A Bid for Fortune Guy Boothby (animal farm read .txt) 📖

present state he could say nothing, I went across to the table and mixed him a glass of grog. When I gave it to him he drank it eagerly. It seemed to sharpen his wits, for he answered instantly:

“It wasn’t my fault, sir. If I’d only ha’ known what their game was I’d have been killed afore I’d have let them do anything to hurt the young lady. But they was too cunnin’ for me, sir.”

“Be more explicit, sir!” said Wetherell sternly. “Don’t stand there whining, but tell your story straightforwardly and at once.”

The poor wretch pulled himself together and did his best.

“It was in this way, sir,” he began. “Last week I was introduced by a friend of mine to as nice a spoken man as ever I saw. He was from England, he said, and having a little money thought he’d like to try his ’and at a bit o’ racing in Australia, like. He was on the lookout for a smart man, he said, who’d be able to put him up to a wrinkle or two, and maybe train for him later on. He went on to say that he’d ’eard a lot about me, and thought I was just the man for his money. Well, we got more and more friendly till the other night, Monday, when he said as how he’d settled on a farm a bit out in the country, and was going to sign the agreement, as he called it, for to rent it next day. He was goin’ to start a stud farm and trainin’ establishment combined, and would I take the billet of manager at three ’undred a year? Anyway, as he said, ‘Don’t be in a ’urry to decide; take your time and think it over. Meet me at the Canary Bird ’Otel on Thursday night (that’s tonight, sir) and give me your decision.’ Well, sir, I drove Miss Wetherell to Government ’Ouse, sir, according to orders, and then, comin’ ’ome, went round by the Canary Bird to give ’im my answer, thinkin’ no ’arm could ever come of it. When I drove up he was standin’ at the door smoking his cigar, an’ bein’ an affable sort of fellow, invited me inside to take a drink. ‘I don’t like to leave the box,’ I said. ‘Oh, never mind your horse,’ says he. ‘ ’Ere’s a man as will stand by it for five minutes.’ He gave a respectable lookin’ chap, alongside the lamppost, a sixpence, and he ’eld the ’orse, so in I went. When we got inside I was for goin’ to the bar, but ’e says, ‘No. This is an important business matter, and we don’t want to be over’eard.’ With that he leads the way into a private room at the end of the passage and shuts the door. ‘What’s yours?’ says he. ‘A nobbler o’ rum,’ says I. Then he orders a nobbler of rum for me and a nobbler of whisky for ’imself. And when it was brought we sat talkin’ of the place he’d thought o’ takin’ an’ the ’orses he was goin’ to buy, an’ then ’e says, ‘ ’Ullo! Somebody listenin’ at the door. I ’eard a step. Jump up and look.’ I got up and ran to the door, but there was nobody there, so I sat down again and we went on talking. Then he says, takin’ up his glass: ‘ ’Ere’s to your ’ealth, Mr. Thompson, and success to the farm.’ We both drank it en’ went on talkin’ till I felt that sleepy I didn’t know what to do. Then I dropped off, an’ after that I don’t remember nothin’ of what ‘appened till I woke up in the Domain, without my hat and coat, and found a policeman shakin’ me by the shoulder.”

“The whole thing is as plain as daylight,” cried Wetherell bitterly. “It is a thoroughly organized conspiracy, having me for its victim. Oh, my girlie! My poor little girlie! What has my obstinacy brought you to!”

Seeing the old man in this state very nearly broke me down, but I mastered myself with an effort and addressed a question to the unfortunate coachman:

“Pull yourself together, Thompson, and try and tell me as correctly as you can what this friend of yours was like.”

I fully expected to hear him give an exact description of the man who had followed us from Melbourne, but I was mistaken.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Thompson, “as I could rightly tell you, my mind being still a bit dizzy-like. He was tall, but not by any manner of means big made; he had very small ’ands an’ feet, a sort o’ what they call death’s-’ead complexion; ’is ’air was black as soot, an’ so was ’is eyes, an’ they sparkled like two diamonds in ’is ’ead.”

“Do you remember noticing if he had a curious gold ring on his little finger, like a snake?”

“He had, sir, with two eyes made of some black stone. That’s just as true as you’re born.”

“Then it was Nikola,” I cried in an outburst of astonishment, “and he followed us to Australia after all!”

Wetherell gave a deep sigh that was more like a groan than anything else; then he became suddenly a new man.

“Mr. Inspector,” he cried to the police officer, “that man, or traces of him, must be found before daylight. I know him, and he is as slippery as an eel; if you lose a minute he’ll be through your fingers.”

“One moment first,” I cried. “Tell me this, Thompson: when you drove up to the Canary Bird Hotel where did you say this man was standing?”

“In the verandah, sir.”

“Had he his hat on?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then you went towards the bar, but it was crowded, so he took you to a private room?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And once there he began giving you the details of this farm he proposed starting. Did he work out any figures on paper?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On what?”

“On a letter or envelope; I’m not certain which.”

“Which of course he took from