The Profiteers Part 39

"Mr. Rees speaking, Harrison.--Yes, we are back. We'll be around at the office later on. You got Mr. Phipps' message?--We've made up our minds to sell wheat--sell it. What the devil does it matter to you why? We are selling it to save--"

Wingate's pistol had stolen from his pocket. Rees glared at it for a moment and then went on.

"To save an injunction from the Government. We have private information.

They have determined to find our dealings in wheat illegal.--Yes, Mr.

Phipps meant what he said--sixty shillings.--Use all our long-distance wires. How long will it take you?--A quarter of an hour?--Eh?"

Wingate held the instrument away for a moment.

"You will have your breakfast," he promised, "immediately the reply comes."

"A quarter of an hour?" Rees went on. "Nonsense! Try and do it in five minutes.--Yes, our whole stock. When you've got the message through, ring us up.--Where are we? Why, at Lord Dredlinton's house. Don't be longer than you can help. Put a different person on each line.--What's that?"

Rees turned his head.

"He wants to know again," he said, "how much to sell. Let me say half our stock. That will be sufficient to ruin us. It will bring the price of that d.a.m.ned loaf of yours--"

"The whole stock," Wingate interrupted, "every bushel."

"Sell the whole stock," Rees repeated wearily.

Wingate replaced the telephone upon a distant table. Then he mixed a little brandy and water in two gla.s.ses, broke off a piece of bread, set it before the two men and rang the bell. It was answered in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time.

"Grant," he directed, "bring in the breakfast trays in ten minutes."

The man disappeared as silently as he had come. Wingate cut the knots and released the hands of his two prisoners. Their fingers were numb and helpless, however. Rees picked up the bread with his teeth from the table. Phipps tried but failed. Wingate held the tumbler of brandy and water once more to his lips.

"Here, take this," he invited. "You'll find the circulation come back all right directly."

"Aren't you going to give him anything?" Phipps asked, moving his head towards Dredlinton.

"He is asleep," Wingate answered. "Better leave him alone until breakfast is ready."

The telephone bell tinkled. Wingate brought back the instrument and held out a receiver each to Phipps and his nephew.

"Harrison speaking. Your messages have all gone through on the trunk lines, sir. The sales have begun already, and the whole market is in a state of collapse. If you are coming down, I should advise you, sir, to come in by the back entrance. There'll be a riot here when the news gets about."

Wingate removed the telephone once more.

"And now," he suggested, "you would like a wash, perhaps? Or first we'd better wake Dredlinton."

He leaned over and touched the crouching form upon the shoulder. There was no response.

"Dredlinton," he said firmly, "wake up. Your vigil is over."

Again there was no response. Wingate leaned over and lifted him up bodily by both shoulders. Rees went off into a fit of idiotic laughter. Phipps stretched out his hands before his eyes. It was a terrible sight upon which they looked,--Dredlinton's face like a piece of marble, white to the lips, the eyes open and staring, the unmistakable finger of Death written across it.

"He's gone!" Rees choked. "He's gone!"

Phipps suddenly found vigour once more in his arm. He struck the table.

There was a note of triumph in his brazen tone.

"My G.o.d, Wingate," he cried, "you've killed him! You'll swing for this job, after all!"

There followed a few moments of tense and awestruck silence. Then an evil smile parted Rees' lips, and he looked at Wingate with triumphant malice.

"This is murder!" he exclaimed.

"So your excellent uncle has already intimated," Wingate replied. "I am sorry that it has happened, of course. As for the consequences, however, I do not fear them."

He crossed the room and rang the bell. Once more a servant in plain clothes made his appearance with phenomenal quickness.

"Send to her ladyship's room," Wingate directed, "and enquire the name and address of Lord Dredlinton's doctor. Let him be fetched here at once.

Tell two of the others to come down. Lord Dredlinton must be carried into his bedroom."

The man had scarcely left the room before the door was opened again and Grant himself appeared. This time he closed the door behind him and came a little way towards Wingate.

"Inspector Shields is here, sir," he announced in an agitated whisper.

Wingate stood for a moment as though turned to stone.

"Inspector Shields?" he repeated. "What does he want?"

"He wants to see Lord Dredlinton. I explained that it was an inconvenient time, but he insisted upon waiting."

Wingate hesitated for a moment, deep in thought. The two exhausted men chuckled hideously.

"Some playing cards," Wingate directed, suddenly breaking into speech.

"Open that sideboard, Grant. Bring out the sandwiches and biscuits and fruit. That's right. And some gla.s.ses. Open the champagne quickly.

Cigars, too. Here--shut the door. We must have a moment or two at this.

You understand, Grant---a debauch!"

The two moved about like lightning. In an incredibly short time, the room presented a strange appearance. The table before which the three men had kept their weary vigil was littered all over with playing cards, cigar ash, fragments of broken wine gla.s.ses. A half-empty bottle of champagne stood on the floor. Two empty ones, their contents emptied into some bowls of flowers, lay on their sides. Another pack of cards was scattered upon the carpet. A chair was overturned. There was every indication of a late-night sitting and a debauch. Last of all, Grant and Wingate between them carried the body of Lord Dredlinton behind the screen and laid it upon the sofa. Then the latter stood back and surveyed his work.

"That will do," he said. "Wait one moment, Grant, before you show the inspector in. I have a word to say first to my two friends here."

Phipps scowled across the table, heavy-eyed and sullen. There were black lines under his eyes, in which the gleam of hunger still lurked. His hands were gripping a chunk of the bread which he had torn away from the loaf, but which he had seemed to eat with difficulty.

"Your friends may have something to say to you," he muttered. "If you think to stop our tongues, you're wrong--wrong, I tell you. The game's up for you, Wingate. The wires that are ruining us this morning will be telling of your arrest to-night, eh?"

"You may be right," Wingate answered coolly, "but I doubt it. Listen. Do you believe that I am a man who keeps his word?"

"Go on," Phipps muttered.

"You are quite right in all that you have been saying, up to a certain point. Tell the truth and I am done for, but you pay the price, both of you. Under those circ.u.mstances, will it be worth your while to tell the truth?"

"What do you mean?" Rees demanded.

Phipps made a movement to rise.