The Mystery of the Blue Train Read Online Free PDF

you fair and square what I meant to do. My girl has got to have some happiness, and remember this, I am behind her.”
    Derek Kettering got up and stood by the mantelpiece. He tossed away his cigarette. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.
    â€œWhat exactly do you mean by that, I wonder?” he said.
    â€œI mean,” said Van Aldin, “that you had better not try to defend the case.”
    â€œOh,” said Kettering, “is that a threat?”
    â€œYou can take it any way you please,” said Van Aldin.
    Kettering drew a chair up to the table. He sat down fronting the millionaire.
    â€œAnd supposing,” he said softly, “that, just for argument’s sake, I did defend the case?”
    Van Aldin shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œYou have not got a leg to stand upon, you young fool. Ask your solicitors, they will soon tell you. Your conduct has been notorious, the talk of London.”
    â€œRuth has been kicking up a row about Mirelle, I suppose. Very foolish of her. I don’t interfere with her friends.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” said Van Aldin sharply.
    Derek Kettering laughed.
    â€œI see you don’t know everything, sir,” he said. “You are, perhaps naturally, prejudiced.”
    He took up his hat and stick and moved towards the door.
    â€œGiving advice is not much in my line.” He delivered his final thrust. “But, in this case, I should advise most strongly perfect frankness between father and daughter.”
    He passed quickly out of the room and shut the door behind him just as the millionaire sprang up.
    â€œNow, what the hell did he mean by that?” said Van Aldin as he sank back into his chair again.
    All his uneasiness returned in full force. There was something here that he had not yet got to the bottom of. The telephone was by his elbow; he seized it, and asked for the number of his daughter’s house.
    â€œHallo! Hallo! Is that Mayfair 81907? Mrs. Kettering in? Oh, she’s out, is she? Yes, out to lunch. What time will she be in? You don’t know? Oh, very good; no, there’s no message.”
    He slammed the receiver down again angrily. At two o’clock he was pacing the floor of his room waiting expectantly for Goby. The latter was ushered in at ten minutes past two.
    â€œWell?” barked the millionaire sharply.
    But little Mr. Goby was not to be hurried. He sat down at the table, produced a very shabby pocketbook, and proceeded to read from it in a monotonous voice. The millionaire listened attentively, with an increasing satisfaction. Goby came to a full stop, and looked attentively at the wastepaper basket.
    â€œUm!” said Van Aldin. “That seems pretty definite. The case will go through like winking. The hotel evidence is all right, I suppose?”
    â€œCast iron,” said Mr. Goby, and looked malevolently at a gilt armchair.
    â€œAnd financially he’s in very low water. He’s trying to raise a loan now, you say? Has already raised practically all he can upon his expectations from his father. Once the news of the divorce gets about, he won’t be able to raise another cent, and not only that, his obligations can be bought up and pressure can be put upon him from that quarter. We have got him, Goby; we have got him in a cleft stick.”
    He hit the table a bang with his fist. His face was grim and triumphant.
    â€œThe information,” said Mr. Goby in a thin voice, “seems satisfactory.”
    â€œI have got to go round to Curzon Street now,” said the millionaire. “I am much obliged to you, Goby. You are the goods all right.”
    A pale smile of gratification showed itself on the little man’s face.
    â€œThank you, Mr. Van Aldin,” he said; “I try to do my best.”
    Van Aldin did not go direct to Curzon Street. He went first to the City, where he had two interviews which added to his satisfaction. From there he took the tube