Free Mr. J. G. Reeder Returns by Edgar Wallace Page A

had never appealed to him, he said.
    “His remark was this,” said Mr Reeder, and said something in French. He said it very loudly. “If you are in the room, move your blind when you hear me talking outside the house.”
    “I’m afraid that is unintelligible to me,” said the major shortly.
    “It means,” said Mr Reeder glibly, “that the Englishman’s idea of a good house is a comfortable bed inside a fortress. Now,” he said, as they went down the stairs together, “I would like to see the house from the outside.”
    They walked along the gravelled pathway running parallel with the front of the house. The major was growing obviously impatient; moreover, he was displaying a certain amount of anxiety, glancing round as though he were expecting an unwelcome visitor. Mr Reeder noticed these things.
    When he came opposite the third window from the right of the porch, he said loudly, pointing to a distant clump of trees: “Was it there your gamekeeper was attacked?”
    As he spoke, he glanced quickly backwards. The white blind that covered the third window to the right of the porch moved slightly.
    “No, it was in the opposite direction, on the other side of the house,” said the major shortly. “Now would you like to see the sleeping quarters of Buckingham? The police have been here this morning – the Kentish police – and have made a thorough search, so I don’t think it is worth while your examining the place. As far as I can gather, they found nothing.”
    Mr Reeder looked at him thoughtfully.
    “No, I don’t think I want to see Buckingham’s quarters, but there are one or two questions I would like to ask you. May I see the inside of the vault?”
    “No, you may not.”
    Olbude’s voice was sharp, frankly unfriendly. He seemed to realise this, for he added almost apologetically: “You see, Mr Reeder, I have a very heavy responsibility. This infernal trust is getting so much on my mind that I’m thinking of asking the courts to relieve me of my guardianship.”
    They were back in the library now. Mr Reeder was no longer the languid, charming and rather timid gentleman. He was the hectoring, domineering Mr Reeder, whom quite a number of people knew and disliked intensely.
    “I want to see your niece,” he said.
    “She’s gone to Paris.”
    “When did she go?”
    “She went by car this morning.”
    “Let me ask you one question; is your niece short-sighted? Does she wear glasses?”
    Olbude was taken off his guard.
    “Yes; the doctor ordered her to wear glasses for reading.”
    “How many pairs of glasses has she?”
    The major shrugged.
    “What is the idea of these ridiculous questions?” he asked testily. “So far as I know, she has one pair, a sort of blue-shaded tortoise-shell–”
    “Then will you explain why she took a long journey and left behind her the book in which she was so interested, and her reading glasses? You will find them in the drawing room. I want to see her room.”
    “I have shown you her room,” said Olbude, raising his voice.
    “I want to see the third room from the left of the grand staircase.”
    Olbude looked at him for a second, and laughed. “My dear Mr Reeder, surely this is not the method of the Public Prosecutor’s Department?”
    “It is my method,” said Mr Reeder curtly.
    There was a pause.
    “I will go upstairs and get her,” said the major.
    “If you don’t mind, I will come with you.” Outside the door of the girl’s room the major paused, key in hand.
    “I will tell you the truth, though I don’t see that this matter has anything to do with you,” he said. “My niece has been very indiscreet. As far as I can gather, she made arrangements to run away with an unknown man, who, I have since ascertained, has a criminal record – you will be able to confirm this, for I understand you were in the case. Naturally, as her guardian, I have my duty to do, and as to my little fiction about her going to Paris–”
    “Perhaps she will tell me