“No.”
Dick glanced uneasily from his employer to the doctor.
“Did you hear a horseman?”
“No.”
Lord Templewood sighed deeply. He resumed his walk to the staircase, and began the ascent. Dr. Hailey followed him to his bedroom.
“If you like,” he said, “I will give you something to steady your nerves.”
“No, thank you.”
Lord Templewood had seated himself in a deep armchair. He was leaning back in the chair and breathing heavily. “Tonight,” he whispered, “there is no question of fraud by Ninon — or anybody else.”
“No.”
“I am going to send for Ninon.”
Dr. Hailey’s eyes darkened. He contracted his brow.
“I can only urge you not to send for her,” he said gently. “At least not just now.”
“Why not?”
“Because... because I do not trust her.”
The old man closed his eyes wearily.
“You cannot help me,” he murmured.
“Let me summon Dr. Andrews. He called, it seems, while we were out motoring this afternoon.”
“No. Andrews cannot help me either.”
There was a quick step in the corridor without. Some one knocked on the door of the room. A moment later, Sacha was kissing her uncle’s pale brow and explaining, in staccatic tones, that it was her horse which he had heard on the drawbridge.
“I drove myself out from town,” she declared, “but the car broke down a couple of miles the other side of Beech Croft; so I just walked on there and told them to put her saddle on Polly Flinders. When nobody answered my knock downstairs, I rode round to the stables.”
Her manner was a little breathless. Dr. Hailey guessed that Dick Lovelace had told her about the disastrous effect of her coming on horseback to the Tower, and sent her to apologize. He glanced at Lord Templewood to see how he was taking the unromantic disposal of his fears. As he did so, a look of amazement appeared on his genial face.
The Lightning Returns Co.
by Valentine[1]
THE ADJUSTERS NEATLY SETTLE ON THEIR NEXT “VICTIM,” AND THE JAWS OF CIRCUMSTANCE CLOSE DOWN WITH A MERCILESS POWER
I
Many and varied now were the cases that were brought to Daphne Wrayne in her luxurious offices at 179 Conduit Street, W. For the recovery of the Duchess of Hardington’s famous pearl necklace had impressed the public not a little.
In addition to which the interview with Daphne herself as published in the Monitor had intrigued them vastly. A mysterious detective agency that not only suggested that it might succeed where the police failed, but did as well — with a pretty society girl at the head of it, an unlimited capital behind it, and avowedly disinterested aims in front of it — held a direct appeal for the man in the street, which became stronger still when the Monitor added some interesting details of Daphne Wrayne’s history.
She was, it seemed, the only daughter of Colonel Wrayne, V.C., D.S.O., deceased, had inherited his entire fortune, and had lived most of her life in India. Now, she was well-known in Society, with a flat in Brook Street and a house at Maidenhead. Her recreations were hunting, shooting, tennis and golf.
The writer of the article touched upon the originality of modern girlhood, speculated vaguely on who her colleagues could be, and finished up with a pretty reference to the Knights of the Round Table and the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.
The public of course devoured the article with avidity — and argued hotly over it. Though on one point nearly every one was agreed, and that was that more than one master mind was at the back of this enterprise. Furthermore that whoever those master minds were, they were managing to keep their identities amazingly well hidden.
Daphne Wrayne looked up from her writing as, after a knock, the door opened and Carlton, the stalwart commissionaire, came in.
“Well, Carlton?”
“A Captain Marriner, Miss — particularly wants to see you.”
Daphne nodded, leaned back in her chair. From her attitude and appearance she was expecting something more — from her eyes, fixed on Carlton, some procedure to which she was accustomed.
“Sea captain, Miss — coaster or tramp. Roughly dressed — seems a bit worried. Speaks slow, but looks you straight in the face.”
“Show him in, Carlton.”
Captain Marriner came in hesitatingly. He was a thick-set man of medium height dressed in a loose suit of blue serge. He had a tanned, weatherbeaten face, a little pointed beard, a mass of silvery hair and a pair of blue eyes that seemed to wander round the room divided between amazement, awe, and suspicion.
Certainly it was hardly like an office with its snow-white walls, on which hung rare watercolors, its big easy chairs, its softly curtained, mullioned windows, its heavy carpet that declined to repeat your footsteps, its wonderful oriental bowls of hot-house flowers.
Least of all was it like an office with that slender, fair-haired girl sitting behind that massive, paper-covered oak table with its telephones, electric bells, and nothing at all that suggested feminine interest. That girl sat now with an elbow resting on the table and one slim, white, ringless hand supporting her chin as she studied her visitor with thoughtful interest.
“Sit down, Captain.”
“Thank ’ee, Miss.”
He seated himself on the extreme edge of one of the easy chairs, eyes anywhere but on Daphne — twirling his peaked cap uneasily — a man obviously worried.
“So the police have turned you down, Captain?” queried Daphne quietly.
“Yes, they wouldn’t — how did you know?” looking up suddenly.
A smile flitted over her face.
“No black magic, Captain. No one comes to us — at present — except as a last resource. Now perhaps,” encouragingly, “if you were to put on a pipe it might help a bit.”
He brightened up in a moment.
“If you don’t mind, Miss—” he began, but Daphne picked up a cigarette herself, and lighted it.
“Just tell me everything,” she said as she leaned back in her chair.
“It’s about two years ago,” he began, “that I first ’eard of the Lightning Returns Company—”
“Run by a man called Horatio Merryweather, wasn’t it?” put in Daphne quietly.
“It was. Fancy you knowin’ that!”
He pressed the tobacco in his pipe down with his thumb, and went on.
“They sent me a circular and a letter ’bout the company. Goodness knows what it wasn’t goin’ to do. Goin’ to turn us into millionaires quick — all of us. And I was mug enough to fall for it—” ruefully.
“For much, Captain?”
“Every blinkin’ penny I ’ad in the world, Miss. One thousand and four pounds, seven shillings and sixpence. All my life’s savings.”
Daphne nodded sympathetically. But she was puzzled as to exactly what was coming.
“It all went — every penny,” he went on, gazing forlornly at the carpet, as if he were still looking at his money that had vanished. “The Company went into bankruptcy and the Official Receiver ’e was goin’ to do all sorts of things. But the tide seems to run sluggish in them channels.”
He paused a moment, almost as if expecting Daphne to say something. Finding that she didn’t, he went on again.
“Seems to me kinder wrong,” puffing at his pipe, “that blokes like that with the gift o’ the gab should be allowed to swindle workin’ men like me and get away with it.