Elk 01 The Fellowship of the Frog Read Free

and bad characters generally. My name is Richard Gordon—”
    The knife fell with a clatter from John Bennett’s hand and his face went white.
    “Gordon—Richard Gordon?” he said hollowly.
    For a second their eyes met, the clear blue and the faded blue.
    “Yes—I am the Assistant Director of Prosecutions,” said Gordon quietly. “And I have an idea that you and I have met before.”
    The pale eyes did not waver. John Bennett’s face was a mask.
    “Not professionally, I hope,” he said, and there was a challenge in his voice.
    Dick laughed again as at the absurdity of the question. “Not professionally,” he said with mock gravity.
    On his way back to London that night his memory worked overtime, but he failed to place John Bennett of Horsham.

    II - A TALK ABOUT FROGS

    Maitlands Consolidated had grown from one small office to its present palatial proportions in a comparatively short space of time. Maitland was a man advanced in years, patriarchal in appearance, sparing of speech. He had arrived in London unheralded, and had arrived, in the less accurate sense of the word, before London was aware of his existence.
    Dick Gordon saw the speculator for the first time as he was waiting in the marble-walled vestibule. A man of middle height, bearded to his waist; his eyes almost hidden under heavy white brows; stout and laborious of gait, he came slowly through the outer office, where a score of clerks sat working under their green-shaded lamps, and, looking neither to the right nor left, walked into the elevator and was lost to view.
    “That is the old man: have you seen him before?” asked Ray Bennett, who had come out to meet the caller a second before. “He’s a venerable old cuss, but as tight as a soundproof door. You couldn’t pry money from him, not if you used dynamite! He pays Philo a salary that the average secretary wouldn’t look at, and if Philo wasn’t such an easygoing devil, he’d have left years ago.”
    Dick Gordon was feeling a little uncomfortable. His presence at Maitlands was freakish, his excuse for calling as feeble as any weak brain could conceive. If he had spoken the truth to the flattered young man on whom he called in business hours, he would have said: “I have idiotically fallen in love with your sister. I am not especially interested in you, but I regard you as a line that will lead me to another meeting, therefore I have made my being in the neighbourhood an excuse for calling. And because of this insane love I have for your sister, I am willing to meet even Philo, who will surely bore me.” Instead he said:
    “You are a friend of Philo—why do you call him that?”
    “Because he’s a philosophical old horse—his other name is Philip,” said the other with a twinkle in his eye. “Everybody is a friend of Philo’s—he’s the kind of man that makes friendship easy.”
    The elevator door opened at that moment and a man came out. Instinctively Dick Gordon knew that this bald and middle-aged man with the good-humoured face was the subject of their discussion. His round, fat face creased in a smile as he recognized Ray, and after he had handed a bundle of documents to one of the clerks, he came over to where they were standing.
    “Meet Mr. Gordon,” said Ray. “This is my friend Johnson.” Philo grasped the extended hand warmly. “Warm” was a word which had a special significance in relation to Mr. Johnson. He seemed to radiate a warming and quickening influence. Even Dick Gordon, who was not too ready to respond, came under the immediate influence of his geniality.
    “You’re Mr. Gordon of the Public Prosecution Department—Ray was telling me,” he said. “I should like you to come one day and prosecute old man Maitland! He is certainly the most prosecutable gentleman I’ve met for years!”
    The jest tickled Mr. Johnson. He was, thought Dick, inclined to laugh at himself.
    “I’ve got to get back: he’s in a tantrum this morning. Anyone would think the