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

save news of Phyllis, and it would be most unlikely that I would learn anything about the movements of the gang who had abducted her from a firm of first-class solicitors such as I understood Messrs Dawson & Gladman to be. However, it was no use wondering about it, so I dismissed the matter from my mind for the present, and took my place at the table. In the middle of the meal the butler left the room, in response to a ring at the front door. When he returned, it was to inform me that a man was in the hall, who wished to have a few moments’ conversation with me. Asking Mr. Wetherell to excuse me, I left the room.

In the hall I found a seedy-looking individual of about middle age. He bowed, and on learning that my name was Hatteras, asked if he might be permitted five minutes alone with me. In response, I led him to the morning-room, and having closed the door, pointed to a seat.

“What is your business?” I enquired, when he had sat down.

“It is rather a curious affair to approach, Mr. Hatteras,” the man began. “But to commence, may I be permitted to suggest that you are uneasy in your mind about a person who has disappeared?”

“You may certainly suggest that, if you like,” I answered cautiously.

“If it were in a man’s power to furnish a clue regarding that person’s whereabouts, it might be useful to you, I suppose,” he continued, craftily watching me out of the corners of his eyes.

“Very useful,” I replied. “Are you in a position to do so?”

“I might possibly be able to afford you some slight assistance,” he went on. “That is, of course, provided it were made worth my while.”

“What do you call ‘worth your while’?”

“Well, shall we say five hundred pounds? That’s not a large sum for really trustworthy information. I ought to ask a thousand, considering the danger I’m running in mixing myself up with the affair. Only I’m a father myself, and that’s why I do it.”

“I see. Well, let me tell you, I consider five hundred too much.”

“Well then I’m afraid we can’t trade. I’m sorry.”

“So am I. But I’m not going to buy a pig in a poke.”

“Shall we say four hundred, then?”

“No. Nor three⁠—two, or one. If your information is worth anything, I don’t mind giving you fifty pounds for it. But I won’t give a halfpenny more.”

As I spoke, I rose as if to terminate the interview. Instantly my visitor adopted a different tone.

“My fault is my generosity,” he said. “It’s the ruin of me. Well, you shall have it for fifty. Give me the money, and I’ll tell you.”

“By no means,” I answered. “I must hear the information first. Trust to my honour. If what you tell me is worth anything, I’ll give you fifty pounds for it. Now what is it?”

“Well, sir, to begin with, you must understand that I was standing at the corner of Pitt Street an evening or two back, when two men passed me talking earnestly together. One of ’em was a tall strapping fellow, the other a little chap. I never saw two eviller looking rascals in my life. Just as they came alongside me, one says to the other, ‘Don’t be afraid; I’ll have the girl at the station all right at eight o’clock sharp.’ The other said something that I could not catch, and then I lost sight of them. But what I had heard stuck in my head, and so I accordingly went off to the station, arriving there a little before the hour. I hadn’t been there long before the smallest of the two chaps I’d seen in the street came on to the platform, and began looking about him. By the face of him he didn’t seem at all pleased at not finding the other man waiting for him. A train drew up at the platform, and presently, just before it started, I saw the other and a young lady wearing a heavy veil come quickly along. The first man saw them, and gave a little cry of delight. ‘I thought you’d be too late,’ says he. ‘No fear of that,’ says the other, and jumps into a first-class carriage, telling the girl to get in after him, which she does, crying the while, as I could see. Then the chap on the platform says to the other who was leaning out of the window, ‘Write to me from Bourke, and tell me how she gets on.’ ‘You bet,’ says his friend. ‘And don’t you forget to keep your eye on Hatteras.’ ‘Don’t you be afraid,’ answered the man on the platform. Then the guard whistled, and the train went out of the station. Directly I was able to I got away, and first thing this morning came on here. Now you have my information, and I’ll trouble you for that fifty pound.”

“Not so fast, my friend. Your story seems very good, but I want to ask a few questions first. Had the bigger man⁠—the man who went up to Bourke, a deep cut over his left eye?”

“Now I come to think of it, he had. I’d forgotten to tell you that.”

“So it was he, then? But are you certain it was Miss Wetherel? Remember she wore a veil. Could you see if her hair was flaxen in colour?”

“Very light it was; but I couldn’t see rightly which colour it was.”

“You’re sure it was a light colour?”

“Quite sure. I could swear to it in a court of law if you wanted me to.”

“That’s all right then, because it shows me your story is a fabrication. Come, get out of this house or I’ll throw you out. You scoundrel for two pins I’d give you such a thrashing as you’d remember all your life!”

“None o’ that, governor. Don’t you try it on. Hand us over that fifty quid.”

With that the scoundrel whipped out a revolver and pointed it at me. But