper bearing these words: "I, Francis Bullard, London Managing Director of the Aasvogel Syndicate, hereby acknowledge that I have this day received the sum of ... being the full amount due to the Syndicate by Mr. Robert Lancaster, whose debt is hereby discharged." "What the devil is this?" "Now don't frown and crumple it up and throw it away, as if you were on the stage, Mr. Bullard," said Teddy. "You were never more in real life than you are now. Take your pen, fill in the blank, sign at foot, and return to me. And listen! The man you lied so well about at the inquest, entered your office by the door, at ten-seventeen last night." Bullard's countenance took on a curious shade. Almost in his heart the young man pitied him. "If the man entered by the door, you know more about his movements than I do," came the retort. "Why didn't you say so at the inquest?" "Mr. Bullard, I give you two minutes by my watch to complete and sign that receipt." "You cursed young fool, do you think to blackmail me?" "If you like to call it that--well, I'm afraid I must accept the word," said Teddy, watch in hand. "But somehow one doesn't mind so much blackmailing a blackguard.--Sit still! You can't afford two inquests in a week-end." "What do you imagine it proves if the man did enter by the door, you prying, sneaking puppy?" "Thirty seconds gone." "Oh, get out of this! I'm not afraid of you. I've a good mind--" "There was no light in your window when the man fell. At the inquest you said you had just switched on the lights." Bullard's clenched fists relaxed; his face became moist and shiny. "Do you want to hear any more?" said Teddy. "One minute left." Bullard writhed. "Suppose I haven't got the money," he said at last. "You can find it." "And what guarantees do you give in return?" "I promise silence so long as you keep clear of crime and make no attempt to communicate, by word or letter, with Mr. Lancaster or his daughter--" "Hah! I see! ... But, by God, I'll destroy the lot of you yet!" "Thirty seconds left, Mr. Bullard.... Twenty.... Ten...." Teddy stood up. Two minutes later he stepped, almost jauntily, from the room. His little private income had disappeared, but he had a document worth all the world to him in his pocket. As he opened the door Bullard's face was that of a fiend; his hand went back to a drawer ere he remembered that he was not at his own desk. * * * * * Teddy was a little behind time in reaching Kensington Gardens, and he looked so haggard that the girl's heart failed her. "Everything's all right, Doris," he said, rather huskily. "Let's sit down here for a minute." "Teddy, you're ill!" He shook his head, and gave her the paper, saying, "Take care of it. I don't think Bullard will trouble you or Mr. Lancaster again, Doris." She read and began to tremble. With a sob she whispered, "Teddy, Teddy, is it true?" He did not answer. He had a queer sleepy, ghastly look. "Teddy dear! What is it?" He appeared to pull himself up. "Upon my word," he said, with a feeble laugh, "I was nearly off that time. I wonder where I could find some breakfast." * * * * * In the nearest tea-room he revived considerably. "Perhaps I may tell you all about it years hence, Doris," he said. "Not now. Just make your father happy and be happy yourself. And remember that, so far as your father is concerned, it was Alan's money. So that makes everything nice and tidy, doesn't it?" "But father ought to know that it was you who--" "Now, don't go and spoil everything! I assure you that I did nothing worth mentioning except miss my breakfast--which is, perhaps, a good deal for an Englishman to do." "But, Teddy, what am I to say to you?" "Nothing. Just smile, and say I made you." She smiled. "Ah!" he said softly, "you haven't smiled like that, Doris, for months! I'm a great man, after all! Now, what about moving along to Earl's Gate? I mustn't keep you longer from giving him the good news. Have you got it safe?" She touched her breast. "Oh, Teddy, you wonderful, wonderful man!--to alter the world in a few hours!" "Pretty smart, wasn't it? By the way, I may not see you for a while. I think Alan wants me to go back with him to-morrow night." "We are all going to Grey House on Tuesday." "Oh!" said Teddy of the torn heart. "Do you happen to remember how many buns I've eaten?" * * * * * On reaching home Doris learned that her mother had gone out. She was not sorry. She was not to know that the hour in which she gave her father his freedom witnessed a consultation between her mother and Mr. Bullard. For Bullard was not yet beaten, and Mrs. Lancaster had still to learn that her husband was safe. _ |
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