Read Online The Mind of Mr. J. G. Reeder by Edgar Wallace - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Edgar Wallace
Ads: Link
man, so is the valet; the maid comes from London.’
After tea he showed Bertie up to his bedroom and, opening a drawer of his bureau, took out a small steel box, fastened with two locks. These he unfastened and lifted out a shallow metal tray covered with a layer of cotton wool.
‘You can have any of these that take your eye,’ he said. ‘Make me an offer and I’ll tell you what they’re worth.’
He rolled back the cotton wool and revealed six magnificent stones.
‘That one?’ said Mr Lomer, taking the largest between his finger and thumb. ‘Why, that’s worth six thousand dollars – about two thousand pounds. And if you offered me that sum for it, I’d think you were a fool, because the only safe way of getting emeralds is to buy ’em fifty per cent under value. I reckon that cost me about’ – he made a mental calculation – ‘ninety pounds.’
Bertie’s eyes shone. On emeralds he was something of an expert, and that these stones were genuine, he knew.
‘You wouldn’t like to sell it for ninety pounds?’ he asked carelessly.
Art Lomer shook his head.
‘No, sir. I’ve gotta make some profit even from my friends! I’ll let you have it for a hundred.’
Bertie’s hand sought his inside pocket.
‘No, I don’t want paying now. What do you know about emeralds anyway? They might be a clever fake. Take it up to town, show it to an expert–’
‘I’ll give you the cheque now.’
‘Any time will do.’
Art wrapped up the stone carefully, put it in a small box and handed it to his companion.
‘That’s the only one I’m going to sell,’ he explained as he led the way back to the dining-room.
Bertie went immediately to the small secretaire, wrote the cheque, tore it out and handed it to Mr Lomer. Art looked at the paper and frowned.
‘Why, what do I do with this?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got no bank account here. All my money’s in the Associated Express Company.’
‘I’ll make it “pay bearer”,’ said Bertie obligingly.
Still Mr Lomer was dubious.
‘Just write a note telling the President, or whoever he is, to cash that little bit of paper. I hate banks anyway.’
The obliging Bertie Claude scribbled the necessary note. When this was done, Bertie came to business, for he was a business man.
‘Can I come in on this jewel deal?’
Art Lomer shook his head reluctantly.
‘Sorry, Mr Staffen, but that’s almost impossible. I’ll be quite frank with you, because I believe in straightforward dealing. When you ask to come in on that transaction, you’re just asking me for money!’
Bertie made a faint noise of protest.
‘Well, that’s a mean way of putting it, but it comes to the same thing. I’ve taken all the risk, I’ve organized the operation – and it’s cost money – I just hate to refuse you, because I like you, Mr Staffen. Maybe if there’s any little piece to which you might take a fancy, I’ll let you have it at a reasonable price.’
Bertie thought for a moment, his busy mind at work.
‘What has the deal cost you up to now?’ he asked.
Again Mr Lomer shook his head.
‘It doesn’t matter what it’s cost me – if you offered me four times the amount of money I’ve spent – and that would be a considerable sum – I couldn’t let you in on this deal. I might go so far as giving you a small interest, but I wouldn’t take money for that.’
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ said Bertie, who never lost hope.
The rain had ceased, and the setting sun flooded the river with pale gold, and Bertie was walking in the garden with his host, when from somewhere above them came the faint hum of a small plane. Presently he saw the machine circling and disappearing behind the black crown of Quarry Wood. He heard an exclamation from the man at his side and, turning, saw Art’s face puckered in a grimace of annoyance and doubt.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘I’m wondering,’ said Art slowly. ‘They told me next week…why, no, I’m
After tea he showed Bertie up to his bedroom and, opening a drawer of his bureau, took out a small steel box, fastened with two locks. These he unfastened and lifted out a shallow metal tray covered with a layer of cotton wool.
‘You can have any of these that take your eye,’ he said. ‘Make me an offer and I’ll tell you what they’re worth.’
He rolled back the cotton wool and revealed six magnificent stones.
‘That one?’ said Mr Lomer, taking the largest between his finger and thumb. ‘Why, that’s worth six thousand dollars – about two thousand pounds. And if you offered me that sum for it, I’d think you were a fool, because the only safe way of getting emeralds is to buy ’em fifty per cent under value. I reckon that cost me about’ – he made a mental calculation – ‘ninety pounds.’
Bertie’s eyes shone. On emeralds he was something of an expert, and that these stones were genuine, he knew.
‘You wouldn’t like to sell it for ninety pounds?’ he asked carelessly.
Art Lomer shook his head.
‘No, sir. I’ve gotta make some profit even from my friends! I’ll let you have it for a hundred.’
Bertie’s hand sought his inside pocket.
‘No, I don’t want paying now. What do you know about emeralds anyway? They might be a clever fake. Take it up to town, show it to an expert–’
‘I’ll give you the cheque now.’
‘Any time will do.’
Art wrapped up the stone carefully, put it in a small box and handed it to his companion.
‘That’s the only one I’m going to sell,’ he explained as he led the way back to the dining-room.
Bertie went immediately to the small secretaire, wrote the cheque, tore it out and handed it to Mr Lomer. Art looked at the paper and frowned.
‘Why, what do I do with this?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got no bank account here. All my money’s in the Associated Express Company.’
‘I’ll make it “pay bearer”,’ said Bertie obligingly.
Still Mr Lomer was dubious.
‘Just write a note telling the President, or whoever he is, to cash that little bit of paper. I hate banks anyway.’
The obliging Bertie Claude scribbled the necessary note. When this was done, Bertie came to business, for he was a business man.
‘Can I come in on this jewel deal?’
Art Lomer shook his head reluctantly.
‘Sorry, Mr Staffen, but that’s almost impossible. I’ll be quite frank with you, because I believe in straightforward dealing. When you ask to come in on that transaction, you’re just asking me for money!’
Bertie made a faint noise of protest.
‘Well, that’s a mean way of putting it, but it comes to the same thing. I’ve taken all the risk, I’ve organized the operation – and it’s cost money – I just hate to refuse you, because I like you, Mr Staffen. Maybe if there’s any little piece to which you might take a fancy, I’ll let you have it at a reasonable price.’
Bertie thought for a moment, his busy mind at work.
‘What has the deal cost you up to now?’ he asked.
Again Mr Lomer shook his head.
‘It doesn’t matter what it’s cost me – if you offered me four times the amount of money I’ve spent – and that would be a considerable sum – I couldn’t let you in on this deal. I might go so far as giving you a small interest, but I wouldn’t take money for that.’
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ said Bertie, who never lost hope.
The rain had ceased, and the setting sun flooded the river with pale gold, and Bertie was walking in the garden with his host, when from somewhere above them came the faint hum of a small plane. Presently he saw the machine circling and disappearing behind the black crown of Quarry Wood. He heard an exclamation from the man at his side and, turning, saw Art’s face puckered in a grimace of annoyance and doubt.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘I’m wondering,’ said Art slowly. ‘They told me next week…why, no, I’m
Similar Books
