Mr. J. G. Reeder Returns Read Online Free Page B

method of working. But a report has come to this office that you have been seen very frequently in the company of the man who was charged at the Old Bailey and whose sentence was quashed on appeal. I think you ought to know this. I have told those concerned that you are probably trying to get information about the other two robberies. I suppose I am right in this?”
    “No, sir,” said Mr Reeder, “you are most emphatically not right.”
    When Mr Reeder was definite he was very definite. “I am not even trying to keep this young man to the path of rectitude. A detective, sir, is like a journalist; he may be seen in any company without losing caste. I like Mr O’Ryan; he is very interesting, and I shall see him just as often as I wish to see him, and if the department – um – feels that I am acting in any way derogatory to its dignity, or impairing its authority, I am prepared to place my resignation in its hands forthwith.”
    This was a Reeder which the Assistant Prosecutor did not know, but of which he had heard – Mr Reeder the imperious, the dictatorial. It was not a pleasant experience.
    “There is no reason why you should take that tone, Mr Reeder–” he began.
    “That is the tone I invariably employ with any person or persons who interfere in the slightest degree with my private life,” said Mr Reeder.
    The Assistant Prosecutor telephoned his chief, who was in the country, and the Public Prosecutor replied very tersely and to the point.
    “Let him do as he wishes. For God’s sake don’t interfere with him!” he said testily. “Reeder is quite capable of looking after himself and his own reputation.”
    So Mr Reeder went in a sort of mild triumph to the Queen’s Hall, where Larry was waiting for him, and together they sat and listened to a classical programme which was wholly incomprehensible to J G Reeder, but which he suffered rather than offend his companion.
    “Wonderful!” breathed Larry, as the last trembling notes of a violin were engulfed in a thunder of applause.
    “Extraordinary,” agreed Mr Reeder. “I didn’t recognise the tune, but he seemed to play the fiddle rather nicely.”
    “You’re a Philistine, Mr Reeder,” groaned Larry.
    Mr Reeder shook his head sadly.
    “I’m afraid I shall never he able to appreciate these peculiar sounds which – um – so interest you,” he said. “I have a liking for old songs; in fact, I think ‘In the Gloaming’ is one of the most beautiful pieces I have ever heard–”
    “Come and have a drink,” said Larry, in despair.
    This was during the interval, and they made their way to the bar at the back of the stalls. It was here that Mr Buckingham made his dramatic entrance.
    He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, red of face, rough of speech; his hair was unruly, his eye a little wild, and he moved in a nidor of spirituous liquor. He stared glassily at Mr Reeder, reached out a big and ugly hand.
    “You’re Mr Reeder, ain’t you?” he said thickly. “I’ve been thinking of coming to see you, and I would have come, only I’ve been busy. Fancy meeting you here! I’ve seen you often in court.”
    Mr Reeder took the hand and dropped it. He hated moist hands. So far as he could recall, he had never met the man before, but evidently he was known to him. As though he read his thoughts, the other went on:
    “My name’s Buckingham. I used to be in ‘L’ Division.” Leaning forward, he asked confidentially, “Have you ever heard such muck?”
    Evidently this disrespectful reference was to the concert.
    “I wouldn’t have come, but my girlfriend made me. She’s highbrow!” He winked. “I’ll introduce her.”
    He dived into the crowd and returned, dragging a pallid-looking girl with a long, unhealthy face, who was not so highbrow that she despised the source of Mr Buckingham’s inspiration, for her eyes too were a little glassy.
    “One of these days I’ll come and talk to you,” said Buckingham. “I don’t know whether I’ll