Bones in London

Mr. de Vinne pulled thoughtfully at his black cigar and eyed theceiling of the restaurant absent-mindedly.

"There's nobody in the City who knows more about Tibbetts than me," hesaid. He was weak on the classical side, but rather strong onmathematics. "I've watched every transaction he's been in, and I thinkI have got him down fine."

"Mind you," said Fred, "I think he's clever."

"Clever!" said the other scornfully. "Clever! He's lucky, my dearchap. Things have just fallen into his lap. It's mug's luck that manhas had."

Mr. Fred nodded. It was an opinion which he himself had held andruminated upon.

"It is luck – sheer luck," continued Mr. de Vinne. "And if we'd beenclever, we'd have cleaned him. We'll clean him yet," he said, strokinghis chin more thoughtfully than ever, "but it's got to be donesystematically."

Mr. Fred was interested. The possibility of relieving afellow-creature of his superfluous wealth by legitimate means, andunder the laws and rules which govern the legal transfer of property, was the absorbing interest of his life.

"It has got to be done cleverly, scientifically, and systematically,"said Mr. de Vinne, "and there's no sense in jumping to a plan. What doyou say to taking a bit of dinner with me at the Ritz-Carlton onFriday?"

Mr. Fred was very agreeable.

"I'll tell you the strength of Bones," said de Vinne, as they left therestaurant. "He was an officer on the West Coast of Africa. His bosswas a man named Sanders, who's left the Service and lives atTwickenham. From what I can hear, this chap Tibbetts worships theground that Sanders walks on. Evidently Sanders was a big bug in WestAfrica."

On Friday they resumed their conversation, and Mr. de Vinne arrivedwith a plan. It was a good plan. He was tremulous with pride at thethought of it, and demanded applause and approval with every secondbreath, which was unlike him.

He was a man of many companies, good, bad, and indifferent, and, reviewing the enterprises with which his name was associated, he had, without the slightest difficulty, placed his finger upon the leastprofitable and certainly the most hopeless proposition in the MazeppaTrading Company. And nothing could be better for Mr. de Vinne'spurpose, not, as he explained to Fred Pole, if he had searched theStock Exchange Year Book from cover to cover.

Once upon a time the Mazeppa Trading Company had been a profitableconcern. Its trading stores had dotted the African hinterland thickly.It had exported vast quantities of Manchester goods and Birminghamjunk, and had received in exchange unlimited quantities of rubber andivory. But those were in the bad old days, before authority came andtaught the aboriginal natives the exact value of a sixpennylooking-glass.

No longer was it possible to barter twenty pounds' worth of ivory forthreepennyworth of beads, and the flourishing Mazeppa Trading Companylanguished and died. Its managers had grown immensely wealthy fromtheir peculations and private trading, and had come home and wereoccupying opulent villas at Wimbledon, whilst the new men who had beensent to take their places had been so inexperienced that profits fellto nothing. That, in brief, was the history of the Mazeppa TradingCompany, which still maintained a few dilapidated stores, managed byhalf-castes and poor whites.

"I got most of the shares for a song," confessed Mr. de Vinne. "Infact, I happen to be one of the debenture-holders, and stepped in whenthings were going groggy. We've been on the point of winding it up – itis grossly over-capitalised – but I kept it going in the hope thatsomething would turn up."

"What is the general idea?" asked Mr. Fred Pole, interested.

"We'll get a managing director," said Mr. de Vinne solemnly. "A manwho is used to the handling of natives, a man acquainted with the WestCoast of Africa, a man who can organise."

"Bones?" suggested Mr. Fred.

"Bones be – jiggered!" replied de Vinne scornfully. "Do you think he'dfall for that sort of thing? Not on your life! We're not going tomention it to Bones. But he has a pal – Sanders; you've heard of him.He's a commissioner or something on the West Coast, and retired. Now,my experience of a chap of that kind who retires is that he gets sickto death of doing nothing. If we could only get at him and persuadehim to accept the managing directorship, with six months a year on theCoast, at a salary of, say, two thousand a year, conditional on takingup six or seven thousand pounds' worth of shares, what do you thinkwould happen?"

Mr. Fred's imagination baulked at the problem, and he shook his head.

"I'll tell you what would happen," said Mr. de Vinne. "It happenedonce before, when another pal of Bones got let in on a motor carcompany. Bones fell over himself to buy the shares and control thecompany. And, mind you, the Mazeppa looks good. It's the sort ofproposition that would appeal to a young and energetic man. It's oneof those bogy companies that seem possible, and a fellow who knows theropes would say straight away: 'If I had charge of that, I'd make itpay.' That's what I'm banking on."

"What are the shares worth?" said Fred.

"About twopence net," replied the other brutally. "I'll tell youfrankly that I'd run this business myself if I thought there was anychance of my succeeding. But if Bones finds all the shares in onehand, he's going to shy. What I'm prepared to do is this. Theseshares are worth twopence. I'm going to sell you and a few friendsparcels at a shilling a share. If nothing happens, I'll undertake tobuy them back at the same price."

A week later Hamilton brought news to the office of Tibbetts and

Hamilton, Limited.

"The chief is going back to the Coast."

Bones opened his mouth wide in astonishment.

"Back to the Coast?" he said incredulously. "You don't mean he'schucking jolly old Twickenham?"

Hamilton nodded.

"He's had an excellent offer from some people in the City to control atrading company. By the way, did you ever hear of the MazeppaCompany?" Bones shook his head.

"I've heard of Mazeppa," he said. "He was the naughty old gentlemanwho rode through the streets of Birmingham without any clothes."

Hamilton groaned.

"If I had your knowledge of history," he said despairingly, "I'd starta bone factory. You're thinking of Lady Godiva, but that doesn'tmatter. No, I don't suppose you've heard of the Mazeppa Company; itdid not operate in our territory."

Bones shook his head and pursed his lips.

"But surely," he said, "dear old Excellency hasn't accepted a jobwithout consulting me?"

Hamilton made derisive noises.

"He fixed it up in a couple of days," he said, after a while. "Itdoesn't mean he'll be living on the Coast, but he'll probably be therefor some months in the year. The salary is good – in fact, it's twothousand a year. I believe Sanders has to qualify for directorship bytaking some shares, but the dear chap is enthusiastic about it, and sois Patricia. It is all right, of course. Sanders got the offerthrough a firm of solicitors."

"Pooh!" said Bones. "Solicitors are nobody."

He learnt more about the company that afternoon, for Sanders called inand gave a somewhat roseate view of the future.

"The fact is, Bones, I am getting stale," he said, "and this looks likean excellent and a profitable occupation."

"How did you get to hear about it, Excellency?". asked Bones.

His attitude was one of undisguised antagonism. He might have been alittle resentful that the opportunity had come to Sanders through anyother agency than his own.

"I had a letter from the solicitors asking me if the idea appealed tome, and recalling my services on the Coast," said Sanders. "Of courseI know very little about the Mazeppa Trading Company, though I hadheard of it years gone past as a very profitable concern. Thesolicitors were quite frank, and told me that business had fallen off, due to inexperienced management. They pointed out the opportunitieswhich existed – the possibilities of opening new stations – and I mustconfess that it appealed to me. It will mean hard work, but the salaryis good."

"Hold hard, Sir and Excellency," said Bones. "What did you have to putup in the way of shares?"

Sanders flushed. He was a shy man, and not given to talking about hismoney affairs.

"Oh, about five thousand pounds," he said awkwardly. "Of course, it'sa lot of money; but even if the business isn't successful, I have afive-year contract with the company, and I get more than my investmentback in salary."

That night Bones stayed on after Hamilton had left, and had forcompanion Miss Marguerite Whitland, a lady in whose judgment he had amost embarrassing faith. He had given her plenty of work to do, andthe rhythmical tap-tap of her typewriter came faintly through the doorwhich separated the outer from the inner office.

Bones sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, a very thoughtful youngman, and before him was a copy of the latest evening newspaper, openedat the Stock Exchange page. There had been certain significantmovements in industrial shares – a movement so interesting to thecommentator upon Stock Exchange doings that he had inserted a paragraphto the effect that:

"The feature of the industrial market was the firmness of MazeppaTrading shares, for which there was a steady demand, the stock closingat 19_s_. 9_d_. Mazeppa shares have not been dealt in within the Housefor many years, and, in fact, it was generally believed that theCompany was going into liquidation, and the shares could be had for theprice of the paper on which they were printed. It is rumoured in theCity that the Company is to be reconstructed, and that a considerableamount of new capital has been found, with the object of expanding itsexisting business."

Bones read the paragraph many times, and at the conclusion of eachreading returned to his reverie. Presently he rose and strolled intothe office of his secretary, and the girl looked up with a smile asBones seated himself on the edge of her table.