Most Secret by John Dickson Carr Read Free Book Online

nothing?”
    “Ay; ’tis to be feared you must.”
    “Why?”
    “That’s the way of the world and of courts, young man. You may mislike it; I mislike it. But that’s the way of things; we can’t mend ’em, and must suffer ’em. Besides—Come!” urged the other, his wizened face taking on the heartiness and the earnestness of peacemaking. “You forget your errand here, surely? And that must not be. You had intent, had you not, to wait upon my Lord Duke of Bucks?”
    Kinsmere looked across at the carved doors, which were again closed.
    “I had intent to wait upon him, it’s true. But I have altered my mind.”
    “Altered your mind?”
    “All such fuss and turmoil,” exclaimed Kinsmere, “to see him? Why, hang me,” says he in a surprised way, “I have been put at less trouble to see the five-footed calf at Bristol fair. Or even Hamid the Strong Man, whose feats were most prodigious. Besides, having once glimpsed that fat red-faced jackanapes in the bed there—was it my Lady Shrewsbury, his chère amie as they say, astir betimes and beside him?—I am not persuaded that the spectacle much allures me. My lord duke? Be damned to him.” Whereat the young man clapped on his hat. “And now, sir, for an errand of more moment,” he continued. “With many thanks for your courtesy, can you direct me to Lombard Street? I must wait upon an eminent banker-goldsmith, who is in some sense a guardian of mine. I am to claim an inheritance he holds in trust, to the amount of some ninety thousand pounds or the like …”
    “For God’s sake, young man,” interrupted the other, “pray lower your voice!”
    “Hey?”
    “Be not so free in your ways or speech, I counsel you! Be not so open as publicly to mention a sum of that size, else in our honest town they’ll be at you like leeches to drain you of it. Discretion, ever discretion! Hem, now!”
    “Well, but …”
    “You would know the way to Lombard Street, you say, and you would wait upon a banker of that district? Pray pardon my seeming inquisitiveness, but may I hear the name of this banker?”
    “To be sure you may. His name is Mr. Roger Stainley. He—”
    “And your own name, sir?”
    “Kinsmere. Roderick Edward Kinsmere, of Blackthorn in Somerset.”
    The small shrewd-faced gentleman nodded, drawing my grandfather into the window embrasure. From the pocket of his snuff-coloured surcoat he took a spectacle case, extracted a pair of square spectacles, and fitted them on with so deft a motion that he disturbed not a curl of his wig.
    Kinsmere never forgot how he looked at that moment, in the sunlight of the window embrasure. The glass of the great window was a little crooked and of a faint greenish tint, set in a multitude of small round panes with metal edges. They threw wavy shadows across the oak wall of the recess and across the face of the man in spectacles—who had turned sideways, one knee slightly advanced, left hand behind his back, studying his taller companion. For the first time my grandfather looked well at him. He remarked, despite this well-wisher’s sober attire, the handsome gold watch chain and the fine fall of lace at his throat.
    “Hem!” said the sober-resplendent man in spectacles, and cleared his throat once more. Whereupon he smiled, making a very stately and courteous bow. “Why, then, permit me to hope that we are well met,” adds he. “You were not expected for some days, but ’tis no matter. To speak a truth, Mr. Kinsmere, I myself am the banker you would wait upon. I am Roger Stainley. My boy, I rejoice to see you.”
    “Burn me!” exclaimed my grandfather, as they shook hands. He was delighted; he felt a real burst of affection, and all but yanked the prim Mr. Stainley off his feet. “Well met? Burn me, I should think so!”
    “And now …”
    “Why, we’ll go hence and drink hearty. What else?”
    “Drink?” said Mr. Stainley, frowning and pinching at his underlip. “Drink, did you say? Hem, now! Tush, tut,