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

all this herself,” said Reeder.
    The major snapped back the key and threw open the door.
    “Come out, Pamela, please. Mr Reeder wishes to see you.”
    She came out into the light, her eyes upon her guardian.
    “I think it is true, is it not, that you had made arrangements to leave this house, Pamela, and that because of this I locked you in your room?”
    She nodded. The girl was terrified, was in such fear that she could hardly stand. Yet, as Reeder sensed, it was not the major who inspired the fear.
    “This is Mr Reeder; I think you met him yesterday. Mr Reeder seems to think there is something sinister in this act of discipline. Have I in any way ill-treated you?”
    She shook her head, so slightly that the gesture was almost imperceptible.
    “Is there anything you would like to say to Mr Reeder – any complaint you wish to make? Mr Reeder is a very important official in the Public Prosecutor’s office.” There was a note of pomposity in his tone. “You may be sure that if I have behaved in any way illegally, he will see that you are–”
    “Quite unnecessary, isn’t it, Major Olbude?” said Mr Reeder’s quiet voice. “I mean, all this – um – prompting and terrifying. Perhaps if I had a few minutes with the young lady in your library she might give me some information.”
    “About what? You would like to ask her a few questions about me, would you?” asked Olbude.
    “Curiously enough, I have come down here to investigate the murder of a man called Buckingham. If you are concerned in the murder of that man, I shall certainly ask her questions about you.”
    Reeder’s eyes did not leave the man’s face.
    “If, on the other hand, that is a matter which does not concern you, the result of our conversation will be in no way embarrassing to you, Major Olbude. Did you know Buckingham, Miss Leonard?”
    “Yes,” she said. Her voice was low and sweet. “But not very well. I have seen him once or twice.”
    “We had better go back to the library,” Olbude broke in; his voice was unsteady. “I don’t suppose this young lady can tell you very much that you want to know, but since you’re intent on cross-examining her, there’s no reason in the world why I should put obstacles in your way. Naturally, I haven’t any desire that a young girl should discuss a beastly business like murder, but if that is the method of the Public Prosecutor’s office, by all means go ahead with it.”
    He took them back to the library, but made no attempt to leave them alone. Rather did he plant himself in the most comfortable chair in the room, within earshot.
    She knew little about Buckingham. Mr Reeder could not escape the conviction that she was not terribly interested in that unfortunate man. She had seen the picture in the newspaper and had drawn her uncle’s attention to the tragedy. She knew nothing of the treasure house, had only seen it from the outside, and had met none of the guards.
    She was not overawed by Olbude’s presence, but with every answer she gave to the detective’s inquiries she cast a frightened glance towards the door as though she expected somebody would come in. Mr Reeder guessed who that somebody was.
    He looked at his watch, and his attitude towards the girl suddenly changed. He had been gentle, almost grandmotherly with his “um’s” and “er’s”, and now the hectoring Mr Reeder reappeared.
    “I’m not quite satisfied with your answers, Miss Leonard,” he said, “and I am going to take you up to Scotland Yard to question you still further.”
    For a moment she was startled, looked at him in horror, and then she understood, and he saw the look of relief come into her eyes. The major had risen slowly to his feet.
    “This is rather a high-handed proceeding,” he quavered, “and I think I can save you a lot of trouble. I’ll make a confession to you, Mr Reeder; I have been shielding this man Buckingham. Why I should do so, heaven only knows, except that I didn’t wish to