Mr. J. G. Reeder Returns Read Online Free

shall ever be able to connect you,” Mr Reeder went on, “and in a sense I’m rather glad. That is a very immoral statement to make,” he added hastily, “and against all my – um – principles, as you probably know. What are you going to do for a living now, Mr O’Ryan?”
    “I am living on my income,” said Larry calmly. “I have investments abroad which will bring me in, roughly, seven thousand a year.”
    Mr Reeder nodded slowly.
    “In other words, five per cent on a hundred and forty thousand pounds,” he murmured. “A goodly sum – a very goodly sum.” He sighed.
    “You don’t seem very happy about it.” Larry’s eyes twinkled.
    Mr Reeder shook his head.
    “No, I am thinking of the poor shareholders of Creed’s Bank–”
    “There are no shareholders. The Creeds practically hold the shares between them. They tricked my father out of a hundred thousand pounds – a little more than that sum. I have never had the full particulars, but I know it was a hundred thousand – snapped it out of his pocket, and there was no possibility of getting back on them.”
    J G looked at the ceiling.
    “So it was an act of poetic justice!” he said slowly. “And Panton Trust?”
    “You know the Panton crowd,” said Larry quietly. “They have been living on the edge of highway robbery for the past twenty-five years. They’ve made most of their money out of crooked companies and tricky share dealing. They owe me much more than – they lost.”
    A beatific smile passed over Mr Reeder’s face.
    “You nearly said, ‘than I took’,” he said reproachfully.
    “I nearly didn’t say anything of the kind,” said Larry. “No, don’t waste your sympathy on them. And I could tell you something about the Medway and Western Bank that would interest you, but I won’t.”
    “Poetic justice again, eh? You are almost a romantic figure!”
    Mr Reeder grasped the teapot and refilled the young man’s cup.
    “I’ll promise you something; we’ll not discuss this matter again, but I’ll be very glad to see you any time you find life a little wearisome and would like to discover how really dull it can be. At the same time, I feel I should – um – warn you that if you – er – fall from grace and desire to wreak your poetic vengeance upon some other banking institution, these little visits will cease, and I shall do my best to put you behind locks which were not manufactured by the Monarch Security Steel Corporation!”
    Larry became a fairly frequent visitor to the house in Brockley Road. Some people might have suspected Mr Reeder of maintaining the acquaintance in order to secure further information about the earlier robberies. But Larry did not suspect Mr Reeder of anything of the sort, and J G appreciated this compliment more than the young man knew.
    Larry got into the habit of calling at night, and particularly when an interesting crime had been committed. He knew very little of the so-called underworld, and surprised Mr Reeder when he told him that he had never met a crook until he was arrested.
    This oddly matched pair had another interest in common; the British Museum. A visit to the museum was Larry’s favourite recreation. Mr Reeder, whenever he could find the time, invariably spent his Saturday afternoons in its heavily instructive atmosphere. And they both found their interest in the same psychology. Mr Reeder loved to stand before the Elgin marbles and picture the studio in old Greece where these figures grew under the chisel of the master. He would stand for hours, looking down at a mummy, reconstructing the living woman who lay swathed behind the bandages. What was her life, her interests, her friends? How did she amuse herself? Had she children? What were they called? Did she find life boring or amusing? Did she have trouble with her servants?
    Larry’s mind ran in the same direction. They would stand before some ancient missal and conjure up a picture of the tonsured monk who worked in his