The adventures of Heine
“See here, Heine,” said Jim, speaking with great earnestness, “I want
some kinder job. There ain’t any suckers left in the world--I guess
they’re all gone to war. There’s nothing crossing the Atlantic now but
Dago acrobats on their way to join up with the Alpinis, and they’re
wrapped up so in life-savin’ suits that they couldn’t get at their wad
even if they wanted to give it to you. Them and feeble-minded old men
and women are all the passengers there are--and women as you know are
meaner than hell when it comes to a show-down of real money. I’ve been
across three times dodging submarines and mines and all I could raise
was a game of auction bridge at ten cents a hundred. Now you know the
ropes here. Put me wise to a few.”
I thought rapidly. He might be a useful man. Then again he might be a
source of grave danger. A man of that character would not come to
England without the British police force being informed and probably
he was shadowed. In the circumstances I rejected any offer of personal
help, but I gave him the address of two or three gambling clubs and
promised to call on the ’phone a good friend of mine who was the
proprietor of the largest. He cheered up when I told him this.
“If there is money to be made,” he said, “I am after it. Some of these
young officers have got plenty of money, you say.”
“Some of them are worth millions,” I said solemnly.
He shook hands heartily and I was glad to see the back of him. I
watched through the window his departure. There was a man standing on
the other side of the road, apparently watching the traffic, but as
soon as Jim made his appearance and turned westward the idler turned
too. Of course he was watched. The imbecility of sending such a man to
me with all the interests I represented!
I was in despair, but pulling myself together I put on my hat and
going out into the street hailed a cab and was driven off to my club,
where I told an amusing story to a few of the members who were loafing
in the smoke-room about this confidence man who had come to me with a
letter of introduction. I felt sure that somebody would repeat the
story, and in this I was not mistaken.
I heard no more of Big Jim, though I saw him one night at dinner at
the Ritz-Carlton, and from his prosperous appearance I gathered that
he was not in any immediate want. My friend, to whom I had given him
an introduction, told me that Jim had cleaned up a lot of money one
night at the gaming club, that he was friendly with a number of
officers, and that he had become _persona grata_ at a certain Bohemian
club, the members of which are mostly of the theatrical profession. I
remembered, when this was told me, that Big Jim, before he began his
nefarious career, had been an actor, if you can dignify with such a
name one who travelled one-night stands with a third-rate burlesque
company, and he was alternately comedian and baggage man.
What I expected, and what did not occur, was a visit from the police
in regard to Big Jim. For this I was prepared, but apparently the
story I told at the club must have been repeated in the proper
quarters, as I intended it should be, and nobody questioned me as to
my acquaintance with this undesirable American.
Whatever place Big Jim may have occupied in my mind was dispelled by a
piece of news which came to me one morning whilst I was in my bath--it
was Friday, that being the day I invariably bathe--which was of so
remarkable a character, and its possibilities so far-reaching, that
nothing else occupied my thoughts.
My servant knocked at the door and told me that there was an urgent
message awaiting me from “Mr. Thompson.” Now “Mr. Thompson” was the
telephone name for Mr. Ritten, and dressing myself hastily in my
bath-wrap I hurried to the room I used as a study, knowing that Ritten
would not call me at that unearthly hour unless something important
was afoot or unless he had secured some information of an unusual
character.
“It is I, Thompson,” said the voice, “can I see you? It is most
important.”
“My dear Thompson,” I said testily, “you know very well that it is
impossible that we should meet.”
“But I must see you,” he said, “it is a matter of the first
importance. I cannot communicate over the telephone.”
“Come then at once,” I said, “bringing some documents which would
excuse your presence.”
In ten minutes the bell of my flat rang, and Mr. Ritten was ushered
in. He was a suave, gentlemanly man, who was, I believe, well born in
his own country. With a preliminary apology for troubling me, which I
coldly dismissed, he laid before me the object of his visit.
“I have had a request for a loan of £20,000 for seven days,” he said.
“Twenty thousand pounds!” I was surprised at the largeness of the sum.
“That is an enormous amount. Who asks for it?”
“General Sir Stanley Magward!”
I whistled.
“Sir Stanley Magward!”
This was indeed a remarkable request. This general, as everybody
knows, commands one of the English armies. He is a famous strategist,
and marked for further promotion.
“Here is the letter. It arrived this morning,” said Ritten, and passed
me across a sheet of note-paper, which bore at the top the
inscription:
“Headquarters of the 9th Army.”
The letter was brief and peremptory:
“Dear Sirs,
“I am in need of £20,000 to pay off a mortgage which falls due on my
Somerset property this week. My brother-in-law, Mr. Hiram S. Carter,
the well-known railroad magnate of America, is on the ocean
homeward-bound, and I cannot, therefore, get in touch with him. Upon
his arrival the debt will be liquidated. I agree to pay a sum
equivalent to 10 per cent. per annum for the accommodation. I apply to
you because I have no desire to let my banker into the secret of my
embarrassment. I shall be in London the day after to-morrow, on short
leave. A note delivered to the Senior Army Club will find me.”
“Well?” said Ritten, when I pushed the letter back to him.
“By all means let him have the money,” I said.
“You authorize it?”
“Certainly,” I replied.
“I have made inquiries,” said Ritten, “his brother-in-law is on the
homeward trip, but the date of his arrival is rather uncertain. The
mortgaged property is Penton Close, and the mortgagees are the London
and Manchester Bank.”
I nodded.
“That explains why he does not wish to bother his bankers,” I said.
“Send a note to the Senior Army Club and have the money ready for the
General--this may mean a lot to us. It is the kind of connection that
would be very useful.”
Well might I feel elated. That an army commander should place himself
in the hands of money-lenders, and such money-lenders, was distinctly
a feather in my cap. It would not be well for my Lord Magward that the
mighty War Office should know one of their trusted generals was
borrowing money. On the other hand, it might be well for the Jermyn
Credit Bank, if any question rose as to its _bonâ-fides_, that it had
amongst its clients so august a personage. Whichever way I looked it
was all to the good.
The letter was despatched, and on the Monday Mr. Ritten called me up
on the ’phone to say that the general was in his private office, and
had signed the necessary documents and was waiting whilst the cheque
was being cashed.
“Come round and meet him,” suggested Ritten.
“Am I a fool?” I replied sarcastically.
“He is very interesting,” said Ritten. “I have much to tell you when I
have the time. He has invited me to go to France to his headquarters,
and to bring any friends I wish.”
I could have hugged myself with delight.
“Accept the invitation,” I said quickly, “also discover where the
headquarters of the 9th Army are. Find out why he is on leave for such
a short time, and whether his army had many casualties in the last
offensive.”
Ritten acknowledged my instructions and hung up the receiver, and I
sat down at my desk to formulate a plan for the forthcoming visit
which I intended to pay to an important headquarters of the British
army in the field.
I suppose I must have been working away for two hours when I heard a
commotion in the outer office, the door was flung violently open and a
tall, broad officer dashed in, slamming the door behind him. He was
breathless and could not speak. He was perhaps no more breathless than
I, for he wore the cross-batons and stars of a superior general, and
across his broad chest were three rows of medals, ribbons and
decorations.
He tore off his gold-laced hat and wiped his brow.
“Pardon me, general,” I began.
“Shut up, Heine,” he gasped. “Forget that general stuff, and help me
out of this.”
It was my turn to gasp.
“Jim,” I said, “what is the meaning of it?”
He sank down into a chair.
“I have got away with £20,000 from a bank,” he said rapidly. “Gee, it
was easy money, Heine. A bit of note-paper that I borrowed from a kid
on leave from one of these army headquarters, a suit of clothes, and
it was like taking money from a child. But they’re after me; one of
those damned English officers spotted me and asked me in the street
who I was. I just had time to jump into a cab and bolt.”
The dreadful truth was slowly dawning upon me.
“Twenty thousand pounds,” I said, “you have got £20,000 from a
bank--from the Jermyn Credit Bank, Jim?”
“Sure thing,” he said, “do you know them?”
I passed my trembling hand across my brow.
“Leave the money here in my desk, Jim,” I said. “I will take care of
it, then, when the coast is clear, you can come back for it.”
“Give nothing,” he said brutally.
He walked across the room and took a cautious glance from the window.
“I am going,” he said, “they didn’t pick me up.”
“Don’t go with that money,” I cried in alarm, “it will be bad if they
catch you with the goods. Be a good boy and leave it here,” but before
I could finish he had thrown open the door.
“Hell!” said Jim, as Major Haynes walked in.
“Friend of yours, Heine?” said Major Haynes; “dear me, what excellent
company you are keeping. I hardly know who to expect next. I shan’t be
surprised to find the Minister of War here one of these fine days. How
do you do, general?”
“Quit kidding!” growled Jim.
“What horrible language for the commander of the 9th Army,” said Major
Haynes, and then--“I suppose you know it is an offence to wear a
uniform to which you are not entitled?”
It was now my turn to speak.
“This man,” I broke in, “is a thief. He has robbed a certain bank of a
large sum of money.”
“As to that I know nothing,” said Major Haynes, “all that I am
concerned with is the fact that your friend is wearing a uniform to
which he is not entitled.”
“He is a robber,” I cried excitedly, “he has obtained by trickery and
fraud a great amount of money.”
“From the Jermyn Credit Bank?” asked Major Haynes in a tone of
interest, “the officers’ friend, the help-one-another association? How
perfectly shocking!”
He beckoned with his finger and Jim and he left the room. I saw them
drive away in a cab together, and sat in an agony of apprehension, not
only that day but for the rest of the week.
Then, one afternoon, Major Haynes strolled into my office.
“Your friend, the general, has sailed,” he said, “and you will be
pleased to learn that I took from him everything to which he was not
entitled.”
“The money?” I said eagerly.
“The uniform,” said Major Haynes; “I think he was entitled to the
money, don’t you? As a matter of fact,” he went on, “I will ease your
mind about the money. That also was taken from him, and is now with
the rest of the bank’s credits--in the hands of a British official.”
I turned sick and faint.
“You are thinking of your friend von Ritten,” smiled Haynes. “He also
is in the hands of a British official!”
CHAPTER IX.
MR. COLLINGREY, M.P.--PACIFIST!