Mr. J. G. Reeder Returns by Edgar Wallace Page B

unfortunate failing, and was in the habit of coming to London every weekend to play at the club.
    “Mr Tasbitt was a master at Fernleigh College, a public school at which Larry O’Ryan was a scholar and from which he was expelled. There is no doubt whatever that the boy was innocent, and that the real thief was this same Tasbitt. Depending upon his master’s failing senses, Lidgett took Tasbitt, who probably agreed to fraud with the greatest reluctance and in some terror, to Sevenways Castle. Tasbitt was introduced and accepted as Olbude; there was very little risk; few people knew Olbude. I have only today learned that his title of major was a piece of vanity on his part, and that he had only served some twelve months in the Territorial Army and had not risen beyond the rank of second lieutenant. But that is by the way.
    “All might have gone well if Buckingham and Lidgett had not quarrelled, probably over the division of the loot. The two men were running a land development company, and though this was not very successful it was by no means a failure. I have now been able to trace Lidgett’s account, and a very considerable portion of the missing money will be in time restored to its owner when certain properties are liquidated.
    “It was unfortunate for Tasbitt that O’Ryan was in the vicinity of my office the day he called on me, for he was instantly recognised and, as it appeared, the recognition was mutual.”
    When the Assistant Public Prosecutor heard the story he asked a pertinent question.
    “Will this young lady marry O’Ryan?”
    Mr Reeder nodded.
    “I think so,” he said gravely.
    “Isn’t there a possibility that he’s after her money?”
    Mr Reeder shook his head.
    “He has quite a lot of money of his own,” he said, a little regretfully.
     

THE SHADOW MAN
1
    When Mr Reeder went to New York in connection with the Gessler Bank fraud he was treated as though he were a popular member of a royal family. New York policemen, who are more accustomed to seeing humanity in all sorts of odd shapes and appearances, and with that innate politeness and hospitality which is theirs, saw nothing amusing in the old-fashioned coat, which he kept tightly buttoned, in his square hat, or even his side-whiskers. They offered him the respect which was due to a very great detective. They were less deceived by his seeming timidity and his preference for everybody’s opinion but his own than were their English colleagues.
    His stay was a comparatively short one, yet, in the time at his disposal, he glided through the police headquarters of four great American cities, saw Atlanta prison, and, two days before he sailed, travelled by train to Ossning, passed through the steel gates of Sing-Sing and inspected that very interesting building under the guidance of the Deputy Warden, from card index to death house.
    “There’s one man I’d have liked you to see,” said the Deputy Warden just before they parted. “He’s an Englishman – he’s called Redsack. Have you ever heard of him?”
    Mr Reeder shook his head.
    “There are so many people I’ve never heard of,” he murmured apologetically, “and Mr Redsack is one of them. Is he staying here – er – for a long time?”
    “Life,” said the other laconically, “and he’s lucky to escape the chair. He’s broken three prisons, but he won’t break Sing-Sing – the most dangerous man we have in this institution.”
    Mr Reeder rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
    “I – um – would like to have seen him,” he said.
    The Deputy Warden smiled.
    “Just now he’s not visible, but he’ll be out tomorrow,” he said. “We had to put him in a punishment cell for trying to escape. I thought you might know him. He’s had four convictions in the United States, and he’s probably guilty of more murders than any prisoner inside these walls; he certainly has the biggest brain I’ve met with since I first dealt with criminals.”
    Mr Reeder smiled sadly and shook his