The Yellow Snake Read Online

With the money that was coming from the Bray estate he could afford to drop his questionable acquaintances, and wipe out, as only money can wipe out, the delinquencies of his past, starting fresh with a clean slate and a fat and comfortable balance at the bank.

    "Joe Bray is dead," he blurted, "and he's left me the greater part of his money."

    In his exhilaration he was trapped into this incautious declaration, and cursed himself for his stupidity before the words were out of his mouth.

    If Stephen had expected the news to create a sensation, he was disappointed.

    "Is that so?" said Leggat sarcastically. "And when does the money come into your hands?"

    "In a month or two," said the other airily.

    "A month or two is a month or two late," said Major Spedwell, his dark face creased in an unpleasant smile. "I've seen the auditors this morning, and it is imperative that the fifty thousand pounds should be found by tomorrow."

    "In fact," broke in Leggat, "we're up against it, Narth. We've got to raise that money in the next twenty-four hours. Of course, if there are no 'ifs' and 'buts' about the legacy, you'd be able to borrow the money on the strength of it. Is there a contingency in the will?"

    Narth frowned at this; what did the man know? But the other met his eyes unflinchingly.

    "There is a contingency," admitted Narth, "but that has practically been overcome."

    Leggat shook his head.

    "'Practically' doesn't cut any ice," he said. "Is the will such that you could tomorrow borrow fifty thousand pounds upon it?"

    "No," said Narth shortly. "In point of fact, I don't know the value of the estate. And there is a contingency——"

    "Exactly!" said Spedwell. "That's the position, and it's a pretty bad position! You couldn't raise a fiver on a will with a contingency that had not been satisfied, and on an estate the exact value of which you do not know. I'll bet you haven't even a copy of the will."

    Stephen Narth's eyes narrowed.

    "You're talking by the book, Major," he said. "Somebody has been telling you a great deal more than I know."

    Major Spedwell shifted uncomfortably.

    "Somebody's told me nothing," he said loudly. "The only thing that interests Leggat and me is whether you can raise that fifty thousand pounds and, knowing that you can't, we've saved you a whole lot of trouble by asking our friend St Clay to come along and see you."

    "Your friend St Clay? The man you mentioned yesterday?"

    And then there flashed into the memory of Stephen Narth the recollection of Clifford Lynne's prophecy, "You are seeing him tomorrow."

    "Grahame St Clay, eh? Has he got money to burn?" he asked.

    Spedwell nodded slowly.

    "Yes, he's got money to burn, and he's willing to burn it; and if you take my tip, Narth, you will be the furnace!"

    "But I don't know him. Where do I meet him?"

    Spedwell walked to the door that led to the general office.

    "He's been waiting outside till we had a word with you."

    Stephen Narth looked at him in bewilderment. A man with fifty thousand pounds to lend, waiting for the opportunity of making the loan!

    "Here?" he said incredulously.

    Major Spedwell opened the door.

    "Meet Mr Grahame St Clay," he said, and there walked into the office an immaculately dressed gentleman.

    Even Narth stared at him open-mouthed, for Grahame St Clay was beyond all question a Chinaman!

    "This is Mr Grahame St Clay," Spedwell introduced the visitor again, and mechanically Stephen Narth put out his hand.

    Until that moment all Chinamen were alike to Stephen Narth, but somehow, as he looked into the brown eyes, he distinguished in this man a difference that he could not exactly define. The eyes were set wide apart; the nose, thin and long, and the thin lips, differed from those features he was used to associating with men of the Mongolian type. Perhaps it was the full chin which gave Grahame St Clay his distinction. Certainly when he spoke he was like no Chinaman that Stephen Narth had ever seen or heard.

    "This is Mr Narth? I am delighted to meet you. In fact, I have sought many opportunities of making your acquaintance."

    It was the voice of an educated man, with just that slight drawl and exaggerated pronunciation which is peculiar to one trained in a public school and finished at one of the great universities.

    "May I sit down?"

    Narth nodded mutely, and the newcomer laid a handsome portfolio on the table before him.

    "You are a little dazed to discover that I am a Chinaman?" Mr St Clay laughed softly. "'Yellow Peril' is the term which is usually employed, is it not? I would object to being called a peril, for I am the most unoffending man that ever came from China," he said good-humouredly.

    As he spoke, he was opening the portfolio, and took out a flat-covered pad, tied with red ribbon. Very carefully he slipped the bow, took off the top layer of cardboard and revealed to the eyes of Stephen Narth a thick pad of banknotes. From where he stood he saw they were thousand-pound notes.

    "Fifty, I think, is the amount you require?" said Mr St Clay presently, and with the dexterity of a bank cashier he counted the requisite number, placed the little bundle on one side, carefully retied the pad, and slipped it back into the leather case. "We are all friends here, I think." Mr St Clay beamed from one of Stephen Narth's partners to the other. "I can speak without restraint?"

    Narth nodded.

    "Very well." He folded the fifty notes and, to the surprise of the senior partner, put the money into his waistcoat pocket. "There is naturally a condition attaching to this loan," he said. "Even I, poor, untutored Chinaman though I be, am not so utterly lost to the practice of commerce that I could loan this large sum of money unconditionally. Frankly, Mr Narth, it is required of you that you should become one of us.".

    "One of you?" said Stephen Narth slowly. "I don't quite get you."

    It was Spedwell who supplied the information.

    "Mr St Clay is running a big organization in this country. It's a sort of——" He paused awkwardly.

    "Secret society," suggested Mr St Clay pleasantly. "That sounds very mysterious and terrifying, does it not? But really there's nothing to it! I have a certain mission in life, and I require the help of intelligent men on whom I can rely.