The Monk of Hambleton Part 16

Jason started at the tone of the remark, glanced at Varr's set face and shot at him an impulsive question.

"Simon! You haven't gone and quarreled with him _too_, have you?"

"Never mind that."

"By thunder, you _have_!" Jason Bolt regarded his partner open-mouthed. Then he added, half to himself: "'Whom the G.o.ds would destroy they first make mad!'"

"What's that?" snapped Simon. The quotation had jarred on him, something in its phraseology savoring unpleasantly of the anonymous message he had received. "I'm a long way from being mad!"

"You can't prove it by me," said Jason rudely. He came to his feet.

"I'll be getting back home; only blew in to talk with you about Billy."

He hesitated before continuing. "By the way, Simon, are you going to be at the office this morning?"

"Very likely--yes, I shall. Why?"

"This chap who's staying with me--Herman Krech--very nice fellow--he's the broker I was speaking of to you the other day. I thought I might bring him in and introduce him to you."

"Listen to me, Jason!" Varr's face was slowly flushing with anger.

"We are _not_ going to incorporate!"

"Oh--bless me, I'd practically abandoned that notion myself," said Mr.

Bolt, airily mendacious. "Nothing was farther from my thoughts; I just thought I'd show him around and introduce him to you--let him see all the sights, huh? You may as well meet him; we're bound to be dining together either here or at my house as soon as our wives get their heads--"

"Bring him in by all means," interrupted Varr. The idea in the back of his head had suddenly burgeoned while his partner rambled on. "If either of you mentions the word incorporate I'll have you thrown out, but there is another matter in which he may be of service to me."

"Krech? Why, you don't even know him!"

"Well, you're going to fix that difficulty, aren't you?" Varr turned to his desk in his usual gesture of dismissal. "I'll be there at eleven."

True to his word, at a few minutes past ten Simon left home for the tannery. He would have a busy day, there, what with insurance data and other matters relative to the fire. The prospect fretted him--and it steeled his resolution to leave no stone unturned to bring the author of his troubles to book. Blast him! He'd learn that it was safer to monkey with a buzz-saw than with Simon Varr!

He stopped at the door of the office-building for a word with Nelson, who was already yawning at his post. Without any suggestion other than the promptings of good-nature, he had turned out long before daybreak to relieve the tired Fay.

"Mr. Bolt and another gentleman are in back, sir," he reported. "Just looking around. A young man was in about the insurance--said he'd be back later. Steiner was here, very curious about the fire, but I told him he'd have to see you."

"Right. You can tell Mr. Bolt that I'm upstairs. Did you or Fay look around any more in the neighborhood of those footprints?"

"Footprints? He said nothing to me--"

"True; I told him to keep his head shut. I will talk to you about that later, Nelson. There hasn't been any trouble from the strikers?"

"I haven't seen a soul, sir, but I've heard they are having a sort of a meeting this morning. There's been talk of appointing a committee to call on you and discuss things."

"There's nothing to discuss. However, I'm perfectly willing to meet a committee from them and tell them again that they'll gain nothing by their strike but trouble for themselves. You have to tell a fool the same thing over and over again before he'll believe it. Send 'em up when they come--but not more than three of 'em, I don't want a whole mob mucking up my office."

"Yes, sir. There's been a young woman askin' for you, too, sir. A girl named Drusilla Jones."

"Never heard of her." Simon, on the point of turning away, paused and looked curious. "What does she want?"

"She's been goin' around pretty steady with Charlie Maxon, sir. I guess she'll want to see you about lettin' him out."

"Humph. He's where he belongs, and I wouldn't do anything to get him out even if I could. Tell her that, and say I won't see her. Make it clear, Nelson, I've no time to waste on Maxon's women."

"Yes, sir."

The watchman had nothing further to offer, and Varr went up to his office and busied himself with the morning mail. There were more indignant demands from aggrieved customers, and the fact that Simon had expected them did not lessen their power to annoy. His face grew steadily redder and redder as he worked through the pile of correspondence.

A clock in the outer office struck eleven, and as the last loud stroke thinned to silence there came the sound of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. Jason Bolt believed in punctuality.

He entered with a cheerful greeting that suggested he had recovered some of his equanimity since his earlier talk with his partner. On his heels came his friend, a genial-looking, red-faced, smooth-shaven gentleman whose personal dimensions and displacement were such that they seemed to dwarf the small office to the proportions of a room in a doll's house. He stood well over six feet, was broad, deep-chested and bulky, but moved with a light-footed agility that argues muscle rather than fat. Simon was not a small man himself, but he felt like a pigmy as his hand disappeared into one that opened like a suitcase.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Varr," said the newcomer pleasantly, in a voice that was deep but agreeably pitched. "Bolt has been showing me the whole works, here. You have a fine proposition."

"I think so," concurred Simon with mild gruffness. "Jason is dissatisfied with it, but it suits me very well."

"So I have gathered from talking with him," said Mr. Krech, genially.

"No doubt you are right--at any rate, I seldom try to advise other men in respect to their own business." He took a huge cigar-case from his pocket and opened it, then offered it to Varr and Jason Bolt. "No?

You don't mind if I do, though?" He carefully lighted a mammoth cigar and sat down on a chair toward which Simon had waved. "I see that some one else is dissatisfied with the tannery, too. You must have had a narrow escape from being burned out last night."

"Ah, yes! We have had some little trouble with a number of malcontent employees. I am gradually weeding out the more noxious of them--eh, Jason?" Mr. Bolt palpably winced. "In fact, Mr. Krech, there have been developments in connection with that fire, and certain other occurrences, that put it in my mind to ask something of you."

"Bolt told me that you wanted to see me about something," said the big man heartily as the tanner paused to choose his words. "If I can be of service to you I'll be delighted."

"Thanks. It's really a very simple matter. You see, I have decided to have this fire--and those other occurrences--investigated, competently investigated, and their perpetrator punished to the full extent of the law. Unfortunately, the local police are utterly incompetent to handle a case of this kind, and I don't think much more of the County officials. It finally struck me that a private detective agency might do the trick. But I don't know any such concern and I don't feel like employing one blindly, so I thought I'd take advantage of your coming from New York and ask you to hunt up a responsible agency for me."

"A private detective!" exclaimed Jason Bolt. "Why, Simon, what has happened to require any such critter as that? What are those other occurrences you speak of?"

"I'll tell you--I'll tell you in good time. First, I want to hear if Mr. Krech is disposed to a.s.sist me. He has facilities in New York for locating a reputable agency, no doubt."

"I don't have to go to New York for that," answered the big man promptly. "You've come to the right place for information, Mr. Varr.

I know a very capable chap." He turned to Jason, and added slowly: "We don't talk much about it, as you can imagine, but possibly you have heard that my wife's brother was murdered under rather curious circ.u.mstances; a cold-blooded crime if ever there was one."

"I've heard Mary speak of it," admitted Bolt.

"Well, the detective I have in mind is the man who cleared up that mystery." His gaze shifted back to Simon. "Of course, knowing him and getting him are two different things. He's usually up to his ears in one thing or another. If it's not too confidential, and you want to give me an idea of your problem, perhaps it would help me interest him.

At least, if it is out of his line, he will recommend some one else who'll be competent to handle it for you."

The tanner gagged a bit over the idea of any private detective rejecting his patronage, but after all he wanted a good man and not the first Tom, d.i.c.k or Harry to offer his services so he gulped down the tart comment that had sprung to his lips.

"There's nothing confidential about it--short of its getting into the papers and giving my show away. I've got to tell Jason about it, and if you care to listen I'll be glad of your opinion on the whole crazy business. It began with--"

He got no farther for the moment. There was a scuffling and shuffling of feet from the direction of the stairs, and Nelson appeared in advance of three rather ill-at-ease visitors. They were dressed in workmen's clothing and carried their caps respectfully in their hands.

"A committee from our strikers," explained Varr curtly to his partner.

He stood up. "Don't bother, Jason, stay here with Mr. Krech while I talk to them in the outer room. It'll take me about two minutes to get rid of 'em!" he added grimly.

He strode from the room and met the approaching delegation halfway across the main office. From where they sat, Jason Bolt and his friend could watch the ensuing proceedings and hear every word that was spoken.