Detective and mystery stories; Women journalists -- Fiction
“Oh, no; I’m sure the money doesn’t come into the matter at all. Of
course he wants the fifty pounds, but he doesn’t want to lose his
situation on the Board of Public Construction in the getting of it.”
“Where do you meet this man, at his own house, or in his office at the
Board?”
“Oh, in his own house, of course.”
“You haven’t seen the books, then?”
“No; but he has the accounts all made out, tabulated beautifully, and
has written a very clear statement of the whole transaction. You
understand, of course, that there has been no defalcation, no
embezzlement, or anything of that sort. The accounts as a whole
balance perfectly, and there isn’t a penny of the public funds wrongly
appropriated. All the Board has done is to juggle with figures so that
each department seems to have come out all right, whereas the truth is
that some departments have been carried on at a great profit, while with
others there has been a loss. The object obviously has been to deceive
the public and make it think that all the departments are economically
conducted.”
“I am sorry money hasn’t been stolen,” said the editor generously, “then
we would have had them on the hip; but, even as it is, the _Bugle_ will
make a great sensation. What I fear is that the opposition press will
seize on those very inaccuracies, and thus try to throw doubt on the
whole affair. Don’t you think that you can persuade this person to let
us have the information intact, without the inclusion of those blunders
he seems to insist on? I wouldn’t mind paying him a little more money,
if that is what he is after.”
“I don’t think that is his object. The truth is, the man is frightened,
and grows more and more so as the day for publication approaches. He is
so anxious about his position that he insisted he was not to be paid by
cheque, but that I should collect the money and hand it over to him in
sovereigns.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what to do, Alder. We mustn’t seem too eager. Let
the matter rest where it is until Monday. I suppose he expects you to
call upon him again to-day?”
“Yes; I told him I should be there at seven.”
“Don’t go, and don’t write any explanation. Let him transfer a little of
his anxiety to the fear of losing his fifty pounds. I want, if possible,
to publish this information with absolute accuracy.”
“Is there any danger, Mr. Hardwick, that some of the other papers may
get on the track of this?”
“No, I don’t think so; not for three days, anyway. If we appear too
eager, this man Hazel may refuse us altogether.”
“Very good, sir.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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