Bones in London. Wallace Edgar

from Mr. Staines. "Hetook away the key, you say. And what are you supposed to be here for?"asked Mr. Staines violently. "You allow this fellow to come and takeour property away. Where is the place?"

      Tester led the way across the littered yard, explaining en route thathe was fed up, and why he was fed up, and what they could do to fillthe vacancy which would undoubtedly occur the next day, and where theycould go to, so far as he was concerned, and so, unlocking one rustylock after another, passed through dark and desolate offices, full ofsqueaks and scampers, down a short flight of stone steps to a mostuncompromising steel door at which they could only gaze.

III

      Bones was at his office early the following rooming, but he was notearlier than Mr. Staines, who literally followed him into his officeand slammed down a slip of paper under his astonished and gloomy eye.

      "Hey, hey, what's this?" said Bones irritably. "What the dooce isthis, my wicked old fiddle fellow?"

      "Your cheque," said Mr. Staines firmly. "And I'll trouble you for thekey of our strong-room."

      "The key of your strong-room?" repeated Bones. "Didn't I buy thisproperty?"

      "You did and you didn't. To cut a long story short, Mr. Tibbetts, Ihave decided not to sell – in fact, I find that I have done an illegalthing in selling at all."

      Bones shrugged his shoulders. Remember that he had slept, orhalf-slept, for some nine hours, and possibly his views had undergone achange. What he would have done is problematical, because at thatmoment the radiant Miss Whitland passed into her office, and Bones'sacute ear heard the snap of her door.

      "One moment," he said gruffly, "one moment, old Honesty."

      He strode through the door which separated the private from the publicportion of his suite, and Mr. Staines listened. He listened at varyingdistances from the door, and in his last position it would haverequired the most delicate of scientific instruments to measure thedistance between his ear and the keyhole. He heard nothing save thewail of a Bones distraught, and the firm "No's" of a self-possessedfemale.

      Then, after a heart-breaking silence Bones strode out, and Mr. Stainesdid a rapid sprint, so that he might be found standing in an attitudeof indifference and thought near the desk. The lips of Bones weretight and compressed. He opened the drawer, pulled out the transfers, tossed them across to Mr. Staines.

      "Key," said Bones, chucking it down after the document.

      He picked up his cheque and tore it into twenty pieces.

      "That's all," said Bones, and Mr. Staines beat a tremulous retreat.

      When the man had gone, Bones returned to the girl who was sitting ather table before her typewriter. It was observable that her lips werecompressed too.

      "Young Miss Whitland," said Bones, and his voice was hoarser than ever,"never, never in my life will I ever forgive myself!"

      "Oh, please, Mr. Tibbetts," said the girl a little wearily, "haven't Itold you that I have forgiven you? And I am sure you had no horridthought in your mind, and that you just acted impulsively."

      Bones bowed his head, at once a sign of agreement and a crushed spirit.

      "The fact remains, dear old miss," he said brokenly, "that I did kissyou in that beastly old private vault. I don't know what made me doit," he gulped, "but I did it. Believe me, young miss, that spot wassacred. I wanted to buy the building to preserve it for all time, sothat no naughty old foot should tread upon that hallowed ground. Youthink that's nonsense!"

      "Mr. Tibbetts."

      "Nonsense, I say, romantic and all that sort of rot." Bones threw outhis arms. "I must agree with you. But, believe me, Stivvins' Wharf ishallowed ground, and I deeply regret that you would not let me buy itand turn it over to the jolly old Public Trustee or one of thosejohnnies… You do forgive me?"

      She laughed up in his face, and then Bones laughed, and they laughed together.

      CHAPTER IV

      THE PLOVER LIGHT CAR

      The door of the private office opened and after a moment closed. Itwas, in fact, the private door of the private office, reservedexclusively for the use of the Managing Director of Schemes Limited.Nevertheless, a certain person had been granted the privilege ofingress and egress through that sacred portal, and Mr. Tibbetts, ycleptBones, crouching over his desk, the ferocity of his countenanceintensified by the monocle which was screwed into his eye, and theterrific importance of his correspondence revealed by his disorderedhair and the red tongue that followed the movements of his pen, did notlook up.

      "Put it down, put it down, young miss," he murmured, "on the table, onthe floor, anywhere."

      There was no answer, and suddenly Bones paused and scowled at thehalf-written sheet before him.

      "That doesn't look right." He shook his head. "I don't know what'scoming over me. Do you spell 'cynical' with one 'k' or two?"

      Bones looked up.

      He saw a brown-faced man, with laughing grey eyes, a tall man in a longovercoat, carrying a grey silk hat in his hand.

      "Pardon me, my jolly old intruder," said Bones with dignity, "this is aprivate – " Then his jaw dropped and he leant on the desk forsupport. "Not my – Good heavens!" he squeaked, and then leaptacross the room, carrying with him the flex of his table lamp, whichfell crashing to the floor.

      "Ham, you poisonous old reptile!" He seized the other's hand in hisbony paw, prancing up and down, muttering incoherently.

      "Sit down, my jolly old Captain. Let me take your overcoat. Well!Well! Well! Give me your hat, dear old thing – dear old Captain, Imean. This is simply wonderful! This is one of the most amazin'experiences I've ever had, my dear old sportsman and officer. How longhave you been home? How did you leave the Territory? Good heavens!We must have a bottle on this!"

      "Sit down, you noisy devil," said Hamilton, pushing his erstwhilesubordinate into a chair, and pulling up another to face him.

      "So this is your boudoir!" He glanced round admiringly. "It looksrather like the waiting-room of a couturière."

      "My dear old thing," said the shocked Bones, "I beg you, if you please, remember, remember – " He lowered his voice, and the last word was ina hoarse whisper, accompanied by many winks, nods, and pointings at andto a door which led from the inner office apparently to the outer."There's a person, dear old man of the world – a young person – wellbrought up – "

      "What the – " began Hamilton.

      "Don't be peeved!" Bones's knowledge of French was of the haziest."Remember, dear old thing," he said solemnly, wagging his inkyforefinger, "as an employer of labour, I must protect the young an'innocent, my jolly old skipper."

      Hamilton looked round for a missile, and could find nothing better thana crystal paper-weight, which looked too valuable to risk.

      "'Couturière,'" he said acidly, "is French for 'dressmaker.'"