The inquest was over. A suggestion for an adjournment, half-heartedly
expressed by one juryman, had been briefly discussed and withdrawn.
Bullard had come through his ordeal without a spot of discredit. He
looked pale and fagged, but what was more natural in the circumstances? A
horrid experience it must have been, those present agreed, to behold a
face and clutching hands fall away from a fourth-story window! And he was
going to pay for a decent funeral for the abandoned wretch who might have
murdered him! There was a gentleman for you!
Nevertheless, more than once Bullard's nerve had been at breaking point.
What was young France doing at the inquest? He was to know soon enough.
Teddy was waiting for him just outside the door.
"I have a taxi here, Mr. Bullard," he said, "so we can go to your office
together. I have a little business to discuss--financial, I should say."
"I'm afraid it must keep, Mr. France," Bullard managed to reply fairly
coolly. "This is Saturday, you know, and after business hours."
"You will see for yourself presently, Mr. Bullard, that it won't keep. In
fact, if you don't step into that cab at once--"
Bullard got in, Teddy followed, and the cab started.
"Wow," began Bullard, "what the--"
"Hope you don't mind my smoking," said Teddy, lighting a cigarette.
"Rather an uncomfy corner you've just come out of, Mr. Bullard."
"Kindly choose your words more carefully--'corner' does not apply to my
recent unpleasant experience--and name your business."
"We shall be in your office in a very few minutes, and I prefer to name
it there."
"Very well." Bullard restrained himself and fell to thinking hard. What
had brought France to the inquest? The question repeated itself
maddeningly. The tragedy had not been mentioned in the morning
papers--their early editions, at any rate.
Teddy gave him a minute's grace, then casually remarked--
"You heard from my friend, Alan Craig, this morning, I believe.
Miraculous escape, wasn't it?"
"Very.... Yes, I have a letter from Mr. Craig--to which I shall
reply--direct."
"Alan is an odd chap," Teddy pursued. "No sooner is he home and in safety
than he makes his will. Did it at his lawyer's in Glasgow, the day before
yesterday."
After an almost imperceptible pause--"Indeed!" said Bullard, a little
thickly. "Only I'm afraid I don't happen to be interested in Mr. Alan
Craig's affairs."
"Sorry," Teddy murmured, and gave him another minute's grace. Then--
"Awful end that for poor old Flitch, Mr. Bullard."
The man's face, nay, his whole body, contracted for an instant; yet he
was still master of himself.
"Who?"
"Flitch--the dead man, you know."
"The man's name was Dunning, as you must have heard, and as the police
discovered for themselves."
"Really, I must go to an aurist! I've got it into my head as Flitch."
"Confound you!" said Bullard, on the verge of a furious, crazy outbreak,
"will you hold your tongue? I've business to think of. Lost a whole
morning with that cursed inquest."
"All right, Mr. Bullard. Don't apologise."
There was no more talk till they reached the office. The clerks had gone.
Bullard led the way, not to his own private room, but to Lancaster's.
"Say what you've got to say quickly," he snapped.
"This," said Teddy, looking leisurely about him, "is surely not the room
where it happened.--What's the matter, Mr. Bullard?"
Again Bullard caught and held himself on the verge. "I can give you
five minutes, if you will talk sense," he said, taking the chair at
Lancaster's desk, which had been left open. "Either you are drunk or
you fondly imagine you have got hold of something. Now, go on! Come to
the point!"
"I will," said Teddy. "How much exactly does Mr. Lancaster owe the
Syndicate?"
Bullard started, but not without relief. The relief would have been
fuller, however, but for the questioner's presence at the inquest.
"What business is that of yours, Mr. France?"
"Simply that I'm going to see it paid."
"May I ask when?"
"Within the next few minutes."
Bullard saw light. Alan Craig's money!
"Really?" he said. "But would it not be better if Mr. Lancaster were to
make the payment personally?"
"Does it matter to the Syndicate who pays the money?"
"Of course not."
"Thanks." Teddy brought forth a couple of bundles of bonds and share
certificates. "How much is the debt?"
"Twenty-four thousand and seventy-five pounds."
"Wish I had that much," said Teddy, "but I can only give what I've got."
He rose, placed the bundles on the desk, and sat down again. "There's a
trifle over five thousand pounds in my little lot," he went on, "and with
each certificate you'll find a signed transfer in your favour, Mr.
Bullard. To save time"--he glanced at his watch--"I'll ask you to take my
word for that."
Bullard put out his hand and touched the bundles. "Your securities, you
say, are worth a little over five thousand pounds?"
"Right!"
"Well?"
"Well, Mr. Bullard?"
"What about the balance of twenty--or say nineteen--thousand?"
Teddy smiled. "That's your affair, Mr. Bullard."
"I should be obliged," said Bullard slowly, "if you would talk sense."
"I've written it down," Teddy said, and passed him a sheet of paper
bearing these words:
"I, Francis Bullard, London Managing Director of the Aasvogel Syndicate,
hereby acknowledge that I have this day received the sum of ... being the
full amount due to the Syndicate by Mr. Robert Lancaster, whose debt is
hereby discharged."
"What the devil is this?"
"Now don't frown and crumple it up and throw it away, as if you were on
the stage, Mr. Bullard," said Teddy. "You were never more in real life
than you are now. Take your pen, fill in the blank, sign at foot, and
return to me. And listen! The man you lied so well about at the inquest,
entered your office by the door, at ten-seventeen last night."
Bullard's countenance took on a curious shade. Almost in his heart the
young man pitied him.
"If the man entered by the door, you know more about his movements than I
do," came the retort. "Why didn't you say so at the inquest?"
"Mr. Bullard, I give you two minutes by my watch to complete and sign
that receipt."
"You cursed young fool, do you think to blackmail me?"
"If you like to call it that--well, I'm afraid I must accept the word,"
said Teddy, watch in hand. "But somehow one doesn't mind so much
blackmailing a blackguard.--Sit still! You can't afford two inquests in a
week-end."
"What do you imagine it proves if the man did enter by the door, you
prying, sneaking puppy?"
"Thirty seconds gone."
"Oh, get out of this! I'm not afraid of you. I've a good mind--"
"There was no light in your window when the man fell. At the inquest you
said you had just switched on the lights."
Bullard's clenched fists relaxed; his face became moist and shiny.
"Do you want to hear any more?" said Teddy. "One minute left."
Bullard writhed. "Suppose I haven't got the money," he said at last.
"You can find it."
"And what guarantees do you give in return?"
"I promise silence so long as you keep clear of crime and make no attempt
to communicate, by word or letter, with Mr. Lancaster or his daughter--"
"Hah! I see! ... But, by God, I'll destroy the lot of you yet!"
"Thirty seconds left, Mr. Bullard.... Twenty.... Ten...." Teddy stood up.
Two minutes later he stepped, almost jauntily, from the room. His little
private income had disappeared, but he had a document worth all the world
to him in his pocket. As he opened the door Bullard's face was that of a
fiend; his hand went back to a drawer ere he remembered that he was not
at his own desk.
* * * * *
Teddy was a little behind time in reaching Kensington Gardens, and he
looked so haggard that the girl's heart failed her.
"Everything's all right, Doris," he said, rather huskily. "Let's sit down
here for a minute."
"Teddy, you're ill!"
He shook his head, and gave her the paper, saying, "Take care of it. I
don't think Bullard will trouble you or Mr. Lancaster again, Doris."
She read and began to tremble. With a sob she whispered, "Teddy, Teddy,
_is_ it true?"
He did not answer. He had a queer sleepy, ghastly look.
"Teddy dear! What is it?"
He appeared to pull himself up. "Upon my word," he said, with a feeble
laugh, "I was nearly off that time. I wonder where I could find some
breakfast."
* * * * *
In the nearest tea-room he revived considerably.
"Perhaps I may tell you all about it years hence, Doris," he said. "Not
now. Just make your father happy and be happy yourself. And remember
that, so far as your father is concerned, it was Alan's money. So that
makes everything nice and tidy, doesn't it?"
"But father ought to know that it was you who--"
"Now, don't go and spoil everything! I assure you that I did nothing
worth mentioning except miss my breakfast--which is, perhaps, a good deal
for an Englishman to do."
"But, Teddy, what am I to say to you?"
"Nothing. Just smile, and say I made you."
She smiled.
"Ah!" he said softly, "you haven't smiled like that, Doris, for months!
I'm a great man, after all! Now, what about moving along to Earl's
Gate? I mustn't keep you longer from giving him the good news. Have you
got it safe?"
She touched her breast. "Oh, Teddy, you wonderful, wonderful man!--to
alter the world in a few hours!"
"Pretty smart, wasn't it? By the way, I may not see you for a while. I
think Alan wants me to go back with him to-morrow night."
"We are all going to Grey House on Tuesday."
"Oh!" said Teddy of the torn heart. "Do you happen to remember how many
buns I've eaten?"
* * * * *
On reaching home Doris learned that her mother had gone out. She was not
sorry. She was not to know that the hour in which she gave her father his
freedom witnessed a consultation between her mother and Mr. Bullard. For
Bullard was not yet beaten, and Mrs. Lancaster had still to learn that
her husband was safe.