The Man Who Knew Read Online

Cole is a very first-class man of business, isn't he?"

    Frank's answer was a grim smile.

    "Excellent!" he said dryly. "He has the scientific mind grafted to a singular business capacity."

    "You don't like him?"

    "I have no particular reason for not liking him," said the other. "Possibly I am being constitutionally uncharitable. He is not the type of man I greatly care for. He possesses all the virtues, according to uncle, spends his days and nights almost slavishly working for his employer. Oh, yes, I know what you are going to say; that is a very fine quality in a young man, and honestly I agree with you, only it doesn't seem natural. I don't suppose anybody works as hard as I or takes as much interest in his work, yet I have no particular anxiety to carry it on after business hours."

    The manager rose.

    "You are not even an idle apprentice," he said good-humoredly. "You will see Mr. Rex Holland for me?"

    "Certainly," said Frank, and went back to his desk deep in thought.

    It was four o'clock to the minute when Jasper Cole passed through the one open door of the bank at which the porter stood ready to close. He was well, but neatly, dressed, and had hooked to his wrist a thin snakewood cane attached to a crook handle.

    He saw Frank across the counter and smiled, displaying two rows of even, white teeth.

    "Hello, Jasper!" said Frank easily, extending his hand. "How is uncle?"

    "He is very well indeed," replied the other. "Of course he is very worried about things, but then I think he is always worried about something or other."

    "Anything in particular?" asked Frank interestedly.

    Jasper shrugged his shoulders.

    "You know him much better than I; you were with him longer. He is getting so horribly suspicious of people, and sees a spy or an enemy in every strange face. That is usually a bad sign, but I think he has been a little overwrought lately."

    He spoke easily; his voice was low and modulated with the faintest suggestion of a drawl, which was especially irritating to Frank, who secretly despised the Oxford product, though he admitted—since he was a very well-balanced and on the whole good-humored young man—his dislike was unreasonable.

    "I hear you have come to audit the accounts," said Frank, leaning on the counter and opening his gold cigarette case.

    "Hardly that," drawled Jasper.

    He reached out his hand and selected a cigarette.

    "I just want to sort out a few things. By the way, your uncle had a letter from a friend of yours."

    "Mine?"

    "A Rex Holland," said the other.

    "He is hardly a friend of mine; in fact, he is rather an infernal nuisance," said Frank. "I went down to Knightsbridge to see him to-day, and he was out. What has Mr. Holland to say?"

    "Oh, he is interested in some sort of charity, and he is starting a guinea collection. I forget what the charity was."

    "Why do you call him a friend of mine?" asked Frank, eying the other keenly.

    Jasper Cole was halfway to the manager's office and turned.

    "A little joke," he said. "I had heard you mention the gentleman. I have no other reason for supposing he was a friend of yours."

    "Oh, by the way, Cole," said Frank suddenly, "were you in town last night?"

    Jasper Cole shot a swift glance at him.

    "Why?"

    "Were you near Victoria Docks?"

    "What a question to ask!" said the other, with his inscrutable smile, and, turning abruptly, walked in to the waiting Mr. Brandon.

    Frank finished work at five-thirty that night and left Jasper Cole and a junior clerk to the congenial task of checking the securities. At nine o'clock the clerk went home, leaving Jasper alone in the bank. Mr. Brandon, the manager, was a bachelor and occupied a flat above the bank premises. From time to time he strode in, his big pipe in the corner of his mouth. The last of these occasions was when Jasper Cole had replaced the last ledger in Mr. Minute's private safe.

    "Half past eleven," said the manager disapprovingly, "and you have had no dinner."

    "I can afford to miss a dinner," laughed the other.

    "Lucky man," said the manager.

    Jasper Cole passed out into the street and called a passing taxi to the curb.

    "Charing Cross Station," he said.

    He dismissed the cab in the station courtyard, and after a while walked back to the Strand and hailed another.

    "Victoria Dock Road," he said in a low voice.

    La Rochefoucauld has said that prudence and love are inconsistent. May Nuttall, who had never explored the philosophies of La Rochefoucauld, had nevertheless seen that quotation in the birthday book of an acquaintance, and the saying had made a great impression upon her.