The Mind of Mr. J. G. Reeder · Sheer Melodrama (3/3)

Mr. Tommy Fenalow came on foot at two o’clock in the morning and, passing down the muddy lane, his electric torch suddenly revealed car marks. Tommy stopped like a man shot. His knees trembled beneath him and his heart entered his throat at the narrowest end. For a while he was undecided whether it would be better to run or walk away. He had no intention of going forward. And then he heard a voice. It was Ras Lal’s assistant, and he nearly swooned with joy. Stumbling forward, he came up to the shivering man.

“Did that fool boss of yours bring the car along here?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yas⁠—Mr. Ras Lal,” said Ram with whom the English language was not a strong point.

“Then he’s a fool!” growled Tommy. “Gosh! he put my heart in my mouth!”

Whilst Ram was getting together sufficient English to explain what had happened, Tommy passed on. He found his client sitting in the lobby, a black cheroot between his teeth, a smile of satisfaction on his dark face.

“Welcome!” he said, as Tommy closed the door. “We have trapped the weasel.”

“Never mind about the weasel,” said the other impatiently. “Did you find the rupees?”

Ras Lal shook his head.

“But I left them in the store⁠—ten thousand notes. I thought you’d have got them and skipped before this,” said Mr. Fenalow anxiously.

“I have something more important in the store⁠—come and see my friend.”

He preceded the bewildered Tommy up the stairs, turned on the landing light and threw open the door.

“Behold⁠—” he said, and said no more.

“Why, it is Mr. Fenalow!” said Mr. J. G.

One hand held a packet of almost lifelike rupee notes; as for the other hand⁠—

“You oughter known he carried a gun, you dam’ black baboon,” hissed Tommy. “An’ to put him in a room where the stuff was, and a telephone!”

He was being driven to the local police station, and for the moment was attached to his companion by links of steel.

“It was a mere jest or a piece of practical joking, as I shall explain to the judge in the morning,” said Ras airily.

Tommy Fenalow’s reply was unprintable.

Three o’clock boomed out from St. John’s Church as Mr. Reeder accompanied an excited girl to the front door of her boardinghouse.

“I can’t tell you how I⁠—I’ve enjoyed tonight,” she said.

Mr. Reeder glanced uneasily at the dark face of the house.

“I hope⁠—er⁠—your friends will not think it remarkable that you should return at such an hour⁠—”

Despite her assurance, he went slowly home with an uneasy feeling that her name had in some way been compromised. And in melodrama, when a heroine’s name is compromised, somebody has to marry her.

That was the disturbing thought that kept Mr. Reeder awake all night.