The Man Who Bought London

The Man who Bought London
Edgar Wallace
CHAPTER 1
Night had come to the West End, but though the hour was late, though
all Suburbia might at this moment be wrapped in gloom--a veritable
desert of deadness relieved only by the brightness and animation of the
busy public-houses--the Strand was thronged with a languid crowd all
agape for the shady mysteries of the night world, which writers
describe so convincingly, but the evidence of which is so often
disappointing.
Deserted Suburbia had sent its quota to stare at the evil night-life of the
Metropolis. That it was evil none doubted. These pallid shop girls
clinging to the arms of their protecting swains, these sedate, married
ladies, arm in arm with their husbands, these gay young bloods from a
thousand homes beyond the radius--they all knew the significance of
those two words: "West End."
They stood for an extravagant aristocracy--you could see the shimmer
and sheen of them as they bowled noiselessly along the Strand from
theatre to supper table, in their brilliantly illuminated cars, all lacquer
and silver work. They stood for all the dazzle of light, for all the joyous
ripple of laughter, for the faint strains of music which came from the
restaurants.
Suburbia saw, disapproved, but was intensely interested. For here was
hourly proof of unthinkable sums that to the strolling pedestrians were
only reminiscent of the impossible exercises in arithmetic which they
had been set in their earlier youth. It all reeked of money--the
Strand--Pall Mall (all ponderous and pompous clubs), but most of all,

Piccadilly Circus, a great glittering diamond of light set in the golden
heart of London.
Money--money--money! The contents bills reflected the spirit of the
West. "Well-known actress loses 20,000 pounds worth of jewellery,"
said one; "Five million shipping deal," said another, but that which
attracted most attention was the naming bill which The Monitor had
issued--
KING KERRY TO BUY LONDON
(Special)
It drew reluctant coppers from pockets which seldom knew any other
variety of coinage than copper. It brought rapidly-walking men,
hardened to the beguilement of the contents-bill author, to a sudden
standstill.
It even lured the rich to satisfy their curiosity. "King Kerry is going to
buy London," said one man.
"I wish he'd buy this restaurant and burn it," grumbled the other,
rapping on the table with the handle of a fork. "Waiter, how long are
you going to keep me before you take my order?"
"In a moment, sir."
A tall, good-looking man sitting at the next table, and occupying at the
moment the waiter's full attention, smiled as he heard the conversation.
His grey hair made him look much older than he was, a fact which
afforded him very little distress, for he had passed the stage when his
personal appearance excited much interest in his own mind. There were
many eyes turned toward him, as, having paid his bill, he rose from his
chair.
He seemed unaware of the attention he drew to himself, or, if aware, to
be uncaring, and with a thin cigar between his even white teeth he
made his way through the crowded room to the vestibule of the

restaurant.
"By Jove," said the man who had complained about the waiter's
inattention, "there goes the chap himself!" and he twisted round in his
chair to view the departing figure.
"Who?" asked his friend, laying down the paper he had been reading.
"King Kerry," said the other, "the American millionaire."
King Kerry strolled out through the revolving doors and was swallowed
up with the crowd.
Following King Kerry, at a distance, was another well-dressed man,
younger than the millionaire, with a handsome face and a subtle air of
refinement.
He scowled at the figure ahead as though he bore him no good will, but
made no attempt to overtake or pass the man in front, seeming content
to keep his distance. King Kerry crossed to the Haymarket and walked
down that sloping thoroughfare to Cockspur Street.
The man who followed was slimmer of build, yet well made. He
walked with a curious restricted motion that was almost mincing. He
lacked the swing of shoulder which one usually associated with the
well-built man, and there was a certain stiffness in his walk which
suggested a military training. Reflected by the light of a lamp under
which he stopped when the figure in front slowed down, the face was a
perfect one, small featured and delicate.
Herman Zeberlieff had many of the characteristics of his
Polish-Hungarian ancestry and if he had combined with these the
hauteur of his aristocratic forbears, it was not unnatural, remembering
that the Zeberlieffs had played no small part in the making of history.
King Kerry was taking a mild constitutional before returning to his
Chelsea house to sleep. His shadower guessed