“No time like the present, Mr. Wainwright. I might say no time except the present. But while we are talking of time we waste it.”
Mr. Bateman’s manner was usually abrupt, almost brusque, and his present oily tone had a peculiar menace to my ears.
“I cannot listen very long to-night, Mr. Bateman, so I must ask you to explain your business at once,” I answered shortly.
“Certainly my dear Sir,—though you can have no business more important than this.—Do you mind if I close the door? The draught is annoying and makes your miserable lamp sputter continually.”
I felt I would rather not have that door closed again, but could give no reason, so I simply nodded.
Mr. Bateman rose and closed the door. He even slipped the bolt, but upon this I made no comment. Then he resumed his seat, ran his hands through his long hair once or twice, and fixing his eyes on my face began speaking rapidly in an entirely different tone.
“This is no time for details. You see I am alive, therefore the report of my death is false. It is no case of mistaken identity. I arranged it all. An unknown man did die in the Adirondacks. No, I did not kill him. It was a natural death for him—an opportunity for me. I merely supplied the evidence for his identification. No need of asking how I did it. Enough that it’s done and done with practically no confederates. The question now I suppose is—why?”
I nodded.
“I will tell you, Mr. Wainwright. It was the only way to avoid failure—the one chance to save me from utter financial ruin. You look at me as though I were crazy.—Well, I’m not. You think you know a good deal of my business affairs, but you know precious little and I tell you now, without discussing it, I had to die to make life worth living. If I had failed—well, there’s no use talking ‘ifs.’ The point is this. I’ve been carrying a load that’s pretty nearly done for me, but which’ll give me the biggest harvest I’ve ever reaped. The devils think they’ve got me down, but I’ll teach ’em who Josiah Bateman is!”
The old man’s eyes glittered and he struck the desk with his fist, but his manner was no more extravagant than usual, so I only said, “We are still dealing in mysteries, Mr. Bateman.”