A woman's debt

by William Le Queux

Growing quite daring in his comfortable belief that they were engaged in a comparatively innocent operation, he pulled the drawer open with his own hands and pointed to the pale-coloured little book which contained the paying-in slips.

“There it is; goes back for two months. Is that enough for you? I hope so, for I don’t know where he puts the old ones; locks them up in his safe, I expect.”

Lane intimated it would be quite sufficient for his purposes, and got to work at once. He took careful notice of the exact position of the little book which was lying at a slight angle on the top of a pile of papers, so that he could replace it in the same position. Sir George, careless as he appeared to be in some matters, might have a good memory in certain things, and might notice on his return that the contents of the drawer had been disturbed. Still, that did not matter very much if he did suspect; his suspicions would naturally fall upon Simmons as the guilty party, and, truth to tell, the detective was not very much concerned about that individual. He had proved a useful and adaptable instrument, but Lane could not help despising him for a smooth-faced hypocrite and venal rogue.

It cannot be said that he enjoyed the situation very much himself. He had taken this course because he could think of no other which would serve his ends, and one has often to resort to dirty means in a good cause. But even if Sir George was the scoundrel he was beginning to believe him to be, the action he was now taking savoured just a little too much of hitting below the belt to square with his stolid English notions of fair play. If it had been possible he would have preferred to come out more in the open. Still, all is fair in war; he had comforted himself with that reflection many times in the course of his active career.

It was not a very long task, for there seemed to be but few payments, and those mostly for small sums. The name of Willis occurred frequently in the margin of the counterfoils, evidently this was the person who had paid the amounts to Sir George.

“Do you know anything of a man named Willis?” asked Lane of the valet who was watching his proceedings with great interest. He was a very curious fellow, and he would dearly have liked to know the particular object of the present researches.

“Yes, that’s his bookmaker,” was the answer of Simmons.

Mr. Willis’s cheques were for trifling sums which seemed to prove that the baronet did not bet so high as was generally supposed, as he pretended to his friends, according to the valet’s account. But, of course, it was not proof positive. Like most men who follow racing, he would win one day and lose the next, so that at the end of the week there might be a very trifling balance against him or in his favour.

What, of course, Lane was looking for was an entry a little subsequent to the first big burglary, when the diamonds and the big bundle of foreign notes had been stolen. There was certainly the biggest entry he had seen in the book about a week after the actual date of the robbery, and against it was marked the word “cash.” But it was only for seventy-five pounds.

Now the diamonds alone, according to Lane’s information, had cost Mr. Morrice no less than eight thousand pounds, as the stones were big ones, perfect in matching and colour. Granted that they had been realized by the thief or thieves at a tremendous depreciation, they should at least have brought in a fourth of that sum. It was hardly possible that Sir George, even if he were a member of a gang who shared the spoil, would engage in such a dangerous operation for the sake of the paltry sum of seventy-five pounds.