The Red Triangle: Being Some Further Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, InvestigatorMorrison, Arthur
General
The Red Triangle: Being Some Further Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, Investigator
Morrison, Arthur
Detective and mystery stories, English; Private investigators -- Fiction
"But this is mere speculation. Mayes found that the keys on the premises
were not enough to release his money, even if the strict rules of the
bank had permitted the cashing of a cheque out of hours. But the manager
suggested that perhaps some neighbouring tradesman would exchange cash
for a cheque, and, with the view of obliging the new customer, went with
him as far as the shop of Mr. Isaac Trenaman, a grocer and cheesemonger
with a rather large shop at the corner of the road. Mr. Trenaman,
introduced and assured by the manager, was willing to give as much cash
as he could find in the till against Mr. Mayes's cheque, and did so to
the extent of twenty-seven pounds, a cheque for which sum was duly drawn
on one of the tradesman's own cheque forms, and left with him. This
done, the bank's new customer took himself off, with thanks and
apologies; carrying with him, however, two blank cheque forms from Mr.
Trenaman's book, the pennies for which he punctiliously paid over the
counter. Having no cheque forms with him, he explained, he might find
them useful if he could come across some friend who could provide the
cash he wished to use that night. And having completed this business so
far, this charming new customer of the bank made off into the night."
"And is that all you know of his movements?"
"Yes, as yet. He seems to have made no very definite excuse to the
manager for wanting the money in such a hurry--just said something had
occurred which made cash necessary, and was very polite and apologetic,
generally. The manager formed a notion that it must be for some gambling
purpose--he fancied that Mayes said something distantly alluding to
that, but wasn't sure."
"Did you ask about the address given to the bank?"
"Of course; but there we gained nothing. The manager couldn't remember
it exactly, and the books, of course, were locked up. But we know it
already--for what the manager _could_ remember was that it was an office
address, and somewhere near Barbican! So that we are back at the
Barbican den again, where I am going now, with Plummer, to give a day to
a minute investigation of the whole place. Meanwhile a watch is being
set at the bank in Holloway."
"Do you expect him back there, then?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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