Red aces Being three cases of Mr. Reeder
very long time.”
He sat down and listened patiently to a string of uninteresting facts.
Joe Attymar brought bricks up the river--had been bringing them for
many years--at a price slightly lower than his competitors. He carried
for four builders, and apparently did a steady, if not too prosperous,
trade. He was believed locally to be rolling in money, but that is a
reputation which Shadwick Lane applied to any man or woman who was not
forced at frequent intervals to make a call at the local pawnshop. He
kept himself to himself, was unmarried, and had no apparent interests
outside of his brick lighterage.
“Fascinating,” murmured Mr. Reeder. “It sounds almost like a novel,
doesn’t it?”
After he had gone.…
“I don’t see what there is fascinating about it,” said Mason, who did
not know Mr. Reeder very well.
“That’s his idea of being funny,” said Gaylor.
It was a week later, and the _Allanuna_ lay at anchor off
Queensborough, when a small boat, rowed by a local boatman, carrying a
solitary passenger, came slowly out, under the watchful and suspicious
eye of Ligsey. The boat rowed alongside the barge, and Ligsey had a
view of a man with a square hat and lopsided pince-nez, who sat in the
stern of the boat, an umbrella between his legs, apparently making a
meal of the big handle! And, seeing him, Ligsey, who knew a great deal
about the river and its scandals, started up from his seat with an
exclamation.
He was blinking stupidly at the occupant of the boat when Mr. Reeder
came up to him.
“Good morning,” said Mr. Reeder.
Ligsey said nothing.
“I suppose I should say ‘afternoon,’” continued the punctilious Mr.
Reeder. “Is the captain aboard?”
Ligsey cleared his throat.
“No, sir, he ain’t.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t object if _I_ came aboard?”
Mr. Reeder did not wait for the answer, but, with surprising agility,
drew himself up on to the narrow deck of the barge. He looked round
with mild interest. The hatches were off, and he had a good view of
the cargo.
“Bricks are very interesting things,” he said pleasantly. “Without
bricks we should have no houses; without straw we should have no
bricks. It seems therefore a very intelligent act to pack bricks in
straw, to remind them, as it were, of what they owe to this
humble--um--vegetable.”
Ligsey did not speak, but swallowed something.
“What I want to know,” Mr. Reeder went on, and his eyes were never
still, “is this. Would it be possible to hire this barge?”
“You’ll have to ask the captain about that,” said Ligsey huskily.
His none too clean face was a shade paler. The stories of Reeder that
had come down the river had gained in the telling. He was credited
with supernatural powers of divination; his knowledge and perspicuity
were unbounded. For the first time in years Ligsey found himself
confronted with the slowly-moving machinery of the law; it was a
little terrifying and his emotions were not at all what he had
anticipated. He used to tell Joe Attymar:
“… If they ever come to me I’ll give ’em a saucy answer.”
And here “they” had come to him, but no saucy answer hovered on his
lips. He felt totally inadequate.
“When are you expecting the captain?” asked Mr. Reeder, in his
blandest manner.
“To-night or to-morrow--I don’t know,” stammered Ligsey. “He’ll pick
us up, I suppose.”
“Gone ashore for dispatches?” asked Mr. Reeder pleasantly. “Or
possibly to wire to the owners? No, no, it couldn’t be that: he _is_
the owner. How interesting! He’ll be coming off in a few moments with
sealed orders under his arm. Will you tell me”--he pointed to the
hold--“why you leave that square aperture in the bricks? Is that one
of the secrets of packing, or shall I say stowage?”
Ligsey went whiter.
“We always leave it like that,” he said, and did not recognize the
sound of his own voice.
Mr. Reeder would have descended to the cabin, but the hatch was
padlocked. He did invite himself down to the little cubby-hole in the
bow of the boat where Ligsey and the boy slept; and, strangely enough,
Mr. Reeder carried in his pocket, although it was broad daylight, a
very powerful electric hand-lamp which revealed every corner of
Ligsey’s living place as it had never been revealed before.
“Rather squalid, isn’t it?” asked Mr. Reeder. “A terrible thing to
have to live in these circumstances and conditions. But of course one
can live in a much worse place.”
He made this little speech after his return to the fresh air of the
deck, and was fanning himself with the brim of his high-crowned hat.
“One can live for example,” he went on, surveying the picturesque
shore of Queensborough vacantly, “in a nice clean prison. I know
plenty of men who would rather live in prison than at--um--Buckingham
Palace--though, of course, I have no knowledge that they’ve ever been
invited to Buckingham Palace. But not respectable men, men with wives
and families.”
Ligsey’s face was a blank.
“With girls and mothers.”
Ligsey winced.
“They would prefer to remain outside. And, of course, they can remain
outside if they’re only sufficiently sensible to make a statement to
the police.”
He took from his pocket-book a card and handed it almost timorously to
Ligsey.
“I live there,” said Mr. Reeder, “and I’ll be glad to see you any time
you’re passing--are you interested in poultry?”
Ligsey was interested in nothing.
Mr. Reeder signalled to the boatman, who pulled the skiff alongside,
and he stepped down into the boat and was rowed back to the shore.
There was one who had seen him come and who watched him leave by
train. When night fell, Joe Attymar rowed out to the barge and found a
very perturbed lieutenant.
“Old Reeder’s been here,” blurted Ligsey, but Joe stopped him with a
gesture.
“Want to tell the world about it?” he snarled. “Come aft.”
The thickset young man followed his commander.
“I know Reeder’s been here: I’ve seen him. What did he want?”
Briefly Ligsey told him quite a number of unimportant details about
the visit. It was not remarkable that he did not make any reference to
the card or to Mr. Reeder’s invitation.
“That’s done it,” said Ligsey when he had finished. “Old Reeder’s got
a nose like a hawk. Asked me why we left that hole in the bricks. I’ve
never had to deal with a detective before----”
“You haven’t, eh?” sneered the other. “Who was that waterman who came
aboard off Gravesend the other night? And why did I drop
half-a-hundredweight of good stuff over board, eh? You fool! We’ve had
half-a-dozen of these fellows on board, all of ’em cleverer than
Reeder. Did he ask you to tell him anything?”
“No,” said Ligsey instantly.
Joe Attymar thought for a little time, and then:
“We’ll get up the anchor. I’m not waiting for the Dutch boat,” he
said.
Ligsey’s sigh of relief was audible at the other end of the barge.
CHAPTER III
This visit of Reeder was the culmination of a series of enquiries he
had conducted in the course of a few days. He turned in a short report
to Scotland Yard, and went home to Brockley Road, overtaking Johnny
Southers as he turned from Lewisham High Road. Johnny was not alone.
“Anna and I were discussing you,” he said, as they slackened their
steps to match the more leisurely pace of Mr. Reeder. “Is it possible
for us to see you for five minutes?”
It was possible. Mr. Reeder ushered them up to his big, old-fashioned
sitting-room, inwardly hoping that the consultation would have no
reference to the mysterious workings of the young and human heart.
They were going to get married.
“Anna’s father knows, and he’s been awfully decent about it,” said
Johnny, “and I’d like you to know too, Mr. Reeder.”
Mr. Reeder murmured something congratulatory. That matter of love and
loving was at any rate shelved.
“And Desboyne has been awfully decent--I told Anna all about that
rather unpleasant little scene you witnessed--he never told her a
word. He wrote apologizing to Anna, and wrote an apology to me. He has
offered me a very good position in Singapore if I care to take
it--he’s terribly rich, and it sounds very good.”
“It doesn’t sound good to me.”
Anna’s voice was decisive.
“I appreciate Clive’s generosity, but I don’t think he ought to give
up his Civil Service work except for something better in England. I
want you to persuade him, Mr. Reeder.”
Mr. Reeder looked from one to the other dismally. The idea of
persuading anybody to do anything in which he himself was not greatly
absorbed filled him with dismay. As a mentor to the young he
recognized his limitations. He liked Johnny Southers as he liked any
decent young fellow. He thought Anna Welford was extraordinarily
pretty; but even these two facts in conjunction could not arouse him
to enthusiasm.
“I don’t want much persuading,” said Johnny, to his relief. “I’ve got
something else up my sleeve--a pretty big thing. I’m not at liberty to
talk about it; in fact, I’ve been asked not to. If that comes off, the
Singapore job will be refused. It isn’t so very difficult now. The
point is this, Mr. Reeder: if you were offered a partnership in a
thriving concern, that could be made into something very big if one
put one’s heart and soul into it, would you accept?”
Mr. Reeder looked at the ceiling and sighed.
“Hypotheses always worry me, Mr. Southers. Perhaps, when the moment
comes, if you could tell me all about the business, I may be able to
advise you, although I confess I have never been regarded as a man
whose advice was worth two--um--hoots.”
“That’s what I wanted to see you about, Mr. Reeder.” Anna nodded
slowly. “I’m so terribly afraid of Johnny leaving the service for an
uncertainty, and I do want him to talk the matter over with you. I
don’t want to know his secrets”--there was the ghost of a smile in her
eyes--“I think I know most of them that count.”
Mr. Reeder looked round miserably. He felt himself caught and
entangled in a network of dull domesticity. He was, if the truth be
told, immensely bored, and, had he been more temperamental, he might
have screamed. He wished he had not overtaken these loitering lovers,
or that they would apply to one of those periodicals which maintain a
department devoted to advising the young and the sentimental in the
choice of their careers. It was with the greatest happiness that he
closed the door upon their small mystery and devoted himself to the
serious business of high tea.
Mr. Reeder had many anxieties to occupy his mind in the next few days,
and the fact that he had added Joe Attymar to the list of his enemies,
even if he were aware of the fact, was not one of these.
In the gaols of a dozen countries were men who actively disliked him.
Meister of Hamburg, who used to sell United States bills by the
hundredweight, Lefere, the clever wholesale engraver of lire notes,
Monsatta, who specialized in English fivers, Madame Pensa of Pisa, who
for many years was the chief distributor of forged money in Eastern
and Southern Europe, Al Selinski, the paper maker, Don Leishmer, who
printed French _milles_ by the thousand, they all knew Mr. Reeder, at
least by name, and none of them had a good word for him, except
Monsatta, who was large-minded and could detach himself from his
personal misfortunes.
Letters came to Mr. Reeder from many peculiar sources. It was a
curious fact that a very large number of Mr. Reeder’s correspondents
were women. A sensible number of the letters which came to him were of
a most embarrassing character.
His name had been mentioned in many cases that had been heard at the
Old Bailey. He himself had, from time to time, stood up in the witness
stand, a lugubrious and unhappy figure, and had given evidence in his
hesitant and deferential way against all manner of wrong-doers, but
mostly forgers.