Detective and mystery stories; Women journalists -- Fiction
CHAPTER III. JENNIE INTERVIEWS A FRIGHTENED OFFICIAL.
It was a little past seven o’clock when Miss Baxter’s hansom drove up to
the two-storeyed house in Rupert Square numbered 17. She knocked at the
door, and it was speedily opened by a man with some trace of anxiety on
his clouded face, who proved to be Hazel himself, the clerk at the Board
of Public Construction. “You are Mr. Hazel?” she ventured, on entering.
“Yes,” replied the man, quite evidently surprised at seeing a lady
instead of the man he was expecting at that hour; “but I am afraid I
shall have to ask you to excuse me; I am waiting for a visitor who is a
few minutes late, and who may be here at any moment.”
“You are waiting for Mr. Alder, are you not?”
“Yes,” stammered the man, his expression of surprise giving place to one
of consternation.
“Oh, well, that is all right,” said Miss Jennie, reassuringly. “I have
just driven from the office of the _Daily Bugle_. Mr. Alder cannot come
to-night.”
“Ah,” said Hazel, closing the door. “Then are you here in his place?”
“I am here instead of him. Mr. Alder is on other business that he had to
attend to at the editor’s request. Now, Mr. Hardwick--that’s the editor,
you know----”
“Yes, I know,” answered Hazel.
They were by this time seated in the front parlour.
“Well, Mr. Hardwick is very anxious that the figures should be given
with absolute accuracy.”
“Of course, that would be much better,” cried the man; “but, you see, I
have gone thoroughly into the question with Mr. Alder already. He said
he would mention what I told him to the editor--put my position before
him, in fact.”
“Oh, he has done so,” said Miss Baxter, “and did it very effectively
indeed; in fact, your reasons are quite unanswerable. You fear, of
course, that you will lose your situation, and that is very important,
and no one in the _Bugle_ office wishes you to suffer for what you have
done. Of course, it is all in the public interest.”
“Of course, of course,” murmured Hazel, looking down on the table.
“Well, have you all the documents ready, so that they can be published
at any time?”
“Quite ready,” answered the man.
“Very well,” said the girl, with decision; “here are your fifty pounds.
Just count the money, and see that it is correct. I took the envelope as
it was handed to me, and have not examined the amount myself.”
She poured the sovereigns out on the table, and Hazel, with trembling
fingers, counted them out two by two.
“That is quite right,” he said, rising. He went to a drawer, unlocked
it, and took out a long blue envelope.
“There,” he said, with a sigh that was almost a gasp. “There are the
figures, and a full explanation of them. You will be very careful that
my name does not slip out in any way.”
“Certainly,” said Miss Jennie, coolly drawing forth the papers from
their covering. “No one knows your name except Mr. Alder, Mr. Hardwick,
and myself; and I can assure you that I shall not mention it to anyone.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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