Edgar Wallace: Bones in London

There was a slump in the shipping market, and men who were otherwise decent citizens wailed for one hour of glorious war, when Kenyon Line Deferred had stood at 88 1/2, and even so poor an organization as Siddons Steam Packets Line had been marketable at 3 3/8.

Two bareheaded men came down the busy street, their hands thrust intotheir trousers pockets, their sleek, well-oiled heads bent in dejection.

No word they spoke, keeping step with the stern precision of soldiers.Together they wheeled through the open doors of the Commercial TrustBuilding, together they left-turned into the elevator, andsimultaneously raised their heads to examine its roof, as though in itspanelled ceiling was concealed some Delphic oracle who would answer theriddle which circumstances had set them.

They dropped their heads together and stood with sad eyes, regardingthe attendant's leisurely unlatching of the gate. They slipped forthand walked in single file to a suite of offices inscribed "PoleBrothers, Brokers," and, beneath, "The United Merchant Shippers'Corporation," and passed through a door which, in addition to thisdeclaration, bore the footnote "Private."

Here the file divided, one going to one side of a vast pedestal deskand one to the other. Still with their hands pushed deep into theirpockets, they sank, almost as at a word of command, each into hiscushioned chair, and stared at one another across the table.

They were stout young men of the middle thirties, clean-shaven andruddy. They had served their country in the late War, and had mademany sacrifices to the common cause. One had worn uniform and one hadnot. Joe had occupied some mysterious office which permitted and, indeed, enjoined upon him the wearing of the insignia of captain, buthad forbidden him to leave his native land. The other had earned alittle decoration with a very big title as a buyer of boots for Alliednations. Both had subscribed largely to War Stock, and a reminder oftheir devotion to the cause of liberty was placed to their credit everyhalf-year.

But for these, war, with its horrific incidents, its late hours, itsmidnight railway journeys by trains on which sleeping berths could notbe had for love or money, its food cards and statements of excessprofits, was past. The present held its tragedy so poignant as toovershadow that breathless terrifying moment when peace had come andfound the firm with the sale of the Fairy Line of cargo steamersuncompleted, contracts unsigned, and shipping stock which had livedlight-headedly in the airy spaces, falling deflated on the floor of thehouse.

The Fairy Line was not a large line. It was, in truth, a small line.It might have been purchased for two hundred thousand pounds, andnearly was. To-day it might be acquired for one hundred and fiftythousand pounds, and yet it wasn't.

"Joe," said the senior Mr. Pole, in a voice that came from hisvarnished boots, "we've got to do something with Fairies."

"Curse this War!" said Joe in cold-blooded even tones. "Curse theKaiser! A weak-kneed devil who might at least have stuck to it foranother month! Curse him for making America build ships, curse himfor – "

"Joe," said the stout young man on the other side of the table, shakinghis head sadly, "it is no use cursing, Joe. We knew that they werebuilding ships, but the business looked good to me. If Turkey hadn'tturned up her toes and released all that shipping – "

"Curse Turkey!" said the other, with great calmness. "Curse the Sultanand Enver and Taalat, curse Bulgaria and Ferdinand – "

"Put in one for the Bolsheviks, Joe," said his brother urgently, "and Ireckon that gets the lot in trouble. Don't start on Austria, or we'llfind ourselves cursing the Jugo-Slavs."

He sighed deeply, pursed his lips, and looked at his writing-padintently.

Joe and Fred Pole had many faults, which they freely admitted, such astheir generosity, their reckless kindness of heart, their willingnessto do their worst enemies a good turn, and the like. They had otherswhich they never admitted, but which were none the less patent to theirprejudiced contemporaries.

But they had virtues which were admirable. They were, for example, absolutely loyal to one another, and were constant in their mutualadmiration and help. If Joe made a bad deal, Fred never rested untilhe had balanced things against the beneficiary. If Fred in a weakmoment paid a higher price to the vendor of a property than he, aspromoter, could afford, it was Joe who took the smug vendor out todinner and, by persuasion, argument, and the frank expression of hisliking for the unfortunate man, tore away a portion of his ill-gottengains.

"I suppose," said Joe, concluding his minatory exercises, and reachingfor a cigar from the silver box which stood on the table midway betweenthe two, "I suppose we couldn't hold Billing to his contract. Have youseen Cole about it, Fred?"

The other nodded slowly.

"Cole says that there is no contract. Billing offered to buy theships, and meant to buy them, undoubtedly; but Cole says that if youtook Billing into court, the judge would chuck his pen in your eye."

"Would he now?" said Joe, one of whose faults was that he took thingsliterally. "But perhaps if you took Billing out to dinner, Fred – "

"He's a vegetarian, Joe" – he reached in his turn for a cigar, snippedthe end and lit it – "and he's deaf. No, we've got to find a sucker,Joe. I can sell the Fairy May and the Fairy Belle : they're littleboats, and are worth money in the open market. I can sell the wharfageand offices and the goodwill – "

"What's the goodwill worth, Fred?"

"About fivepence net," said the gloomy Fred. "I can sell all these, but it is the Fairy Mary and the Fairy Tilda that's breaking myheart. And yet, Joe, there ain't two ships of their tonnage to bebought on the market. If you wanted two ships of the same size andweight, you couldn't buy 'em for a million – no, you couldn't. I guessthey must be bad ships, Joe."

Joe had already guessed that.

"I offered 'em to Saddler, of the White Anchor," Fred went on, "and hesaid that if he ever started collecting curios he'd remember me. ThenI tried to sell 'em to the Coastal Cargo Line – the very ships for theNewcastle and Thames river trade – and he said he couldn't think of itnow that the submarine season was over. Then I offered 'em to youngTopping, who thinks of running a line to the West Coast, but he saidthat he didn't believe in Fairies or Santa Claus or any of that stuff."

There was silence.

"Who named 'em Fairy Mary and Fairy Tilda ?" asked Joe curiously.

"Don't let's speak ill of the dead," begged Fred; "the man who had 'embuilt is no longer with us, Joe. They say that joy doesn't kill, butthat's a lie, Joe. He died two days after we took 'em over, and leftall his money – all our money – to a nephew."

"I didn't know that," said Joe, sitting up.

"I didn't know it myself till the other day, when I took the deed ofsale down to Cole to see if there wasn't a flaw in it somewhere. I'vewired him."

"Who – Cole?"

"No, the young nephew. If we could only – "

He did not complete his sentence, but there was a common emotion andunderstanding in the two pairs of eyes that met.

"Who is he – anybody?" asked Joe vaguely.

Fred broke off the ash of his cigar and nodded.

"Anybody worth half a million is somebody, Joe," he said seriously."This young fellow was in the Army. He's out of it now, running abusiness in the City – 'Schemes, Ltd.,' he calls it. Lots of peopleknow him – shipping people on the Coast. He's got a horrible nickname."

"What's that, Fred?"

"Bones," said Fred, in tones sufficiently sepulchral to be appropriate,"and, Joe, he's one of those bones I want to pick."