Part 16 (1/2)

”I don't care a blooming fig which it is, so long as it comes off. Do you remember what I told you when Miss Thurwell first came here, dad?”

”Perfectly, my son, perfectly. You said that our fortune was made. Those were your very words,” he added, with glistening eyes. ”Our fortune is made.”

”And what I said I'll stick to,” Mr. Benjamin declared. ”When this case comes off, it'll be the biggest thundering sensation of the day. And who'll get the credit of it all? Who tracked him down for all his false name and sly ways; hunted him all over Europe, found out who he really was, and why he hated Sir Geoffrey Kynaston so much that he murdered him? Why, I did, dad--Benjamin Levy, of Levy & Son, Carle Street, Strand. Ain't it glorious, guv'nor? Ain't it proud?”

Mr. Benjamin's enthusiasm was catching. It was reflected in his father's face, and something glistened in his eyes. He removed his spectacles, and carefully wiped them. After all, he was a father, and he had a father's feelings.

”When will the time come, Benjamin?” he inquired.

”A month to-day, I hope,” was the prompt reply. ”I have one more journey to take, and it will be all square.”

”Where to? How far?” inquired the old gentleman uneasily.

Mr. Benjamin looked at him, and shook his head. ”Come, dad, I know what you are thinking of,” he said. ”It's the expense, ain't it?”

”It is, Benjamin,” his father groaned. ”I hate parting with hard-earned money for exorbitant bills and these long journeys. Couldn't it be done without it, Ben?” he inquired, in a wheedling tone. ”There's piles of money gone already in expenses. Piles and piles.”

”And if there is, ain't it Miss Thurwell's, you old stupid?” remarked Mr. Benjamin. ”'Tain't likely that we should find the money ourselves.”

”Of course, of course. But, Benjamin, my son, the money is thrown away for all that. We could charge it, you know--charge it always. We must have a margin--we must positively have a margin to work with.”

”Dad, dad, what an old sinner you are!” exclaimed his hopeful son, leaning back in his chair and laughing. ”A margin to work with. Ha! ha!

ha!”

Mr. Levy looked uncertain whether to regard his son's merriment as a compliment, or to resent it. Eventually, the former appeared to him the wisest course, and he smiled feebly.

”Dad, just you leave this matter with me,” Mr. Benjamin said at last. ”I know what I'm doing, and unless I'm very much mistaken, I see my way to make this a bigger thing, even as regards the cash, than you and I ever dreamed of. Leave it to me. Hullo! who's that?”

He peered up over the office blind, and sat down again at once. In a moment his cigar was behind the grate, and his expression completely changed.

”Ah! Miss Thurwell, dad,” he said coolly, ”and I'll bet ten to one I know what she wants. Mind you leave it all to me. I've no time to explain, but you'll spoil it if you interfere. Come in. Why, Miss Thurwell, we were this moment talking of you,” he continued, springing to his feet and offering her a chair. ”Please come in.”

Helen advanced into the room, and lifted her veil. One swift glance into her flushed face confirmed Mr. Benjamin's idea as to the reason of her visit, and he commenced talking rapidly.

”I'm glad you've come this morning, Miss Thurwell. I only got back from Spain yesterday, and I'm thankful to tell you our case is nearly complete. Thankful for your sake, because you will have the satisfaction of seeing the murderer of Sir Geoffrey Kynaston brought to book, and thankful for ours, because we shall at one stroke establish our reputation. I need not tell you that that is far more to us than the reward will be, for our expenses have been enormous.”

”Enormous!” groaned Mr. Levy, senior.

”However, we have decided not to take another penny of money from you, Miss Thurwell,” he continued, casting a warning glance at his father.

”After all, the money is not so much to us as our reputation, and this will be made for ever, now.”

Mr. Benjamin paused, a little out of breath, but quite satisfied with himself. Opposite, his father was purple with anger, and almost choking at his son's folly. Take no more money from Miss Thurwell! Was the boy mad?

”I'm afraid, from what you say, Mr. Levy,” Helen said hesitatingly, ”that you will be rather disappointed when I tell you the reason of my visit.”

Mr. Benjamin, who knew perfectly well what she was going to say, a.s.sumed an expression of deep concern.

”I find,” she continued, ”that we must have been making a mistake all along, and you have evidently been misled. This Mr. Brown, who appeared such a mysterious personage to us, and whom we therefore suspected, is no other than Bernard Maddison.”

”Yes. I knew that,” Mr. Benjamin remarked quietly. ”I found that out very soon, of course. Author, and all that sort of thing, isn't he?