Barbara On Her Own

Taranaki Daily News, 17 July 1929, Page 12

Barbara On Her Own

By

EDGAR WALLACE

CHAPTER XXL

The third day of the great sale dawned hopefully, for the result of the first two day’s trading had been stupendous. And yet Barbara found herself wondering, with a little quaking at heart, what would be Mr. Maber’s verdict when he discovered the depths to which his house had fallen. After the first days of mad excitement, the inevitable reaction had come, and Barbara had ' lost a little of hei independence and wanted somebody to lean on. In these circumstances it was with a sense of thankfulness that she saw the tall figure of Alan Stewart waiting patiently for her at the corner of the street when she came out in the morning. “I’ve got good news for you,” he .said, as he fell in by her side. “Oh, resurrector of dead businesses I! What did Atterman offer for Maher’s?” This was not a moment for reticence, and she told him. He whistled. “The old .skinflint! Well, Tennyson and Burns came to see me last night—• Tennyson himself. He knew that I was a little on the inside of things, and he wanted to know whether Maber would take three hundred thousand pounds—half cash and half shares.”

“The answer is in the negative/’ said Barbara promptly. “I’d think it over,” he urged her.“You told me that Maber had left you the power to conclude the sale, and if he was willing to take a hundred and twenty thousand —” “He w r as willing to take a hundred thousand,” she interrupted. “Well, it would be two hundred per cent, more satisfaction for him to take the bigger sum,” said Alan. “I had wild ideas of raising the money myself, putting you in as managing director, giving you a big interest, and marrying you—” “To save the commission? , No thank you,” said Barbara with a lift of her chin. “That kind of partnership doesn’t appeal to me as much as you would think. Why don’t you marry Maudie?” “Maudie?” He frowned. “Oh, you mean youi- soloist?” “My late soloist,” said Barbara grimly/ “Never trust -women in business, Alan — Mr. Stewart.”

“Alan’s better,” he said gently. “The word that pulls; what is the matter with the horn-blowing female?”

“Maudie’s deserted and gone over to the enemy. Mr. Lark saw her sneaking in at the side door of Atterman’s just before we closed, and when I got home I found this extraordinary note from her.” Barbara opened her bag, took out the letter, and handed it to her companion. , “Unravel it for me,” she said. Alan read.

“Dear Miss Storr, —There are things that I have to be awfully careful about, being a professional. You cannot touch pitch without being defiled. And papa’s position has to be considered, being near his pension and not a black mark against him. As you’ve been so kind to me, and for the sake of old times, I shall not, of course, breathe a word of the past.—Yours sincerely, Maud Alice Deane.” “What on earth does she mean?” he asked in astonishment. “I’d like to know,” said Barbara, replacing the letter in her bag. “Anyway, she’s gone back to her ridiculous red coat and plumed hat. Atterman is crazy about her still; that is the impression she left with me. He never struck me as a sentimentalist, and who her pa may be, heaven knows.” Once or twice, as they were walking, Alan had looked back over his shoulder. “I wonder who the dickens he is?” he said.

Behind was a stout, placid man, twirling an umbrella as he walked, a beam of satisfaction on his healthy face, his Derby hat at an angle on his head. She half-turned and surveyed the imperturbable stranger. “Do you know him ?”

She shook her head. “I saw him near the house. I had an idea he was waiting for somebody. He’s not following us, is he?”

“Very likely/,’ said Barbara, enjoying the experience. “Probably your wife has employed him.” “Nobody knows better than you that I’m not married,” said Alan Stewart hotly; “except,” he added, “to my art.” “I never laugh before ten o’clock,” said Barbara. She had expected a diminution of interest in Maber’s extraordinary sale. The 6est of the bargains had been disposed of on the second day, and the Paris models —such as had not been torn to pieces by infuriated bargainers — were all but exhausted.

But Mr. Lark, giving another display of his unsuspected gifts for organisation, had cleared a line of silks from Paris, chartered three aeroplanes to bring them across, and had worked the greater part of the night unpacking and pricing. Barbara had advertised these new bargains in some trepidation, for when the advertisement copy had been written the silks were still in Paris. Late the previous night Mr. Lark had sent a reassuring message, however, and she arrived at the store to discover the old crowd and the old queues. In the course of the night the display window had been cleared of its jungle trimmings, and was now piled high, inaitistically if effectively, with samples of the new purchase. Barbara had ceased to worry about the missing bag. Wie did not doubt that it was in the hands of Mr. Julius Colesberg and his confederate, and she wondered what conclusions they would draw from their discovery. The only fear she had was that the truth about -Mr.

Maber’s disappearance should be revealed by accident. There must have been people in the court when he was tried and sentenced; one of these might have recognised him, told the story to his near acquaintances, and let loose the trickle which might well become a flood. But nothing of the sort had occurred. The only person who was in any way dangerous had fled the country —she did not regret the hundreds she had paid; that was money well spent, Before the month was up many things would havediappened. She was inclined to consider the new ofler for the business, knowing how much Mr. Maber destested his occupation. But against this inclination was a desire to present him with a revivified Maber and Mabers, and leave it to his discretion as to what he should do with his new property. She recognised that she had not so much increased the value of the firm as opened the eyes of those who looked upon it as a decaying concern to its real value. It had always been worth what‘was now offered, probably a little more.

She was immersed in the day sheets, checking outgoings, totalling profits, examining what Mr. Minkey loved to call “overhead,” when Police-Constable Albuhera came into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Hammett wants to see you,” he said in a low voice.

She jerked herse.lf erect. The shock left her speechless. “Hammett?” she said incredulously. “You mean the solicitor?” “The snide solicitor,” he corrected, “Are you sure it’s he?” CHAPTER XXII. She had pictured Mr. Hammett steaming steadily westward, singing songs of joy and triumph. “Show him in,” she said. It was a different Mr. Hammett who camo in from the shabby little man she had known. His coat was new and wellfitting; his trousers as new and creased; his silk hat was shiny, his linen spotless; and in one eye was a gold-rimmed monocle, which he had some difficulty in maintaining. “Good morning, Miss Storr,” he said briskly, laid a big portfolio on the table, pulled up a chair, placed his hat on a convenient ledge, and opened the portfolio, all with the air and manner of one who had. very little time to spare, but intended to occupy that space as usefully as possible.

She fixed him with a stern look. “I’m rather surprised you’ve come, Mr. Hammett/’ she said. <■ He smiled sadly and shook his head.

“I can well understand your surprise, Miss Storr,” he said. “I intended calling at Scotland Yard on my way, but I thought I had better see you first. This is yours, I think?” He took from the new portfolio a green and grey strip and laid it on her blotting pad. She saw at a glance that it was the cheque which she had given to Mrs. Hammett and which she had stopped. “Yes, that is mine,” she said wonderingly. “It is the cheque I gave to your wife —”

He shook his head sadly. I “I have never been married,” he said | with quiet earnestness. “You have, I I regret to say, been the victim of an unscrupulous adventuress — I will not say swindler, because happily I have an unrivalled system of intelligence which enabled me to nip this nefarious plot in the bud.” Barbara was staggered. “She’s not your wife?” “I have never had a wife,” said Mr. Hammett. “I have loved, but I have never had a wife.” He sighed heavily and lowered his eyes- ‘The woman I should have married unfortunately—” he shrugged his shoulders, shook his head and coughed, thereby intimating that the love of his life was either dead or married to somebody else. “The woman was in court when Mr. Maber was sentenced” (this agreed with Barbara’s own fears), “and being a notorious blackmailer, and seeing me talking to. you, she hatched the plot.” Barbara took and examined the slip. She saw that a red pen mark had been run through the signature. “I did that,” said Mr. Hammett. “The moment I discovered the plot and wrested the cheque from this wretched woman I took the very natural precaution of erasing the signature so that in no circumstances could the cheque be cashed?” “Did you erase the two hundred pounds in cash I gave her?” asked Barbara quietly. Mr. Hammett’s eyebrows "went up; on his face was a look of horror.

“You gave her two hundred pounds in cash!” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “Miss Storr, how could you be so indiscreet? And I thought that I had saved you from being swindled! Nothing now remains but go immediately to Scotland Yard,” he said, half-rising, and thinking better of his intention when he saw that she made no attempt to check his departure: “Fortunately I know where I can lay my hands on her, and before” —he looked at his watch “twelve o’clock she hall be in custody.’ He took out a long and narrow book and turned the pages rapidly.. She saw they were covered with writing, and from the stamps which appeared at intervals she guessed that they were receipts. “Meantime, in justice -to one,” said Mr. Hammett; “who occupies, a position in a very honourable, profession, a very generous profession, and a profession very jealous of the honour of its mem-

bers, I will ask you to place on record the fact that I have restored the cheque. By two o’clock this afternoon, at the latest, I shall restore as much of her ill-gotten gains as this unscrupulous female has not squandered in riotous living.” Ho twisted the book round. Barbara saw an entry and read it mechanically: “Received from Mr. Cornelius Hammett, M.A., LL.D., solicitor, one cheque given by misrepresentation to Jane Smith, alias Margaret Hammett, cheque numbered DH. 187475.”

“I’ll do this, certainly,” said Barbara, taking up her pen. “On behalf of Maber and Maber—your usual signature,” murmured Mr. Hammett.

She signed, “William Ebenezer Maber, by his attorney, Barbara Storr,” in the red-ruled oblong which appeared about all the receipt signatures. “Now, as to the two hundred pounds,” continued Mr. Hammett, “I don’t think wo need have a prosecution. In fact, I think a prosecution is very undesirable in all the ciicumstanees.” Barbara agreed heartily. “All we want to do is to get the money back, and I will secure that, though I am not so sure that I shall recover ever penny. I shall, of course, charge no fee.” “Do you really and seriously mean that you aren’t in this swindle?” asked Barbara bluntly. A look of pain spread over Mr. Hammett’s face. “I regret that such a thought should have been entertained by you for one moment,” he said gravely. The man was hurt; he waggled his head as though to shako down the emotion which rose unbidden, squeezed her hand affectionately, and took his departure, nodding pleasantly to the scowling Constable Albuhera. The girl examined the cheque, tore it into small pieces, and dropped it in the waste-paper basket. That was the end' of an unpleasant adventure. She had wronged the little man and heartily relieved to learn that no prosecution was impending, she was in a mood to revise her uncharitable views of him.

Mr. Hammett" beckoned the first taxi he found and drove straight away to the little office which he alone occupied. He had dispensed -with his clerk many years before, and had not even the service of a typist. Locking the door of hjs room, he took out the receipt book and wetted the edges of the paper on which the girl had signed. To top layer of paper was .easily removed; it was thin, opaque, and added little to the thickness of the page. Beneath was an ink carbon, and beneath that, covered by the wording of the receipt, a blank cheque on the Southern Bank, Marlborough Avenue branch. The ink carbon was of the finest possible texture; the signature might have been written on the cheque by Barbara’s pen, instead of being, as it was, a carbon copy. He took a big reading glass, carried the cheque to the light, and examined “William Ebenezcr Maber, by bis attorney, Barbara Storr,” but could find no fault with it. Carefully covering the signature with a sheet of blotting paper, he filled in the cheque to himself,*%dded in brackets “legal expenses,” and, this done, replaced the cheque in his portfolio and went out to meet his wife and to give her instructions. (To bo continued.)