The Clue of the Silver Key by Edgar Wallace (ereader android .TXT) 📕

feeling that he, being the last

of the old man’s debtors, was in the position of a mouse in the paws of

an ancient cat, not to be killed too quickly; and here, to some extent,

he was right. Hervey Lyne received him with a set grin which was a parody

of the smile he had used for so many years on such occasions.

 

‘Sit down, Mr Dornford,’ he piped. ‘Binny, go out!’

 

‘Binny’s not here, Mr Lyne.’

 

‘He’s listening outside the door—he’s always listening. Have a look.’

 

Dornford opened the door; there was no sign of the libelled servant.

 

‘Now, now.’ Again he was his old businesslike self, repeating a speech

which was part of a formula. ‘About this money—three thousand seven

hundred, I think. You’re going to settle tonight?’

 

‘Unfortunately I can’t settle tonight, and not for many nights,’ said

Jerry. ‘In fact, there’s no immediate prospect of my settling at all.

I’ve made arrangements to get you four or five hundred on account—’

 

‘From Isaac and Solomon, eh?’

 

Jerry cursed himself for his stupidity. He knew that the money-lenders

exchanged daily a list of proposals which had come to them.

 

‘Well, you’re not going to get it, my friend. You’ve got to find money to

settle this account, or it goes into the hands of my collectors

tomorrow.’

 

Jerry had expected nothing better than this.

 

‘Suppose I find you two thousand by the end of the week?’ he said. ‘Will

you give me a reasonable time to find the remainder?’

 

To his surprise he was speaking huskily—the imperturbable Jerry, who had

faced so many crises with equanimity, was amazingly agitated in this, the

most crucial of all.

 

‘If you can find two thousand you can find three thousand seven hundred,’

boomed the old man.’ A week? I wouldn’t give you a day—and where are you

getting the two thousand from?’

 

Jerry cleared his throat.

 

‘A friend of mine—’

 

‘That’s a lie to begin with, Mr Gerald Dornford,’ said the hateful voice.

‘You have no friends; you’ve used them all up. I’ll tell you what I’ll do

with you.’ He leaned over the table, his elbows on the polished mahogany.

He was enjoying this moment of his triumph, recovering some of the old

values of a life that was now only a memory. ‘I’ll give you till tomorrow

night at six o’clock. Your money’s here’—he tapped the table

vigorously—‘or I’ll bankrupt you!’

 

If his sight had been only near to normal he would have seen the look

that came into Jerry’s face, and would have been frightened to silence.

But, if he saw nothing, he sensed the effect of his words.

 

‘You understand, don’t you?’

 

Some of the steel went out of his tone.

 

‘I understand.’ Jerry’s voice was low.

 

‘Tomorrow you bring the money, and I will give you your bill. A minute

after six o’clock, and it goes to the collector.’

 

‘But surely, Mr Lyne’—Jerry found coherent speech at last—‘two thousand

pounds on account is not to be sniffed at?’

 

‘We shall see,’ said the old man, nodding. ‘I’ve nothing else to say.’

 

Jerry rose; he was shaking with anger. ‘I’ve got something to say, you

damned old usurer!’ He quivered with rage. ‘You blood-sucking old brute!

You’ll bankrupt me, will you?’

 

Hervey Lyne had come to his feet, his skinny hands pointing to the door.

 

‘Get out!’ His voice was little more than a whisper.’

Blood-sucker…damned old usurer, am I? Binny—BINNY!’

 

Binny came stumbling up from the kitchen.

 

‘Throw him out—throw him on his head—smash him!’ screamed the old man.

 

Binny looked at the man who was head and shoulders taller than he, and

his smile was sickly.

 

‘Better get out, sir,’ he said under his breath,’ and don’t take no

notice of me.’ Then, in a louder, truculent tone: ‘Get out of here, will

you?’ He pulled open the street door noisily. ‘Out you get!’

 

He struck his palm with his fist, and all the time his imploring eyes

begged the visitor to pardon his lapse of manners.

 

When he came back the money-lender was lying back, exhausted, in his

chair.

 

‘Did you hit him?’ he asked weakly.

 

‘Did I hit him, sir? I nearly broke me wrist.’

 

‘Did you break his wrist or anything else of him?’ snarled Hervey, not at

all interested in the injuries which might have come to the assailant.

 

‘It’ll take two doctors to put him right,’ said Binny.

 

The old man’s thin lips curled in a sneer. ‘I don’t believe you touched

him, you poor worm!’ he said.

 

‘Didn’t you hear me—’ began Binny, aggrieved.

 

‘Clapping your hands together! Liar and fool, do you think I didn’t know

that? I may be blind, but I’ve got ears. Did you hit the burglar last

night—or when was it? You didn’t even hear him.’

 

Binny blinked at him helplessly. Two nights before somebody had smashed a

glass at the back of the house and opened a window. Whether they

succeeded in entering the kitchen or not it was impossible to say. Old

Hervey, a light sleeper, heard the crash and came to the head of the

stairs, screaming for Binny, who occupied a subterranean room adjoining

the kitchen.

 

‘Did you hit him? Did you hear him?’

 

‘My idea was to bring in the police,’ began Binny. ‘There’s nothing like

the lor in cases like this….’

 

‘Get out!’ roared the old man. ‘The law! Do you think I wanted a lot of

clumsy-footed louts in my house…get away, you make me sick!’

 

Binny left hurriedly.

 

For the greater part of two hours the old man sat, muttering to himself,

twisting and untwisting his fingers one in the other; and then, as his

repeater struck ten, he turned to the radio at his side and switched it

on. A voice immediately blared at him…

 

‘Before I discuss the banking systems of this country I would like to say

a few words about the history of banking from the earliest times….’

 

Hervey Lyne sat up and listened. His hearing, as he had said, was

extraordinarily sensitive.