Читать книгу Payment Deferred. Psychological Thriller онлайн

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‘That’s a nice case,’ said Mr Marble, tendering a lighted match to his guest.

‘Yes.’ Medland drew on his cigarette to make sure it was well lighted. ‘It was a present,’ he added modestly, and he held it out so that his uncle could see it more freely.

The bank-notes flashed once more before Marble’s tortured eyes.

‘Well lined too,’ said Marble, striving to keep the envy out of his tone.

‘Yes, I got them at Port Said—oh, you mean the notes?’ Medland did his best not to show surprise at his uncle’s bad taste. To assist in this he went into even further explanation. ‘I had to cash one of my letters of credit as soon as I got to London. The voyage left me without a bean, pretty nearly, and what I had was Australian money, of course.’

It was an idle enough speech, but it sufficed to set Mr Marble thinking rapidly and unsteadily. This boy had arrived just in time to save him. He surely would not deny his new-found uncle a loan? Those Treasury notes would save him, let alone the bank-notes. And a loan from a nephew was not the same thing at all as a debt to that devil Evans, who would be putting the bailiffs in directly. It was not even in the same class as a debt to those men at the office, to repay whom only enough to keep them from complaining to higher officials had absorbed all his month’s salary. On the heels of these thoughts came appalling realization of the peril of his position. It was the third of the month only, and he had ten shillings in the world with which to stave off his creditors and to support his family until his next pay-day. Before this he had shut his eyes to the position with all the small resolution he possessed. But now that there was a chance of escape the danger in which he stood was forced home upon him, making him shudder involuntarily a little and setting his heart thumping heavily in his chest. Mechanically he glanced across at the sideboard in which was the decanter. But he checked himself. He was not going to have to waste one of his last three—or was it four?—drinks on this boy. He thrust the thought of the whisky fiercely on one side and turned to making cautious advances towards the nephew.