The Mind of Mr. J. G. Reeder by Edgar Wallace

him.’
    She wondered, as her busy fingers flew over the keys of her typewriter, to what extent his agitation and wild eloquence was due to the rumoured ‘shakiness’ of Telfers Consolidated.
    Mr Billingham came, a sober little man, bald and taciturn, and went in his secretive way into his employer’s room. There was no hint in his appearance or his manner that he contemplated a great crime. He was stout to a point of podginess; apart from his habitual frown, his round face, unlined by the years, was marked by an expression of benevolence.
    Yet Mr Stephen Billingham, managing director of the Telfer Consolidated Trust, went into the office of the London and Central Bank late that afternoon, presented a bearer cheque for one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, which was duly honoured, and was driven to the Credit Lilloise. He had telephoned particulars of his errand and there were waiting for him seventeen large packets and one smaller one. He received the eighteen packages in exchange for a cheque on the Credit Lilloise for £80,000 and the £150,000 which he had drawn on the London and Central.
    Of Billingham’s movements thenceforth little was known. He was seen by an acquaintance driving through Cheapside in a taxi which was traced as far as Charing Cross – and there he disappeared. Neither the airways nor the waterways had known him, the police theory being that he had left by an evening train that had carried an excursion party via Havre to Paris.
    ‘This is the biggest steal we’ve had in years,’ said the Assistant Director of Public Prosecutions. ‘If you can slip in sideways on the inquiry, Mr Reeder, I should be glad. Don’t step on the toes of the City police – they’re quite amiable people where murder is concerned, but a little touchy where money is in question. Go along and see Sidney Telfer.’
    Fortunately, the prostrated Sidney was discoverable outside the City area. Mr Reeder went into the outer office and saw a familiar face.
    ‘Pardon me, I think I know you, young lady,’ he said, and she smiled as she opened the little wooden gate to admit him.
    ‘You’re Mr Reeder – we live in the same road,’ she said, and then quickly: ‘Have you come about Mr Billingham?’
    ‘Yes.’ His voice was hushed, as though he were speaking of a dead friend. ‘I wanted to see Mr Telfer, but perhaps you could give me a little information.’
    The only news she had was that Sidney Telfer had been in the office since nine o’clock and was at the moment in such a state of collapse that she had sent for the doctor.
    ‘I doubt if he’s in a condition to see you,’ she said.
    ‘I will take all responsibility,’ said Mr Reeder soothingly. ‘Is Mr Telfer – er – a friend of yours, Miss – ?’
    ‘Belman is my name.’ He had seen the quick flush that came to her cheek: it could mean one of two things. ‘No, I am an employee, that is all.’
    Her tone told him all he wanted to know. Mr J G Reeder was something of an authority on office friendships.
    ‘Bothered you a little, has he?’ he murmured, and she shot a suspicious look at him. What did he know, and what bearing had Mr Telfer’s mad proposal on the present disaster? She was entirely in the dark as to the true state of affairs; it was, she felt, a moment for frankness.
    ‘Wanted you to run away! Dear me!’ Mr Reeder was shocked. ‘He is married?’
    ‘Oh, no – he’s not married,’ said the girl shortly. ‘Poor man, I’m sorry for him now. I’m afraid that the loss is a very heavy one – who would suspect Mr Billingham?’
    ‘Ah! who indeed!’ sighed the lugubrious Reeder, and took off his glasses to wipe them; almost she suspected tears. ‘I think I’ll go in now – that is the door?’
    Sidney jerked up his face and glared at the intruder. He had been sitting with his head on his arms for the greater part of an hour.
    ‘I say…what do you want?’ he asked feebly. ‘I say I can’t see anybody…Public Prosecutor’s