19000 Pound Part 35
"This cupboard would have held him, though."
"Yes," replied the boy, with a grin. "It is big enough; but we don't stick patients into cupboards, you know."
Gerald laughed heartily at the joke.
"Well," he said, "my heart's quiet enough, now, thanks. I am much obliged to you for letting me rest. I'll come in and see the dentist to-morrow."
"If he's well enough to come to business, he'll be pleased to see you."
"Ill, is he?"
"Yes, sir. Has been for some weeks, ever since his brother went away."
"That's curious."
"Yes, sir. Shall I make an appointment for you to-morrow, sir?"
"Yes; you can say I'll be here at eleven o'clock sharp."
"Right you are, sir; he'll keep the appointment right enough if he can.
He won't fail."
"Nor shall I."
"Good-evening, sir."
"Good-evening."
Down the steps went Gerald, down into the Circus.
He felt more pleased with himself than he had felt for a long while. He was on the right scent now, he was sure.
To-morrow at eleven he must a.s.sume once more the guise of the New York detective. The appointment was eleven o'clock. Gerald would not fail to keep it.
CHAPTER XXIV
AN AMATEUR CARPENTER
Loide left Liverpool Street with trembling limbs, and a heart full of bitterness.
That nineteen thousand pounds he had so counted on getting at least a part of, was safe in the possession of the New York detective, who had been one too many for him--that was his dominant, irritating thought.
It worried him.
Gerald had played a bluff game, and with success. Loide quite believed all he had said about his three days' freedom from arrest.
Either Gerald was an artistic liar, or the lawyer's impressions of the ways and doings of the American police were quaintly original.
He had made up his mind to flee within three days, but the details of his flight were not worrying him just then; he was more easily engaged in taking a tight hold of the fact that he was a ruined man--practically a penniless fugitive from justice--unless----
That "unless."
He had killed one man with the idea of possessing that nineteen thousand pounds, and although the murder did not lie heavily on his conscience, the ill success attending his effort did--very heavily.
As he walked through his office to the Mansion House station of the electric railway, he was debating in his mind whether he should have another shot for the nineteen thousand pounds the New York detective had in his possession.
En route to Waterloo he made up his mind that he would. His mind did not need much making up--the fancied rustle of those crisp Bank of England notes helped a deal.
He lived at a place called The Elms, on the outskirts of Wimbledon. His house stood in its own grounds, some distance away from the road, and from other houses.
It was a property he had acquired by foreclosing a mortgage. It would be a quiet spot in which to carry out the scheme he was mentally sitting on.
He hoped to hatch out a nineteen thousand pound egg.
His big difficulty would lie in luring the detective to Wimbledon. And again, as an old man, he would be at a disadvantage in any struggle.
To kill the officer would be an easy task, but that was not his intention. Not that he hesitated at the mere taking of a life--that was a detail--but he wanted to profit by his work.
He was tired of profitless murder. One incident of that sort he felt was sufficient to last a long time.
He guessed that the officer would not walk about all day with nineteen thousand pounds in his possession, that he had stored the notes away safely.
That he had them he was convinced, and his conviction was confirmed by the request for the letter to the Bank of England withdrawing the stoppage.
That letter had helped to form Loide's idea.
He would imprison the detective, keep him without food or drink till he wrote a note to the custodian of the notes requesting the handing over of them to the bearer of the letter. Loide antic.i.p.ated playing the part of the bearer.
He reached Wimbledon station, alighted, and walked along the road.
As he did so, he reflected that within three days he would have shaken the dust of that suburb from his feet for good and all.
At a furniture dealer's he paused. Entering the shop, he said:
"You know me?"
"Yes, sir; Mr. Loide, the lawyer."
"That's right. I am leaving the neighborhood--giving up possession of my house."
"Sorry to hear that, sir."
"I am going to live at Brighton. I have hesitated about the expense of moving my furniture, and now I am confirmed in my belief that it would be best to sell it. It is getting old, and would not fit my new house--larger rooms, you know."