A Bid for Fortune by Guy Boothby (best motivational books TXT) 📕

said the landlord, who evidently knew my companion. "But isn't this rather late for a call. I hope there is nothing the matter?"

"Nothing much," returned the Inspector: "only we want to make a few inquiries about a man who was here to-night, and for whom we are looking."

"If that is so I'm afraid I must call my barman. I was not in the bar this evening. If you'll excuse me I'll go and bring him down. In the meantime make yourselves comfortable."

He left us to kick our heels in the hall while he went upstairs again. In about ten minutes, and just as my all-consuming impatience was well-nigh getting the better of me, he returned, bringing with him the sleepy barman.

"These gentlemen want some information about a man who was here to-night," the landlord said by way of introduction. "Perhaps you can give it?"

"What was he like, sir?" asked the barman of the Inspector. The latter, however, turned to me.

"Tall, slim, with a sallow complexion," I said, "black hair and very dark restless eyes. He came in here with the Hon. Sylvester Wetherell's coachman."

The man seemed to recollect him at once.

"I remember him," he said. "They sat in No. 5 down the passage there, and the man you mention ordered a nobbler of rum and a whisky."

"That's the fellow we want," said the Inspector. "Now tell me this, have you ever seen him in here before?"

"Never once," said the barman, "and that's a solemn fact, because if I had I couldn't have forgotten it. His figure-head wouldn't let you do that. No, sir, to-night was the first night he's ever been in the Canary Bird."

"Did any one else visit them while they were in the room together?"

"Not as I know of. But stay, I'm not so certain. Yes; I remember seeing a tall, good-looking chap come down the passage and go in there. But it was some time, half an hour maybe, after I took in the drinks."

"Did you see him come out again?"

"No. But I know the coachman got very drunk, and had to be carried out to the carriage."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I saw the other two doing it."

The Inspector turned to me.

"Not very satisfactory, is it?"

"No," I answered. "But do you mind letting us look into No. 5--the room they occupied?"

"Not at all," said the landlord. "Come with me."

So saying he led the way down the passage to a little room on the right-hand side, the door of which he threw open with a theatrical flourish. It was in pitch darkness, but a few seconds later the gas was lit and we could see all that it contained. A small table stood in the centre of the room, and round the walls were ranged two or three wooden chairs. A small window was at the further end and a fireplace opposite the door. On the table was a half-smoked cigar and a torn copy of the Evening Mercury. But that was not what I wanted, so I went down on my hands and knees and looked about upon the floor. Presently I descried a small ball of paper near the grate. Picking it up I seated myself at the table and turned to the barman, who was watching my movements attentively.

"Was this room used by any other people after the party we are looking for left?"

"No, sir. There was nobody in either of these two bottom rooms."

"You are quite certain of that?"

"Perfectly certain."

I took up the ball of paper, unrolled it and spread it out upon the table. To my disgust it was only the back half of an envelope, and though it had a few figures dotted about upon it, was of no possible use to us.

"Nothing there?" asked the Inspector.

"Nothing at all," I answered bitterly, "save a few incomprehensible figures."

"Well, in that case, we'd better be getting up to the station and see if they've discovered anything yet."

"Come along, then," I answered. "We must be quick though, for we've lost a lot of precious time, and every minute counts."

I took up the Evening Mercury and followed him out to the cab, after having sincerely thanked the hotel proprietor and the barman for their courtesy. The Inspector gave the driver his orders and we set off. As we went we discussed our next movements, and while we were doing so I idly glanced at the paper I held in my hand. There was a lamp in the cab, and the light showed me on the bottom right-hand corner a round blue india-rubber stamp mark, "W. E. Maxwell, stationer and newsagent, 23, Ipswell Street, Woolahra."

"Stop the cab!" I almost shouted. "Tell the man to drive us back to the Canary Bird quickly."

The order was given, the cab faced round, and in less than a minute we were on our way back.

"What's up now?" asked the astonished Inspector.

"Only that I believe I've got a clue," I cried.

I did not explain any further, and in five minutes we had brought the landlord downstairs again.

"I'm sorry to trouble you in this fashion," I cried, "but life and death depend on it. I want you to let me see No. 5 again."

He conducted us to the room, and once more the gas was lit. The small strip of envelope lay upon the table just as I had thrown it down. I seated myself and again looked closely at it. Then I sprang to my feet.

"I thought so!" I cried excitedly, pointing to the paper; "I told you I had a clue. Now, Mr. Inspector, who wrote those figures?"

"The man you call Nikola, I suppose."

"That's right. Now who would have bought this newspaper? You must remember that Thompson only left his box to come in here."

"Nikola, I suppose."

"Very good. Then according to your own showing Nikola owned this piece of envelope and this Evening Mercury. If that is certain, look here!"

He came round and looked over my shoulder. I pointed to what was evidently part of the gummed edge of the top of the envelope. On it were these three important words, "----swell Street, Woolahra."

"Well," he said, "what about it?"

"Why, look here!" I said, as I opened the Evening Mercury and pointed to the stamp-mark at the bottom. "The man who bought this newspaper at Mr. Maxwell's shop also bought this envelope there. The letters 'swell' before 'street' constitute the last half of Ipswell, the name of the street. If that man be Nikola, as we suspect, the person who served him is certain to remember him, and it is just within the bounds of possibility he may know his address."

"That's so," said the Inspector, struck with the force of my argument. "I know Mr. Maxwell's shop, and our best plan will be to go on there as fast as we can."

Again thanking the landlord for his civility, we returned to our cab and once more set off, this time for Mr. Maxwell's shop in Ipswell Street. By the time we reached it it was nearly three o'clock, and gradually growing light. As the cab drew up alongside the curb the Inspector jumped out and rang the bell at the side door. It was opened after awhile by a shock-headed youth, who stared at us in sleepy astonishment.

"Does Mr. Maxwell live at the shop?" asked the Inspector.

"No, sir."

"Where then?"

"Ponson Street--third house on the left-hand side."

"Thank you."

Once more we jumped into the cab and rattled off. It seemed to me, so anxious and terrified was I for my darling's safety, that we were fated never to get the information we wanted; the whole thing was like some nightmare, in which, try how I would to move, every step was clogged.

A few minutes' drive brought us to Ponson Street, and we drew up at the third house on the left-hand side. It was a pretty little villa, with a nice front garden and a creeper-covered verandah. We rang the bell and waited. Presently we heard some one coming down the passage, and a moment later the door was unlocked.

"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.

"Police," said my companion as before.

The door was immediately opened, and a very small sandy-complexioned man, dressed in a flaring suit of striped pyjamas, stood before us. "Is anything wrong, gentlemen?" he asked nervously.

"Nothing to affect you, Mr. Maxwell," my companion replied. "We only want a little important information, if you can give it us. We are anxious to discover a man's whereabouts before daylight, and we have been led to believe that you are the only person who can give us the necessary clue."

"Good gracious! But I shall be happy to serve you if I can," the little man answered, leading the way into his dining-room with an air of importance his appearance rather belied. "What is it?"

"Well, it's this," I replied, producing the piece of envelope and the Evening Mercury. "You see these letters on the top of this paper, don't you?" He nodded, his attention at once secured by seeing his own name. "Well, that envelope was evidently purchased in your shop. So was this newspaper."

"How can you tell that?"

"In the case of the envelope, by these letters; in that of the paper, by your rubber stamp on the bottom."

"Ah! Well, now, and in what way can I help you?"

"We want to know the address of the man who bought them."

"That will surely be difficult. Can you give me any idea of what he was like?"

"Tall, slightly foreign in appearance, distinctly handsome, sallow complexion, very dark eyes, black hair, small hands and feet."

As my description progressed the little man's face brightened. Then he cried with evident triumph--"I know the man; he came into the shop yesterday afternoon."

"And his address is?"

His face fell again. His information was not quite as helpful as he had expected it would be.

"There I can't help you, I'm sorry to say. He bought a packet of paper and envelopes and the Evening Mercury and then left the shop. I was so struck by his appearance that I went to the door and watched him cross the road."

"And in which direction did he go?"

"Over to Podgers' chemist shop across the way. That was the last I saw of him."

"I'm obliged to you, Mr. Maxwell," I said, shaking him by the hand. "But I'm sorry you can't tell us something more definite about him." Then turning to the Inspector: "I suppose we had better go off and find Podgers. But if we have to spend much more time in rushing about like this we shall be certain to lose them altogether."

"Let us be off to Podgers', then, as fast as we can go."

Bidding Mr. Maxwell good-bye, we set off again, and in ten minutes had arrived at the shop and had Mr. Podgers downstairs. We explained our errand briefly, and gave a minute description of the man we wanted.

"I remember him perfectly," said the sedate Podgers. "He came into my shop last night and purchased a bottle of chloroform."

"You made him sign the poison book, of course?"

"Naturally I did, Mr. Inspector. Would you like to