“I gather you were not by yourself,” he grumbled. “Master Frank was somewhere handy, I suppose?”
She laughed.
“I met him quite by accident,” she said demurely.
“Naturally,” said John Minute.
“Oh, uncle, and there was a man whom Frank knew! You probably know him—Constable Wiseman.”
John Minute unfolded his napkin, stirred his soup, and grunted.
“Wiseman is a stupid ass,” he said briefly. “The mere fact that he was mixed up in the affair is sufficient explanation as to why the dead man remains unknown. I know Constable Wiseman very well,” he said. “He has summoned me twice—once for doing a little pistol-shooting in the garden just as an object lesson to all tramps, and once—confound him!—for a smoking chimney. Oh, yes, I know Constable Wiseman.”
Apparently the thought of Constable Wiseman filled his mind through two courses, for he did not speak until he set his fish knife and fork together and muttered something about a “silly, meddling jackass!”
He was very silent throughout the meal, his mind being divided between two subjects. Uppermost, though of least importance, was the personality of Saul Arthur Mann. Him he mentally viewed with suspicion and apprehension. It was an irritation even to suggest that there might be secret places in his own life which could be flooded with the light of this man’s knowledge, and he resolved to beard “The Man Who Knows” in his den that afternoon and challenge him by inference to produce all the information he had concerning his past.
There was much which was public property. It was John Minute’s boast that his life was a book which might be read, but in his inmost heart he knew of one dark place which baffled the outside world. He brought himself from the mental rehearsal of his interview to what was, after all, the first and more important business.
“May,” he said suddenly, “have you thought any more about what I asked you?”
She made no attempt to fence with the question.
“You mean Jasper Cole?”
He nodded, and for the moment she made no reply, and sat with eyes downcast, tracing a little figure upon the tablecloth with her fingertip.
“The truth is, uncle,” she said at last, “I am not keen on marriage at all just yet, and you are sufficiently acquainted with human nature to know that anything which savors of coercion will not make me predisposed toward Mr. Cole.”
“I suppose the real truth is,” he said gruffly, “that you are in love with Frank?”
She laughed.
“That is just what the real truth is not,” she said. “I like Frank very much. He is a dear, bright, sunny boy.”
Mr. Minute grunted.
“Oh, yes, he is!” the girl went on. “But I am not in love with him—really.”
“I suppose you are not influenced by the fact that he is my—heir,” he said, and eyed her keenly.
She met his glance steadily.
“If you were not the nicest man I know,” she smiled, “I should be very offended. Of course, I don’t care whether Frank is rich or poor. You have provided too well for me for mercenary considerations to weigh at all with me.”
John Minute grunted again.
“I am quite serious about Jasper.”
“Why are you so keen on Jasper?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“I know him,” he said shortly. “He has proved to me in a hundred ways that he is a reliable, decent lad. He has become almost indispensable to me,” he continued with his quick little laugh, “and that Frank has never been. Oh, yes, Frank’s all right in his way, but he’s crazy on things which cut no ice with me. Too fond of sports, too fond of loafing,” he growled.
The girl laughed again.
“I can give you a little information on one point,” John Minute went on, “and it was to tell you this that I brought you here today. I am a very rich man. You know that. I have made millions and lost them, but I have still enough to satisfy my heirs. I am leaving you two hundred thousand pounds in my will.”
She looked at him with a startled exclamation.
“Uncle!” she said.
He nodded.
“It is not a quarter of my fortune,” he went on quickly, “but it will make you comfortable after I am gone.”
He rested his elbows on the table and looked at her searchingly.
“You are an heiress,” he said, “for, whatever you did, I should never change my mind. Oh, I know you will do nothing of which I should disapprove, but there is the fact. If you marry Frank you would still get your two hundred thousand, though I should bitterly regret your marriage. No, my girl,” he said more kindly than was his wont, “I only ask you this—that whatever else you do, you will not make your choice until the next fortnight has expired.”
With a jerk of his head, John Minute summoned a waiter and paid his bill.
No more was said until he handed her into her cab in the courtyard.
“I shall be in town next week,” he said.
He watched the cab disappear in the stream of traffic which flowed along the Strand, and, calling another taxi, he drove to the address with which the chief commissioner had furnished him.
VI
The Man Who Knew
Backwell Street, in the City of London, contains one palatial building which at one time was the headquarters of the South American Stock Exchange, a superior bucket shop which on its failure had claimed its fifty thousand victims. The ornate gold lettering on its great plate-glass window had long since been removed, and the big brass plate which announced to the passerby that here sat the spider weaving his golden web for the multitude of flies, had been replaced by a modest, oxidized scroll bearing the simple legend:
Saul Arthur Mann
What Mr. Mann’s business was few people knew. He kept an army of clerks.
