Read Online Mr. J. G. Reeder Returns by Edgar Wallace - Free Book Online Page A

Olbude had visited the vault on the Friday. Probably that morning, when he again made an inspection, Mr Reeder would receive an urgent telephone message calling him into Kent.
    It began to get light. Mr Reeder pulled up the blinds and looked out into the rain-sodden street. Overhead the skies were grey and leaden. J G brewed himself another cup of tea, and when it was made walked again to the window and stared down into the deserted thoroughfare.
    He heard the whine of the car as it came round from the Lewisham High Road, pursuing a groggy course which suggested that the driver had overstayed his supper. It was a red sports car, nearly new, with a long bonnet; to Mr Reeder’s surprise it finished its erratic course in front of his door. A little time passed before a man staggered out, clutching for support to the side of the car. He walked unsteadily through the gate and stumbled up the stone steps. Before he reached the door Mr Reeder was down the stairs and had opened it. He caught Larry O’Ryan in his arms and steadied him.
    “I’m all right,” muttered Larry. “I want some water. Can I sit down for a minute?”
    Mr Reeder closed the door with his disengaged hand, and led the young man to the hall seat.
    “I’ll be all right in a second. I’ve lost a little blood,” muttered Larry.
    The shoulders of his light mackintosh were red with it, and his face was hardly distinguishable under the broad, red streaks.
    “It’s all right,” he said again. “Just a little knight-errantry.” He chuckled feebly. “There’s no fracture, though driving was rather a bother. I’m glad I didn’t carry a gun – I should have used it. I think I can move now.”
    He got up, swaying. Mr Reeder guided him up the stairs through his room into the bathroom, and, soaking a towel in water, cleaned his face and the long and ugly wound beneath his matted hair.
    “I think it was the chauffeur; I’m not sure. I parked the car about half a mile from Sevenways Castle, and went on foot to reconnoitre.”
    All this jerkily, his head bent over a basin of red water whilst Mr Reeder applied iodine and cut away long strands of hair with a pair of office scissors.
    “Anyway, I saw her.”
    “You saw her?” asked Mr Reeder in astonishment. “Yes; only for a few seconds. She couldn’t get out of the window – it was barred. And the door was locked. But we had a little talk. I took a light, collapsible ladder with me to reach the window. You’ll find it in a plantation near the drive.”
    Mr Reeder looked at him glumly.
    “Are you suggesting she is a prisoner?”
    “I’m not suggesting, I’m stating the fact. An absolute prisoner. There are servants in the house, but they’ve all been chosen by the same man. And the best part of his money is gone.”
    J G Reeder said nothing for a while.
    “How do you know?” he asked.
    “I went in and looked,” was the calm reply. “The major will probably say that I pinched it, but that was a physical impossibility. I always intended to see that treasure house – I have photographs of every key to every strongroom that the Monarch Company turned out in the last twenty years. There is a duplicate room in the office. I won’t tell you how I got the photographs, because you would be pained, but I did. And I got into the treasure house as easily as falling asleep.”
    “The guards–?”
    Larry incautiously shook his head and winced.
    “Ouch! That hurt! There are no guards. That story is bunk. There probably were in Lane Leonard’s time, but not now. I got in all right and I got out. More than half the containers are empty! I managed to get away from the park and I was within a few yards of my car when I was attacked; whoever it was must have spotted the car and waited for my return and I always thought I was clever – prided myself upon my wideness. I saw nobody, but I heard a sound and turned round, and probably that saved my life. Cosh!”
    “You didn’t see the man that hit