Free The Mind of Mr. J. G. Reeder by Edgar Wallace

said, ‘but–’
    ‘Come into the dining-room.’
    Art almost ran ahead of him, and when they reached the room he closed the door.
    ‘A cheque can’t be presented for two or three days. It certainly couldn’t be presented tomorrow,’ he said, speaking rapidly. ‘By that time we could get this stuff up to town to your bankers, and you could keep it until I redeem it. What’s more, you can stop payment of the cheque tomorrow morning if the stones aren’t worth the money.’
    Bertie looked at the matter from ten different angles in as many seconds.
    ‘Suppose I gave them a post-dated cheque to make sure?’ he said.
    ‘Post-dated?’ Mr Lomer was puzzled. ‘What does that mean?’ And when Bertie explained, his face brightened. ‘Why, sure!’ he said. ‘That’s a double protection. Make it payable the day after tomorrow.’
    Bertie hesitated no more. Sitting down at the table he took out his chequebook and a fountain pen, and verified the date.
    ‘Make it “bearer”,’ suggested Art, when the writer paused, ‘same as you did the other cheque.’
    Bertie nodded and added his signature, with its characteristic underlining.
    ‘Wait a second.’
    Art went out of the room and came back within a minute.
    ‘They’ve taken it!’ he said exultantly. ‘Boy,’ he said, as he slapped the gratified young man on the shoulder, ‘you’ve gotta come in on this now and I didn’t want you to. It’s fifty-fifty – I’m no hog. Come along, and I’ll show you something else that I never intended showing a soul.’
    He went out into the passage, opened a little door that led down a flight of stone steps to the cellar, switching on the light as he went down the stairs. Unlocking a heavy door, he threw it open.
    ‘See here,’ he said, ‘did you ever see anything like this?’
    Bertie Claude peered into the dark interior.
    ‘I don’t see–’ he began, when he was so violently pushed into the darkness that he stumbled.
    In another second the door closed on him; he heard the snap of a lock and shrieked:
    ‘I say, what’s this!’
    ‘I say, you’ll find out in a day or two,’ came the mocking voice of Mr Lomer.
    Art closed the second door, ran lightly up the stairs and joined the butler, the valet, the maid and the three visitors in the drawing-room.
    ‘He’s well inside. And he stays there till the cheque matures – there’s enough food and water in the cellar to last him a week.’
    ‘Did you get him?’ asked the bearded man.
    ‘Get him! He was easy,’ said the other scornfully. ‘Now, you boys and girls, skip, and skip quick! I’ve got a letter from this guy to his bank manager, telling him to’ – he consulted the letter and quoted – ‘“to cash the attached cheque for my friend Mr Arthur Lomer”.’
    There was a murmur of approval from the troupe.
    ‘The plane’s gone back, I suppose?’
    The tall man nodded.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I only hired it for the afternoon.’
    ‘Well, you can get back too. Ray and Al, you go to Paris and take the CP boat from Havre, Slicky, you get those whiskers off and leave honest from Liverpool. Pauline and Aggie will make Genoa, and we’ll meet at Leoni’s on the fourteenth of next month and cut the stuff all ways!’
     
    Two days later Mr Art Lomer walked into the noble offices of the Northern Commercial Bank and sought an interview with the manager. That gentleman read the letter, examined the cheque and touched a bell.
    ‘It’s a mighty big sum,’ said Mr Lomer, in an almost awe-stricken voice.
    The manager smiled.
    ‘We cash fairly large cheques here,’ he said, and, to the clerk who came at his summons: ‘Mr Lomer would like as much of this as possible in American currency. How did you leave Mr Staffen?’
    ‘Why, Bertie and I have been in Paris over that new company of mine,’ said Lomer. ‘My! it’s difficult to finance Canadian industries in this country, Mr Soames, but we’ve made a mighty fine deal in Paris.’
    He chatted on