The Mind of Mr. J. G. Reeder Read Free

struggle. As to the yarn that Green tells–’
    Mr J G Reeder nodded sadly.
    ‘It was not an ingenious story,’ he said, almost with regret. ‘If I remember rightly, his story was something like this: he had been recognized by a man who served in Dartmoor with him, and this fellow wrote a blackmailing letter telling him to pay or clear out. Sooner than return to a life of crime, Green wrote out all the facts for his directors, put the letter in the drawer of his desk with his keys, and left a note for his head cashier on the desk itself, intending to leave London and try to make a fresh start where he was unknown.’
    ‘There were no letters in or on the desk, and no keys,’ said the inspector decisively. ‘The only true part of the yarn was that he’d done time.’
    ‘Imprisonment,’ suggested Mr Reeder plaintively. He had a horror of slang. ‘Yes, that was true.’
    Left alone in his office, he spent a very considerable time at his private telephone, communing with the young person who was still a young person, although the passage of time had dealt unkindly with her. For the rest of the morning he was reading the depositions which his predecessor had put on the desk.
    It was late in the afternoon when the Public Prosecutor strolled into his room and glanced at the big pile of manuscript through which his subordinate was wading.
    ‘What are you reading – the Green business?’ he asked, with a note of satisfaction in his voice. ‘I’m glad that is interesting you – though it seems a fairly straightforward case. I’ve had a letter from the president of the man’s bank, who for some reason seems to think Green was telling the truth.’
    Mr Reeder looked up with that pained expression of his which he invariably wore when he was puzzled.
    ‘Here is the evidence of Policeman Burnett,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can enlighten me, sir. Policeman Burnett stated in his evidence – let me read it:
     
    ‘Some time before I reached the bank premises I saw a man standing at the corner of the street, immediately outside the bank. I saw him distinctly in the lights of a passing mail van. I did not attach any importance to his presence, and I did not see him again. It was possible for this man to have gone round the block and come to 120, Firling Avenue without being seen by me. Immediately after I saw him, my foot struck against a piece of iron on the sidewalk. I shone my torch on the object and found it was an old horseshoe; I had seen children playing with this earlier in the evening. When I looked again towards the corner, the man had disappeared. He would have seen the light of my torch. I saw no other person, and so far as I can remember, there was no light showing in Green’s house when I passed it.’
     
    Mr Reeder looked up.
    ‘Well?’ said the Prosecutor. ‘There’s nothing remarkable about that. It was probably Green who dodged round the block and came in at the back of the constable.’
    Mr Reeder scratched his chin.
    ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘ye-es.’ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Would it be considered indecorous if I made a few inquiries, independent of the police?’ he asked nervously. ‘I should not like them to think that a mere dilettante was interfering with their lawful functions.’
    ‘By all means,’ said the Prosecutor heartily. ‘Go down and see the officer in change of the case: I’ll give you a note to him – it’s by no means unusual for my officer to conduct a separate investigation, though I’m afraid you will discover very little. The ground has been well covered by Scotland Yard.’
    ‘It would be permissible to see the man?’ hesitated Reeder.
    ‘Green? Why, of course! I will send you up the necessary order.’
    The light was fading from a grey, blustering sky, and rain was falling fitfully, when Mr Reeder, with his furled umbrella hooked to his arm, his coat collar turned up, stepped through the dark gateway of Brixton Prison and was led to the