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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
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RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
THE tap at his door made Bob Ripley start.
"Yes, who is it?" he called sharply.
"It's Rita, Bob."
Bob thrust something into a drawer of the table at which he was sitting, then sprang up and, stood staring at the slim shape and sweet face of the girl who came into the room, followed by a small rough-haired terrier. There was a puzzled look in her clear, brown eyes as the two faced one another.
"Were you asleep, Bob?" she asked.
"No—that is—" He broke off. "I'm sorry, Rita. I didn't know it was you."
Rita looked troubled.
"Bob, there's something wrong."
"There's nothing wrong," he said quickly.
She shook her head.
"That's a story. Sit down and tell me."
Bob dropped back in his chair, and Rita Scott perched herself lightly on the edge of the table. Bob's heart thumped at the nearness of her, and to cover his confusion he stooped and picked up the little dog. Patch settled herself comfortably on his knee.
"Go on," Rita ordered.
Bob opened the drawer and handed her a small arrangement of wood and wire.
"A trap?" asked Rita as she fingered it in puzzled fashion.
"Yes, a new sort of rat trap. It's far easier to set than the old kind and much more certain to act. See here."
He took it from her and set it. Then he touched the trigger with a pencil, and it snapped with a violence that made the girl start.
"It's wonderful," she said. "And you invented it, Bob. How clever of you! It ought to sell like hot cakes, and you ought to make a lot of money."
"That s just what I'd hoped to do, only I'm not going to." Bob's tone was grim, and so was his usually pleasant face.
"Why, what's the matter? Surely you can sell it to your friend, Metcalf."
Bob shook his head.
"Metcalf has seen it and thinks well of it. But he can't risk putting it on the market unless I pay part of the cost. He wants me to put up one hundred and fifty pounds."
"And you haven't got it?"
"I haven't got one hundred and fifty shillings," said Bob, bitterly. Rita pursed her pretty lips.
"Couldn't you borrow it, Bob? Wouldn't old Erskine lend it you?"
Bob shook his head.
"Not without security, and I've none to offer. Anyway he's away."
"And is there no one else? Oh, Bob, you must try. It's such a chance."
"I'll try; you bet I'll try. I'm mad to make money, Rita."
"Why?"
"I'll tell you when I've made it."
As he spoke Bob looked up at Rita, and what she saw in his eves sent the colour flooding to her face.
Patch stirred and growled. Her eyes were on the door which Rita had left ajar. There came a knock, and a man looked in. He was tall with crisp, black hair brushed back from his forehead; good features and jutting chin. Handsome if you did not happen to notice that his dark eyes were set a little too close on each side of his straight nose, and that his lips were curiously thin.
"Oh, so you're here, Rita?" he said, unpleasantly.
Bob jumped to his feet.
"And why shouldn't she be here?" he demanded, hotly.
Mel Erskine scowled.
"You know my uncle doesn't allow it," he answered.
"Doesn't allow what? "
"Girls in men's rooms," retorted the other.
"What—with the door wide open! You've got a rotten mind, Erskine."
Mel Erskine's eyes narrowed.
"Hadn't you better be careful, Ripley?" he said in a very nasty tone.
Bob went a step forward. His fists clenched.
"So careful that I'll throw you downstairs if you don't get out."
Rita interfered.
"Stop it, Bob. I'm not going to have you two fighting. As for you, Mel, I quite agree with Bob. You'd no business to say what you did, and you owe us both an apology."
Mel Erskine looked from one to the other. Then he laughed.
"Oh, all right, Rita. I didn't know Ripley would be so touchy. Only you promised to play bridge, and now it's too late. It'll be supper in less than half an hour."
He turned and went downstairs, and Bob and Rita looked at one another.
"Do you think he heard? " Rita asked.
"It doesn't much matter if he did. The trap's patented." He laughed, harshly. "Now, I suppose, he'll get his uncle to throw me out of the hostel. He's only been waiting for a chance."
"He won't do that, Bob," said Rita, gently. She gave his arm a little pat. "I must run and change. Cheer up, Bob. Somehow we must get that money for your trap."
BOB RIPLEY and Rita Scott were two of a number of young people who lived in the hostel in Welton Street, founded by James Erskine. James was a rich man who ran the hostel as a hobby, and Melville Erskine was his nephew and secretary.
James was away, and Mel took his place at the head of the long table where the fourteen inhabitants of the big house gathered for supper. Mel seemed to have recovered his temper, and laughed and talked with Rita, who sat on his right, while Bob, near the other end of the table, jealously tried to catch scraps of their conversation. He disliked Mel almost as much as he loved Rita. One thing he did hear, and it pleased him—Mel's announcement that he was going down to his cousin's place at Henley.
"Little river party," he said, boastfully. Jolly unconventional crowd—wish I could take you, Rita," he added in a lower tone. "Perhaps I may some day. Only then you won't be Rita Scott."
"And what shall I be?" asked Rita, quietly.
"Why, Rita Erskine, I hope."
Rita looked him full in the face.
"I like parties," she said. "specially river parties. But it's possible to pay too highly for one's pleasures."
Bob did not hear this, but he saw the scowl on Mel's face and smiled inwardly.
Mel drove off after dinner in his two-seater, and Rita made one of a four at bridge. But Bob had no heart for bridge.
He went to his room and sat smoking and thinking.
NEXT morning Bob went to see Metcalf, and did his best to make him change his mind. It was no use.
"I believe in your trap, Ripley," Metcalf said. "Properly worked up and well advertised, there's money in it, but I simply haven't got the cash to start it. If you can't raise the money you'd better sell the patent."
"And get fifty quid for it!" retorted Bob. bitterly. "I'd sooner scrap it."
AS he walked slowly back, Bob felt almost desperate. There was not a soul to whom he could turn for the money he needed so sorely. It began to rain as he walked down the Strand, and he bolted into Charing Cross tube station. As he reached the ticket-office a hand dropped on his shoulder, and he turned to face a smartly-dressed smiling young American.
"Rand!" he exclaimed, incredulously, "Curtis Rand!"
"Sure thing!" answered the other, grinning happily. "Say, Bob, but this is the greatest luck ever. I wrote to your old address and got no answer, and I've been wondering and wondering what had become of you. Which way are you going?"
"Back to my diggings—out of the rain."
"You haven't got a date, then?"
"Not that I know of."
"Well, you have one now. You're coming to the Waldorf to lunch with me."
He led Bob out and called a taxi. Curtis Rand and Bob had become intimate friends three years earlier, when Bob's father was alive, and before the bank smash which had ruined the Ripleys. Now Curtis Rand's father was president of a New York insurance company, and Curtis told Bob that he was in London on his father's business.
"Got to leave for the Continent tomorrow morning," he said. So it surely was luck I struck you when I did."
He gave Bob the best meal he had eaten for years, and a bottle of excellent wine. Then they moved to a quiet corner of the lounge, where Curtis ordered coffee, old brandy, and cigars. At first they talked of old times and old friends, then Curtis asked what Bob had been doing since their last meeting, and Bob, his tongue loosened by good food and wine, told how he had tried one thing after another, and finally turned inventor. Curtis was deeply interested in the rat trap, and made Bob describe it carefully.
"It sounds to me like a right good thing." he said at last, "and if business were better I'd say bring it across to New York." He broke off as a waiter came up with a telephone message. Curtis read it and swore under his breath.
"I'm mighty sorry. Bob, but I've got to go. Dad's agent wants me right away."
Bob jumped up.
"Go ahead, old man. Don't bother about me. You can't think how its cheered me meeting you."
"Well, Bob, it won't be like last time," said Curtis. "I've got your address and you have mine. When I get home I'll see what's doing and if I can find any opening I'll let you know. Anyway, I'll write. Good luck, old lad."
THE sun was out again when Bob reached the street and he walked away feeling happier than for a long time past. He said to himself that he would blue a few of his remaining shillings in taking Rita to the pictures. She would like to hear of his meeting with Rand. It was a nasty shook when a maid told him that Rita had gone to bed with a headache. He spent the evening in his room and went to bed early.
No Rita at breakfast next morning and Bob learned that she was not yet up. A letter lay on his plate and recognizing the neat handwriting of Curtis Rand, he slipped it into his pocket. He hated reading his letters in a crowd.
When he opened it in the solitude of his own room the first thing he found was a bundle of notes—fifteen—and each for ten pounds. Bob stared at them, hardly able to believe his eyes, then read the letter.
Dear Bob,
Enclosed will start that rat trap and if you make a good thing of it you can repay me. If not, don't worry; but I know you will succeed. I'm mighty glad to be able to do a chum a good turn. All the luck.
Yours ever, C.R.
Bob sat quite still. There were tears in his eyes and he was glad that he was alone. Presently he pulled himself together, put on his hat, went out, and, jumping on a bus, was carried eastwards.
BOB'S day was a busy one and it was late before he returned to the hostel. So late that supper was over. But Bob did not mind. He had a spirit kettle and biscuits in his own room. He was brewing himself a cup of cocoa when he heard a knock.
"Come in," he called cheerfully, thinking it was Rita. Instead, James Erskine himself entered the room, followed by his nephew. Bob was so surprised he simply sat still and stared. It was the first time since he had come to the hostel that its owner had called on him. James was a tall, gaunt man, and one glance at his long cadaverous face told Bob that his call was not one of courtesy.
"Mel's been sneaking, and I'm going to get the sack," was his thought, but it was worse than that.
"My safe has been opened during my absence," James stated, harshly. "Have you anything to say about it, Ripley?"
Bob was so surprised he could only stare.
"Me," he managed to get out. "What on earth should I know about it?"
James's eyes were cold as stone.
"It has come to my knowledge that you were in urgent need of one hundred and fifty pounds. That is exactly the sum that has been taken from my safe. I know also that you have paid away that sum to-day to a man named Metcalf. You will agree that the evidence is very strong against you."
Bob recovered from his first surprise. He turned on Mel.
"So you've been spying on me," he said, scornfully.
"Not until I was forced to," replied Mel, quietly. "Uncle James returned last night and this morning found the money missing from his safe. Do you deny you paid away one hundred and fifty pounds to-day?"
"Certainly not. But that money did not come out of your safe. It was lent me by an American friend whom I met yesterday."
"An American friend?" Mel's tone was frankly sceptical. "May I ask his name?"
"Certainly. He is Curtis Rand."
"Can you produce him?" asked James in his grimmest voice.
"I can't, for he is already on his way to the Continent."
James grunted.
"You have his address?"
"His home address, but he won't he home for some time."
"Your story strikes me as rather thin," said James deliberately, and Bob realised, with a nasty sinking at his heart, that it did indeed sound thin, and that, if he could not get into touch with Curtis he was in a very nasty hole.
James went on:
"My safe was opened with a false key. Now we know that you are the only person in this house who is enough of a mechanic to cut such a key. I want no scandal. If you will give up this key and return the money you may leave quietly. Otherwise—"
Bob flared up.
"Otherwise you'll call the police. Well, go ahead, and be damned to you!"
Mel spoke:
"See here, Ripley, it's no use any of us losing our tempers. You must admit that the evidence is all against you. I have a suggestion to make. It is that you will allow us to search your room for the key. If we find it you give up the money and clear out. If we fail—why, then we will wait until you can produce your American friend. Do you agree to that, Uncle?"
"Yes, I will agree to that," answered the old man.
"And you, Ripley?" Mel asked, quietly.
"Of course," Bob said, scornfully. "Considering I've never even seen your key, Mr. Erskine, it wouldn't be very easy for me to make a duplicate. Look anywhere you like. I've no secrets. My tools are in the two lower drawers of my cupboard, and here's the key of my desk."
Mel started a methodical search. First he went through the desk, then the chest of drawers, then the cupboard. Old James stood like a grim statue, and Bob's lip curled as he watched.
Then his face changed. A nasty thought had suddenly flashed into his mind. Mel hated him. Suppose that he had planted a key somewhere in the room? He had had all day to do it.
The more Bob considered this idea the more uncomfortable he became, and he cursed himself for a fool that he had permitted the search. But the damage was done now. It was too late to stop it.
Desk, drawers, and cupboard were drawn blank, but Bob's suspicions were not allayed. His eyes were on Mel, and he could swear to the gloating anticipation on the man's face. This prolonged search was just a blind, and Mel was working towards the place where he had hidden that key.
And when he found it...
It suddenly occurred to Bob that he had given his word to return the money—his own money. That would finish everything and there was no way out.
"You have found no key, Mel?" Old James's rusty voice broke out suddenly on Bob's troubled thoughts.
"Not yet," said Mel, "but I haven't finished."
He turned to Bob's bed and wash-stand, which were hidden by a screen. He turned up the mattress, searched everywhere, but still without success. He came back from behind the screen and stood looking round the room.
"I am beginning to think the key is not here," said the old man.
"Wait!" said Mel, sharply. "There's one more place."
He went across to the radiator, which stood in one corner, and pushed his hand down behind it.
"That's the place," Bob thought, bitterly. "He's kept it till the last on purpose."
Suddenly came a sharp snapping sound, and Mel leaped back with a shriek. He jumped about the room, yelling.
Well he might, for dangling from his right hand was Bob's patent rat trap. Old James seemed stricken speechless; as for Bob, he was in much the same case.
"I think that settles it." The quiet voice made all three turn, and there in the doorway Rita stood, pale but quite composed, and with Patch, as usual, at her heels.
"What do you mean, Miss Scott?" old James demanded. "I don't understand."
"It's quite simple," said Rita. "Three hours ago Patch growled, and I knew it was Mel. I looked out and watched him go into this room, and knew he was up to no good. When he had left, I went in and searched and found this key." She held it out. "So I took it and planted the rat trap in its place."
Mel went white, but he made a last effort to bluff.
"A nice story, Rita!" he sneered "It's much more likely you're trying to shield Ripley. We all know how fond you are of him."
"That is easily settled," said Rita, calmly. "I think, Mr. Erskine, that if you will search your nephew's room, that is where you'll find the missing money."
Mel made a sudden dash for the door, but Bob thrust out a foot and tripped him neatly.
"It looks as if you've hit the right nail on the head, Rita," he remarked. "What do you think, Mr. Erskine?"
"I will go and see for myself," said the old man, grimly. But Mel staggered to his feet.
"You needn't," he said, sullenly. "It's true."
His uncle grasped him by the arm.
"Come with me," he said, and the younger man shivered but obeyed. As the door closed Bob turned to Rita.
"You dear!" he exclaimed. "You are wonderful!"
She laughed softly as his arms went round her.
"You mustn't forget Patch," she said, demurely, "or your own patent."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.