Mr. J. G. Reeder Returns by Edgar Wallace Read Free Book Online Page B

again.
    The story had its fantastical and improbable side, and yet J G Reeder regarded it as being no more than – extraordinary. Misers there had been since there were valuable things to hoard. Every nation had its safe place where unproductive gold was hoarded. He knew of at least three similar cases of men who had maintained in vaults vast sums in bullion.
    “I should like to come down to – um – Sevenways Castle and see this man’s quarters,” he said. “It will be necessary to go through his possessions. Had he any friends?”
    The major nodded.
    “He had a friend, I believe, in London – a girl. I don’t know who she was. To tell you the truth, Mr Reeder, I have an idea that he was married, though he never spoke of his wife. But what were you telling me about his having money? That is news to me.”
    J G Reeder scratched his chin and hesitated.
    “I am not quite sure whether I have absolute authority for saying that he was the head of a certain land corporation, but as his staff have recognised his photograph–”
    He sketched the story of the Land Development Company, and Major Olbude listened without interruption.
    “Then it was in one of his own fields that he was found? When I say his own fields, I mean on land which he himself owned. That is amazing. I am afraid I can tell you no more about him,” he said, as he took up his hat and stick, “but of course I am available whenever you wish to question me. There may be some things about him that I have forgotten, but I will write my telephone number on your card and you may call me up.”
    He did this with his pencil, Mr Reeder standing by and watching the process with interest.
    He accompanied his guest down the stairs into Whitehall, and arrived in time to witness a peculiar incident. A Rolls was drawn up by the kerb and three persons were standing by it. He recognised the girl instantly. Larry’s back was towards him, but he had no difficulty in identifying the broad shoulders of that young man. The third member of the party was evidently the chauffeur. He was red of face, talking and gesticulating violently. Mr Reeder heard him say: “You’ve got no right to speak to the young lady, and if you want to talk, talk in English so as I can understand you.”
    The major quickened his pace, crossed to the group and spoke sharply to the chauffeur.
    “Why are you making a scene?” he demanded.
    Larry O’Ryan had walked away, a surprising circumstance, for Larry was the sort that never walked away from trouble of any kind.
    Mr Reeder came up to the group. The major could do no less than introduce him.
    “This is my niece, Miss Lane Leonard,” he said.
    She was lovely; even Mr Reeder, who was no connoisseur, acknowledged the fresh beauty of the girl. He thought she was rather pale, and wondered whether that was her natural colour.
    “What is the trouble, my dear?” asked the major.
    “I met a friend – the man who saved me from being run over by a motor car,” she said jerkily. “I spoke to him in – in French.”
    “He speaks English all right,” growled the unpleasant-looking chauffeur.
    “Will you be quiet! Was that all, my dear?”
    She nodded.
    “You thanked him, I suppose? I remember you telling me that you did not have the opportunity of thanking him before. He went away before you could speak to him. Modesty in a young man is most admirable. And it was in Whitehall that it happened?”
    “Yes,” she nodded.
    Mr Reeder felt that she was looking at him, although her eyes were fixed upon her uncle. He saw something else; her gloved hand was trembling. She was trying hard to control it, but it trembled.
    The major turned and shook hands with him.
    “I shall probably be seeing you again, Mr Reeder,” he said.
    He turned abruptly, helped the girl into the car and the machine drew away. Reeder looked round for Larry, saw him staring intently into a doorway, and as the car passed him, saw him turn so that his back was to the