The Daffodil Mystery | Page 3

Edgar Wallace
along the corridor which connected his
private den with the board-room, and came into that spacious apartment
with outstretched hand.
The man who turned to greet him may have been twenty-seven or
thirty-seven. He was tall, but lithe rather than broad. His face was the
colour of mahogany, and the blue eyes turned to Lyne were unwinking
and expressionless. That was the first impression which Lyne received.
He took Lyne's hand in his--it was as soft as a woman's. As they shook
hands Lyne noticed a third figure in the room. He was below middle
height and sat in the shadow thrown by a wall pillar. He too rose, but
bowed his head.
"A Chinaman, eh?" said Lyne, looking at this unexpected apparition
with curiosity. "Oh, of course, Mr. Tarling, I had almost forgotten that
you've almost come straight from China. Won't you sit down?"
He followed the other's example, threw himself into a chair and offered
his cigarette case.
"The work I am going to ask you to do I will discuss later," he said.
"But I must explain, that I was partly attracted to you by the description
I read in one of the newspapers of how you had recovered the Duchess
of Henley's jewels and partly by the stories I heard of you when I was
in China. You're not attached to Scotland Yard, I understand?"
Tarling shook his head.

"No," he said quietly. "I was regularly attached to the police in
Shanghai, and I had intended joining up with Scotland Yard; in fact, I
came over for that purpose. But several things happened which made
me open my own detective agency, the most important of which
happenings, was that Scotland Yard refused to give me the free hand I
require!"
The other nodded quickly.
China rang with the achievements of Jack Oliver Tarling, or, as the
Chinese criminal world had named him in parody of his name, "Lieh
Jen," "The Hunter of Men."
Lyne judged all people by his own standard, and saw in this
unemotional man a possible tool, and in all probability a likely
accomplice.
The detective force in Shanghai did curious things by all accounts, and
were not too scrupulous as to whether they kept within the strict letter
of the law. There were even rumours that "The Hunter of Men" was not
above torturing his prisoners, if by so doing he could elicit confessions
which could implicate some greater criminal. Lyne did not and could
not know all the legends which had grown around the name of "The
Hunter" nor could he be expected in reason to differentiate between the
truth and the false.
"I pretty well know why you've sent for me," Tarling went on. He
spoke slowly and had a decided drawl. "You gave me a rough outline in
your letter. You suspect a member of your staff of having consistently
robbed the firm for many years. A Mr. Milburgh, your chief
departmental manager."
Lyne stopped him with a gesture and lowered his voice.
"I want you to forget that for a little while, Mr. Tarling," he said. "In
fact, I am going to introduce you to Milburgh, and maybe, Milburgh
can help us in my scheme. I do not say that Milburgh is honest, or that
my suspicions were unfounded. But for the moment I have a much

greater business on hand, and you will oblige me if you forget all the
things I have said about Milburgh. I will ring for him now."
He walked to a long table which ran half the length of the room, took
up a telephone which stood at one end, and spoke to the operator.
"Tell Mr. Milburgh to come to me in the board-room, please," he said.
Then he went back to his visitor.
"That matter of Milburgh can wait," he said. "I'm not so sure that I shall
proceed any farther with it. Did you make inquiries at all? If so, you
had better tell me the gist of them before Milburgh comes."
Tarling took a small white card from his pocket and glanced at it.
"What salary are you paying Milburgh?"
"Nine hundred a year," replied Lyne.
"He is living at the rate of five thousand," said Tarling. "I may even
discover that he's living at a much larger rate. He has a house up the
river, entertains very lavishly----"
But the other brushed aside the report impatiently.
"No, let that wait," he cried. "I tell you I have much more important
business. Milburgh may be a thief----"
"Did you send for me, sir?"
He turned round quickly. The door had opened without noise, and a
man stood on the threshold of the room, an ingratiating smile on his
face, his hands twining and intertwining ceaselessly as though he was
washing
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