is very well,” said Peter emphatically, “surprisingly so. I thought she would have a bad time – here she is.” He turned at that moment and waved his hand to the girl, who was coming down the steps of the terrace. “You know Mr. Reeder?” said Peter as the girl came smiling toward the chicken expert with outstretched hand.
“Why, of course I know him,” she said warmly. “Almost you have persuaded me to run a poultry farm!”
“You might do worse,” said Mr. Reeder gravely. “There are very few women who take an intelligent interest in such matters. Men are ever so much more interested in chickens.”
Peter looked at him sharply. There was something in his tone, a glint of unsuspected humour in his eyes, that lit and died in a second, and Peter Kane was nearer to understanding the man at that moment than he had ever been before.
And here Peter took a bold step.
“Mr. Reeder is a detective,” he said, “employed by the banks to try and track down the people who have been putting so many forged notes on the market.”
“A detective!”
Her eyes opened wide in surprise, and Mr. Reeder hastened to disclaim the appellation.
“Not a detective. I beg of you not to misunderstand, Miss Kane. I am merely an investigator, an inquiry agent, not a detective. ‘Detective’ is a term which is wholly repugnant to me. I have never arrested a man in my life, nor have I authority to do so.”
“At any rate, you do not look like a detective, Mr. Reeder,” smiled the girl.
“I thank you,” said Mr. Reeder gratefully. “I should not wish to be mistaken for a detective. It is a profession which I admire, but do not envy.”
He took from his pocket a large notecase and opened it. Inside, fastened by a rubber band in the centre, was a thick wad of banknotes. Seeing them, Peter’s eyebrows rose.
“You’re a bold man to carry all that money about with you, Mr. Reeder,” he said.
“Not bold,” disclaimed the investigator. “I am indeed a very timid man.”
He slipped a note from under the elastic band and handed it to his wondering host. Peter took it.
“A fiver,” he said.
Mr. Reeder took another. Peter saw it was a hundred before he held it in his hand.
“Would you cash that for me?”
Peter Kane frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Would you cash it for me?” asked Mr. Reeder. “Or perhaps you have no change? People do not keep such large sums in their houses.”
“I’ll change it for you with pleasure,” said Peter, and was taking out his own notecase when Mr. Reeder stopped him with a gesture.
“Forged,” he said briefly.
Peter looked at the note in his hand.
“Forged? Impossible! That’s a good note.”
He rustled it scientifically and held it up to the light. The watermark was perfect. The secret marks on the face of the note which he knew very well were there. He moistened the corner of the note with his thumb.
“You needn’t trouble,” said Reeder. “It answers all the tests.”
“Do you mean to tell me this is ‘slush’ – I mean a forgery?”
The other nodded, and Peter examined the note again with a new interest. He who had seen so much bad money had to admit that it was the most perfect forgery he had ever handled.
“I shouldn’t have hesitated to change that for you. Is all the other money the same?”
Again the man nodded.
“But is that really bad money?” asked Marney, taking the note from her father. “How is it made?”
Before the evasive answer came she guessed. In a flash she pieced together the hints, the vague scraps of gossip she had heard about the Big Printer.
“Jeffrey Legge!” she gasped, going white. “Oh!”
“Mr. Jeffrey Legge,” nodded Reeder. “Of course we can prove nothing. Now perhaps we can sit down.”
It was he who suggested that they should go back to the garden seat. Not until, in his furtive way, he had circumnavigated the clump of bushes that hid the lawn from view did he open his heart.
“I am going to tell you a lot, Mr. Kane,” he said, “because I feel you may be able to help me, in spite of your principles. There are two men who could have engraved this note, one man who could manufacture the paper. Anybody could print it – anybody, that is to say, with a knowledge of printing. The two men are Lacey and Burns. They have both been in prison for forgery; they were both released ten years ago, and since then have not been seen. The third man is a paper maker, who was engaged in the banknote works at Wellington. He went to penal servitude for seven years for stealing banknote paper. He also has been released a very considerable time, and he also has vanished.”
“Lacey and Bums? I have heard of them. What is the other man’s name?” asked Peter.
Mr. Reeder told him.
“Jennings? I never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t because he is the most difficult type of criminal to track. In other words, he is not a criminal in the ordinary sense of the word. I am satisfied that he is on the Continent because, to be making paper, it is necessary that one should have the most up-to-date machinery. The printing is done here.”
“Where?” asked the girl innocently, and for the first time she saw Mr. Reeder smile.
“I want this man very badly, and it is a matter of interest for you, young lady, because I could get him tomorrow – for bigamy.” He saw the girl flush. “Which I shall not do. I want Jeff the Big Printer, not Jeff the bigamist. And oh, I want him badly!”
A sound of loud coughing came from the lawn, and Barney appeared at the head of the steps.
“Anybody want to see Emanuel Legge?”
They looked at one another.
“I don’t want to see him,” said Mr. Reeder decidedly. He nodded at the girl. “And you don’t want to see him. I fear that leaves only you, Mr. Kane.”
Chapter XXII
Peter was as cool as ice when he came into the drawingroom and found Emanuel examining the pictures on the wall with the air of a connoisseur. He turned, and beamed a benevolent smile upon the man he hated.
