The Daffodil Mystery

by Edgar Wallace

  CHAPTER III

  THE MAN WHO LOVED LYNE

  Two days later Thornton Lyne sat in his big limousine which was drawn upon the edge of Wandsworth Common, facing the gates of the gaol.

  Poet and _poseur_ he was, the strangest combination ever seen in man.

  Thornton Lyne was a store-keeper, a Bachelor of Arts, the winner of theMangate Science Prize and the author of a slim volume. The quality of thepoetry therein was not very great--but it was undoubtedly a slim volumeprinted in queerly ornate type with old-fashioned esses and wide margins.He was a store-keeper because store-keeping supplied him with caviare andpeaches, a handsome little two-seater, a six-cylinder limousine for stateoccasions, a country house and a flat in town, the decorations of whichran to a figure which would have purchased many stores of humblerpretensions than Lyne's Serve First Emporium.

  To the elder Lyne, Joseph Emanuel of that family, the inception andprosperity of Lyne's Serve First Emporium was due. He had devised a salesystem which ensured every customer being attended to the moment he orshe entered one of the many departments which made up the splendid wholeof the emporium. It was a system based upon the age-old principle ofkeeping efficient reserves within call.

  Thornton Lyne succeeded to the business at a moment when his slim volumehad placed him in the category of the gloriously misunderstood. Becausesuch reviewers as had noticed his book wrote of his "poetry" usinginverted commas to advertise their scorn, and because nobody bought thevolume despite its slimness, he became the idol of men and women who alsowrote that which nobody read, and in consequence developed souls with thecelerity that a small boy develops stomachache.

  For nothing in the wide world was more certain to the gloriouslymisunderstood than this: the test of excellence is scorn. Thornton Lynemight in different circumstances have drifted upward to sets even moremisunderstood--yea, even to a set superior to marriage and soap and cleanshirts and fresh air--only his father died of a surfeit, and Thorntonbecame the Lyne of Lyne's Serve First.

  His first inclination was to sell the property and retire to a villa inFlorence or Capri. Then the absurdity, the rich humour of an idea, struckhim. He, a scholar, a gentleman and a misunderstood poet, sitting in theoffice of a store, appealed to him. Somebody remarked in his hearing thatthe idea was "rich." He saw himself in "character" and the part appealedto him. To everybody's surprise he took up his father's work, which meantthat he signed cheques, collected profits and left the management to theSoults and the Neys whom old Napoleon Lyne had relied upon in thefoundation of his empire.

  Thornton wrote an address to his 3,000 employees--which address wasprinted on decided antique paper in queerly ornate type with widemargins. He quoted Seneca, Aristotle, Marcus Aurelius and the "Iliad."The "address" secured better and longer reviews in the newspapers thanhad his book.

  He had found life a pleasant experience--all the more piquant because ofthe amazement of innumerable ecstatic friends who clasped their handsand asked awefully: "How _can_ you--a man of your temperament...!"

  Life might have gone on being pleasant if every man and woman he had methad let him have his own way. Only there were at least two people withwhom Thornton Lyne's millions carried no weight.

  It was warm in his limousine, which was electrically heated. But outside,on that raw April morning, it was bitterly cold, and the shivering littlegroup of women who stood at a respectful distance from the prison gates,drew their shawls tightly about them as errant flakes of snow whirledacross the open. The common was covered with a white powder, and theearly flowers looked supremely miserable in their wintry setting.

  The prison clock struck eight, and a wicket-gate opened. A man slouchedout, his jacket buttoned up to his neck, his cap pulled over his eyes. Atsight of him, Lyne dropped the newspaper he had been reading, opened thedoor of the car and jumped out, walking towards the released prisoner.

  "Well, Sam," he said, genially "you didn't expect me?"

  The man stopped as if he had been shot, and stood staring at thefur-coated figure. Then:

  "Oh, Mr. Lyne," he said brokenly. "Oh, guv'nor!" he choked, and tearsstreamed down his face, and he gripped the outstretched hand in both ofhis, unable to speak.

  "You didn't think I'd desert you, Sam, eh?" said Mr. Lyne, all aglow withconsciousness of his virtue.

  "I thought you'd given me up, sir," said Sam Stay huskily. "You're agentleman, you are, sir, and I ought to be ashamed of myself!"

  "Nonsense, nonsense, Sam! Jump into the car, my lad. Go along. Peoplewill think you're a millionaire."

  The man gulped, grinned sheepishly, opened the door and stepped in, andsank with a sigh of comfort into the luxurious depths of the big browncushions.

  "Gawd! To think that there are men like you in the world, sir! Why, Ibelieve in angels, I do!"

  "Nonsense Sam. Now you come along to my flat, and I'm going to give you agood breakfast and start you fair again."

  "I'm going to try and keep straight, sir, I am s'help me!"

  It may be said in truth that Mr. Lyne did not care very much whether Samkept straight or not. He might indeed have been very much disappointed ifSam had kept to the straight and narrow path. He "kept" Sam as men keepchickens and prize cows, and he "collected" Sam as other men collectstamps and china. Sam was his luxury and his pose. In his club he boastedof his acquaintance with this representative of the criminal classes--forSam was an expert burglar and knew no other trade--and Sam's adorationfor him was one of his most exhilarating experiences.

  And that adoration was genuine. Sam would have laid down his life for thepale-faced man with the loose mouth. He would have suffered himself to betorn limb from limb if in his agony he could have brought ease oradvancement to the man who, to him, was one with the gods.

  Originally, Thornton Lyne had found Sam whilst that artist was engaged inburgling the house of his future benefactor. It was a whim of Lyne's togive the criminal a good breakfast and to evince an interest in hisfuture. Twice had Sam gone down for a short term, and once for a longterm of imprisonment, and on each occasion Thornton Lyne had made aparade of collecting the returned wanderer, driving him home, giving himbreakfast and a great deal of worldly and unnecessary advice, andlaunching him forth again upon the world with ten pounds--a sum justsufficient to buy Sam a new kit of burglar's tools.

  Never before had Sam shown such gratitude; and never before had ThorntonLyne been less disinterested in his attentions. There was a hotbath--which Sam Stay could have dispensed with, but which, out of sheerpoliteness, he was compelled to accept, a warm and luxurious breakfast; anew suit of clothes, with not two, but four, five-pound notes in thepocket.

  After breakfast, Lyne had his talk.

  "It's no good, sir," said the burglar, shaking his head. "I've triedeverything to get an honest living, but somehow I can't get on in thestraight life. I drove a taxicab for three months after I came out, tilla busy-fellow[A] tumbled to me not having a license, and brought me upunder the Prevention of Crimes Act. It's no use my asking you to give mea job in your shop, sir, because I couldn't stick it, I couldn't really!I'm used to the open air life; I like being my own master. I'm one ofthose fellows you've read about--the word begins with A."

  [Footnote A: Detective.]

  "Adventurers?" said Lyne with a little laugh. "Yes, I think you are, Sam,and I'm going to give you an adventure after your own heart."

  And then he began to tell a tale of base ingratitude--of a girl he hadhelped, had indeed saved from starvation and who had betrayed him atevery turn. Thornton Lyne was a poet. He was also a picturesque liar. Thelie came as easily as the truth, and easier, since there was a certaincrudeness about truth which revolted his artistic soul. And as the talewas unfolded of Odette Rider's perfidy, Sam's eyes narrowed. There wasnothing too bad for such a creature as this. She was wholly undeservingof sympathy.

  Presently Thornton Lyne stopped, his eyes fixed on the other to note theeffect.

  "Show me," said Sam, his voice trembling. "Show me a way of g
etting evenwith her, sir, and I'll go through hell to do it!"

  "That's the kind of stuff I like to hear," said Lyne, and poured out fromthe long bottle which stood on the coffee-tray a stiff tot of Sam'sfavourite brandy. "Now, I'll give you my idea."

  For the rest of the morning the two men sat almost head to head, plottingwoe for the girl, whose chief offence had been against the dignity ofThornton Lyne, and whose virtue had incited the hate of that vicious man.