The Man Who Bought London | Page 9

you."
"Who by?" asked Baggin, with some show of interest.
"One of your pals," said the gaoler, and vouchsafed no further
information.
So Zeberlieff had moved, had he?
Baggin had no pals, save the pal for whom he was waiting, and in
whom he had placed his faith. His spirits rose again. He remembered
that it would be as well not to be too emphatic. There might come a
time when it would be necessary to admit the existence of the other
man.
"Here is your breakfast," said a detective, as the door swung open again,
and he was accompanied by a warder with a little tray, carrying a
steaming jug of coffee and a plate of toast. "Now, just think it out, and
let me know how you feel before you go into court. It might make all
the difference in the world to you. Why should you stand the racket for
another man's crime?" the detective asked.
Baggin was not to be cajoled, but no sooner had the door closed behind
the detective than he moved mechanically across to where the
writing-pad lay and picked it up. He would give the stranger a chance;
in the meantime he was hungry.
He took a draught of the coffee, at the same time wondering how his
new-found pal would get him out of the scrape.
Five minutes later a detective and the gaoler strolled down to his cell.
"I will have a talk with him," said the detective, and the gaoler, without
troubling to look through the grating, inserted the key and pulled the

door open.
The detective uttered an exclamation and sprang into the cell. Baggin
lay in a huddled heap amongst a litter of broken china and spilt coffee.
The detective lifted him up bodily and turned him over.
"My God!" he said, "he's dead! He has been poisoned! There is the
scent of cyanide of potassium in this cell."
"Poisoned?" asked the startled gaoler. "Who did it? How did he get it?"
"It was in the coffee," replied the detective slowly, "and the man that
sent it in was the man who employed Baggin to do his dirty work."
CHAPTER V
Before the lunch hour arrived at Tack and Brighton's, there came to
Elsie Marion, through the medium of the senior shopwalker, an
invitation to attend upon Mr. Tack. It was couched in such elegant
language, and delivered with grace that no doubt could exist in the
mind of any intelligent being that message and messenger had been
most carefully rehearsed.
At five minutes to one Elsie presented herself at the partners' office. Mr.
Tack was not alone; his partner sat bunched up in a chair, biting his
knuckles and scowling furiously.
The firm of Tack and Brighten was not distinguished by the fact that
one member of the firm whose name appeared upon the facade had no
incorporate existence. There may have been a Brighten in the old days,
but nobody had ever seen him or met him. He was a business legend.
The dominant partner of the firm was James Leete.
He was a stout man, stouter than the fiery Mr. Tack. He walked with a
waddle, and his face was not pleasant. It was creased and puffed into a
score of unhealthy rolls and crevices; his nose was red and bulbous and
to accentuate and emphasize his unloveliness, he wore a black-rimmed
monocle. Immensely rich, he fawned a way through life, for he sought

inclusion in ducal house parties and was happiest in the society of rank.
"This is the girl?" he asked.
He had a thick, husky voice, naturally coarse, through which ran with
grotesque insistence a tone of mock culture which he had acquired by
conscientious imitation of his models.
"This is Miss Marion," said Tack gloomily.
Leete leered up at him.
"Pretty girl! I suppose you know it, Miss What's-your-name?"
Elsie made no reply, though the colour came to her cheek at the
undisguised insolence of the man.
"Now, look here!"--Leete swung his gross shape round on the revolving
chair till he faced her and wagged a fat finger in her direction--"you've
got to be very careful what you say to my friend King Kerry:
everything you tell him he'll repeat to me, and if you tell one solitary,
single lie about this business I can have you clapped into gaol for
criminal libel."
The girl smiled in spite of herself.
"You can grin!" growled Leete; "but I mean it--see? Not that you know
anything that we mind you saying. You're not exactly in the confidence
of the firm--and if you were," he added quickly, "you'd know no more
to our detriment than you do."
"Don't worry!" answered the girl coolly. "I shall tell him nothing except
that you have said you are