Wallis nodded.
“Quite right, friend,” he said. “I need no information concerning myself. Will you kindly explain exactly what part you are taking? Are you under the impression that you are numbered amongst the honest?”
“I do not,” said the other shortly. “The morality of my actions has nothing whatever to do with the matter. I have no illusion.”
“You are a fortunate man,” said George Wallis approvingly. “But will you please tell me what part you are playing, and how you justify your action in removing from time to time large sums of money from our possession to some secret depository of your own?”
“I do not justify it,” said Gilbert.
He got up and paced the little office, the other watching him narrowly.
“I tell you I know that I am in intent a thief, but I am working to a plan.”
He turned to the other.
“Do you know that there is not a robbery you have committed of which I do not know the absolute effect? There is not a piece of jewellery you have taken of which I do not know the owner and the exact value? Yes,” he nodded, “I am aware that you have not ‘fenced’—that is the term, isn’t it?—a single article, and that in your safe place you have them all stored. I hope by good fortune not only to compensate you for what I have taken from you, but to return every penny that you have stolen.”
Wallis started.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“To its rightful owner,” continued Gilbert calmly. “I have striven to be in a position to say to you: ‘Here is a necklace belonging to Lady Dynshird, it is worth four thousand pounds, I will give you a fair price for it, let us say a thousand—it is rather more than you could sell it for—and we will restore it to its owner.’ I want to say to you: ‘I have taken ten thousand sovereigns in bullion and in French banknotes from your store, here is that amount for yourself, here is a similar amount which is to be restored to the people from whom it was taken.’ I have kept a careful count of every penny you have taken since I joined your gang as an unofficial member.”
He smiled grimly.
“My dear Quixote,” drawled George Wallis protestingly, “you are setting yourself an impossible task.”
Gilbert Standerton shook his head.
“Indeed I am not,” he said. “I have made much more money on the Stock Exchange than ever I thought I should possess in my life.”
“Will you tell me this?” asked the other. “What is the explanation of this sudden desire of yours for wealth—for sudden desire I gather it was?”
“That I cannot explain,” said Gilbert, and his tone was uncompromising.
There was a little pause, then George Wallis rose.
“I think we had better understand one another now,” he said. “You have taken from us nearly twenty thousand pounds—twenty thousand pounds of our money swept out of existence.”
Gilbert shook his head.
“No, there is not a penny of it gone. I tell you I used it as a reserve in case I should want it. As a matter of fact, I shall not want it now,” he smiled, “I could restore it to you tonight.”
“You will greatly oblige me if you do,” said the other.
Gilbert looked at him.
“I rather like you, Wallis,” he said, “there is something admirable about you, rascal that you are.”
“Rascals as we are,” corrected Wallis. “You who have no illusions do not create one now.”
“I suppose that is so,” said the other moodily.
“How is this going to end?” asked Wallis. “Where do we share out, and are you prepared to carry on this high-soul arrangement as long as my firm is in existence?”
Standerton shook his head.
“No,” he said, “your business ends tonight.”
“My business?” asked the startled Wallis.
“Your business,” said the other. “You have made enough money to retire on. Get out. I have made sufficient money to take over all your stock at valuation”—he smiled again—“and to restore every penny that has been stolen by you. I was coming to you in a few days with that proposition.”
“And so we end tonight, do we?” mused Wallis. “My dear good man,” he said cheerfully, “tonight—why I am going out after the most wonderful coup of all! You would laugh if you knew who was my intended victim.”
“I am not easily amused in these days,” said Gilbert. “Who is it?”
“I will tell you another time,” said Wallis.
He walked to the office door, his hands in his pockets. He stood for a moment admiring a huge safe and whistling a little tune.
“Don’t you think it an excellent idea of mine,” he asked with the casual air of the suburban householder showing off a new cucumber frame, “this safe?”
“I think it is most excellent.”
“Business is good,” said Wallis regretfully. “It is a pity to give it up after we have taken so much trouble. You see, we may not sell half a dozen safes a year to the right kind of people, but if we only sell one—why we pay expenses! It is so simple,” he said.
“By the way, have you missed a necklace of sorts which has been restored to the police? Do not apologise!”
He raised his hand.
“I understand this is a family matter. I am sorry to have caused you any inconvenience.”
His ironical politeness
