Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

Of course, he wasn’t. William Smith had long since realized that. No man reaches — and holds — a position of eminence if he is a fool. He might reach it — by influence — but it’s the holding of it that is the acid test.

Slowly, he concluded that Bordington was the man who had scooped the pool ahead of him. He wrote to Bordington that night, a curt note, telling him that he proposed to call on him the following day on an important matter.

The next morning — the morning on which Kitty met Jim Lansdale — Bill Smith was in Bordington.

He was received with the deference due to an expected visitor, and was shown into the great paneled library, which, looking out across the tennis courts, was the pleasantest room in the pleasant house. Smith glanced out of one of the tall windows.

There were the courts, en-tout-cas, grass, and hard green courts. To the left of them was a stretch of flower-bed dotted lawn. To their right was a tall, clipped hedge cutting off the kitchen gardens which spread all across the rear of the manor. It was a wonderful place, Smith reflected.

In fact, all these old English homes were wonderful places — monumental, unattainable without the passage of time. In an incredibly sentimental moment he felt almost regretful that, one by one, they should be trampled beneath the onward marching feet of so-called progress.

Lord Bordington came into the room, and Smith turned to meet him.

Bordington was suavely polite: “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. You’re a few minutes ahead of your time. But sit down. I don’t know whether you drink in the morning. There’s a bottle and syphon on that sideboard.”

Smith shook his head. He took a cigar, and dropped into a chair. “About Che Fiangs,” he said abruptly.

“Yes? You have apparently been busy. I see there have been some interesting movements in the quotations.”

Smith scowled and took the unlighted cigar from between his lips. “Very busy,” he said. “Only somebody has been busier.”

Bordington’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He did not say anything.

Smith got to his feet. He was ever unable to sit down when agitated.

“You’ve done me,” he said, with brutal directness.

“I’m afraid—” began Bordington coldly.

Smith waved him to silence. “Shut up a minute. That girl spilled the beans to start with.”

“Ah!” It was a little, quiet exclamation. Bordington was suddenly watchful.

Smith went on. There was the suggestion of a mirtless laugh in his voice: “Set a thief to catch a thief, eh? Well, it’s an old saying, but all the old sayings aren’t true. It was a good plan, but it fell down on one point — the character of the girl. You thought fifty thousand was fair bait. She was a high flyer, though. She preferred partnership with me.”

“Is that so?” asked Bordington. “Well, it may interest both you and her to know that I have asked the Home Office to put Murray on her trail for a theft of the copy of the treaty from my safe on the night I met her.”

Smith lit his cigar. He wanted to think. There was some admiration in his eyes when he next looked at Bordington, who, all this time, had remained standing.

“By God! That’s cute of you, eh? You reckoned she’d split to me, or just bolted. You knew I’d got the treaty. So you put the blame on to her. You’re pretty deep.”

“I endeavor to practice intelligent anticipation,” agreed Bordington.

“Hm.” Smith drew reflectively at the cigar. This man whom he had once trapped was difficult to hold. He began to appreciate the abilities of the lost Trevelyan, who had managed to secure Bordington’s signature. “Now listen. I’ve come here to level things a bit. I’ve got the treaty, and I can tell my story as to how it reached me. You’ve cornered Che Fiangs.”

Bordington laughed. “As frankness seems the dominant note of this interesting conversation, I might as well confess that I have. I hold a controlling interest in the company’s affairs. I shall smash anybody who tries gambling in the shares. Do you understand that?”

“Oh — I understand it, all right. I spotted the red light quick enough to keep out.”

“I presumed that you would, although it pained me to have to come to the conclusion. I should have dearly liked to have smashed you. Which brings me to a little point. You said just now that I fell down in a little scheme on my reading of the character of that girl — Willis, was her name? May I point out that you also fell down on a little scheme, through failure correctly to read character? Mine?”

“How’s that?” asked Smith.

“Well — you held my piece of paper and you wanted the treaty copy for a certain purpose. I was in this position. I must either risk ruin or hand you the copy, whereby you would profit. But it suddenly occurred to me that if I removed from your reach the opportunity of profiting by receipt of the treaty copy, my handing of the same to you was largely innocuous.