The Huntsman (Robert Budd Mystery Book 6) by Gerald Verner

Author:Gerald Verner [Verner, Gerald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

THE FORGED NOTES

The tap-room held its usual regular habitués when he came in, but there was no sign of Cadell. Since the arrival of the girl on that wet and dreary night, he had kept away. That was another of the “odd incidents” which Mr. Budd found so difficult to relegate to a pattern. The novelist had very obviously recog¬nised the girl, and, just as obviously, the recognition had given him a shock. And where had she gone in the middle of the night, when Tommy Weston had followed and lost her? To see Cadell? If so, she must have reached White Cottage almost coincident with Stocking-foot.

Her signature in Mr. Ketler’s register had been completely unreadable—a shapeless scrawl that might have meant anything—and she had settled her bill and gone before anyone but the land¬lord was up. A queer proceeding, when one took into account the way she had spent the greater part of the night. But queer proceedings seemed to be common to everybody who set foot in Chalebury.

He saw the melancholy Leek sitting alone in a corner of the bar, and, when he had ordered a pint of beer from the genial Mr. Ketler, the stout superintendent went over and joined him.

“Where’s Weston?” he asked. “Ain’t he ’ere tonight?”

“I ain’t seen ’im, at all,” Leek replied. “Not since this mornin’. Bur I’ve got some news fer you.”

“I hope it’s good!” grunted Mr. Budd, taking a long pull at his tankard and setting it down. “Well, get it off your chest!”

“You know those notes you found at Eales’ place an’ gave me ter take ter the bank an’ find out who they was issued to? “

Mr. Budd nodded.

“Well,” continued Leek, “they wasn’t issued ter nobody.”

“They must have bin. You mean they wasn’t issued from that bank?”

“They wasn’t issued ter nobody,” repeated the ser¬geant. “They was forgeries! The pound notes was all right, but the two fivers was slush!”

“‘Slush’, was they?” Mr. Budd murmured. “Well, they was pretty good ‘slush’. They took me in.”

“The feller at the bank said there’s bin a lot of ’em about durin’ the last year or so,” said the sergeant mournfully. “He said they’re next to impossible ter tell from the real thing except by an expert. They’ve ’ad a lot of trouble with ’em. The whole country’s been flooded ith ’em.”

“Johnson!” exclaimed Mr. Budd suddenly.

“Who?”

“Johnson! You know Inspector Johnson at the Yard?”

“Oh, ’im!” said Leek. “What’s ’e got ter do with it?”

“He was tellin’ me about these ‘slush’ notes a month or two back. He was on the case. Hundreds an’ hun¬dreds ’ave bin put on the market, an’ they can’t find out who prints ’em or how they’re distributed.” Mr. Budd took a gulp at his beer, and went on: “The banks were in a fever about it. Johnson said that none of the known people were responsible. The forgeries were too good, an’ the paper was equal to the real stuff. He said that an entirely new bunch was at work.”

“Looks as if these notes was made by the same lot,” said Leek.

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