A Bid for Fortune - Guy Boothby (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

At last we turned into the grounds, and on reaching the house I sprang out and rang the bell, then I went down to help my companion to alight. The butler opened the door and descended the steps to take the rugs. Wetherell stopped him almost angrily, crying:

“Where is your mistress? Has she come home?”

The expression of surprise on the man’s face told me, before he had time to utter a word, that our hopes were not to be realized.

“Miss Phyllis, sir?” the man said. “Why, she’s at the ball at Government ’Ouse.”

Wetherell turned from him with a deep sigh, and taking my arm went heavily up the steps into the hall.

“Come to my study, Mr. Hatteras,” he said, “and let me confer with you. For God’s sake don’t desert me in my hour of need!”

“You need have no fear of that,” I answered. “If it is bad for you, think what it is for me.” And then we went upstairs together.

Reaching his study, Mr. Wetherell led the way in and sat down. On a side table I noticed a decanter of whisky and some glasses. Without asking permission I went across to them and poured out a stiff nobbler for him.

“Drink this,” I said; “it will pull you together a little; remember you will want all your strength for the work that lies before us.”

Like a child he did as he was ordered, and then sank back into his chair. I went across to the hearthrug and stood before him.

“Now,” I said, “we must think this out from the very beginning, and to do that properly we must consider every detail. Have you any objection to answering my questions?”

“Ask any questions you like,” he replied, “and I will answer them.”

“In the first place, then, how soon after his arrival in the colony did your daughter get to know this sham Beckenham?”

“Three days,” he answered.

“At a dance, dinner party, picnic, or what?”

“At none of these things. The young man, it appears, had seen my daughter in the street, and having been struck with her beauty asked one of the aides-de-camp at Government House, with whom we are on intimate terms, to bring him to call. At the time, I remember, I thought it a particularly friendly action on his part.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I answered. “Well that, I think, should tell us one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“That his instructions were to get to know your daughter without delay.”

“But what could his reason have been, do you think?”

“Ah, that I cannot tell you just yet. Now you must pardon what I am going to say: do you think he was serious in his intentions regarding Phyllis⁠—I mean your daughter?”

“Perfectly, as far as I could tell. His desire, he said, was, if she would have him, to be allowed to marry her on his twenty-first birthday, which would be next week, and in proof of permission he showed me a cablegram from his father.”

“A forgery, I don’t doubt. Well, then, the only construction I can put upon it is that the arrival of the real Beckenham in Sydney must have frightened him, thus compelling the gang to resort to other means of obtaining possession of her at once. Now our next business must be to find out how that dastardly act was accomplished. May I ring the bell and have up the coachman who drove your daughter to the ball?”

“By all means. Please act in every way in this matter as if this house were your own.”

I rang the bell, and when the butler appeared to answer it Mr. Wetherell instructed him to find the man I wanted and send him up. The servant left the room again, and for five minutes we awaited his reappearance in silence. When he did come back he said,

“Thompson has not come home yet, sir.”

“Not come home yet! Why, it’s nearly eleven o’clock! Send him in directly he arrives. Hark! What bell is that?”

“Front door, sir.”

“Go down and answer it then, and if it should be the Commissioner of Police show him up here at once.”

As it turned out it was not the Commissioner of Police, but an Inspector.

“Good evening,” said Mr. Wetherell. “You have come from Government House, I presume?”

“Exactly so, sir,” replied the Inspector. “His Excellency gave us some particulars and then sent us on to you.”

“You know the nature of the case?”

“His Excellency informed us himself.”

“And what steps have you taken?”

“Well, sir, to begin with, we have given orders for a thorough search throughout the city and suburbs for the tutor and the sham nobleman, at the same time more men are out looking for the real Lord Beckenham. We are also trying to find your coachman, who was supposed to have driven Miss Wetherell away from Government House, and also the carriage, which is certain to be found before very long.”

He had hardly finished speaking before there was another loud ring at the bell, and presently the butler entered the room once more. Crossing to Mr. Wetherell, he said:

“Two policemen are at the front door, and they have brought Thompson home, sir.”

“Ah! We are likely to have a little light thrown upon the matter now. Let them bring him up here instantly.”

“He’s not in a very nice state, sir.”

“Never mind that. Let them bring him up here, instantly!” Again the butler departed, and a few moments later heavy footsteps ascended the stairs and approached the study door. Then two stalwart policemen entered the room supporting between them a miserable figure in coachman’s livery. His hat and coat were gone and his breeches were stained with mud, while a large bruise totally obscured his left eye. His master surveyed him with unmitigated disgust.

“Stand him over there opposite me,” said Mr. Wetherell, pointing to the side of the room furthest from the door.

The policemen did as they were ordered, while the man looked more dead than alive.

“Now, Thompson,” said Wetherell, looking sternly at him, “what have you got to say for yourself?”

But the man only groaned. Seeing that in his