by Heron Carvic
“The fact that this man is recognized—or should one say acknowledged?—by his government gave us a starting point for the investigation. You do not,” observed Sir Hubert, “or you do not in the normal way, employ a criminal unless you intend to turn his propensities to account.”
The head of the Special Branch’s temper was beginning to fray. “You suggest”—he looked accusingly at the assistant commissioner—“with all due respect, that Stemkos and/or his entourage are involved, which is a matter for the Swiss Sûrete, the Bank of England and the Treasury investigators. And now you’re dragging in someone called Tolla and his government but without as far as I can see a thing to back it up. And you”—he addressed Commander Conway—“hint this and imply that, but where in all this rigmarole can you show me one scrap of evidence?”
The assistant commissioner cleared his throat. “Here.” He pointed to two apparent five-pound notes which lay upon his desk beside a magnifying glass. “One of those constitutes the most suggestive evidence.”
Fenn moved to the desk, tilted the Anglepoise lamp, picked up the glass and began a minute study of the notes, being careful not to get them mixed. Delphick rose, selected a five-pound note from his wallet and joined him. The others waited in silence. Whenever Fenn replaced a note on the desk Delphick tried comparison with his own. After a minute or two he grinned at his colleagues from Fraud, shrugged and returned to his seat. Fenn took more time. Finally he put down both notes and the glass.
“They are distinguishable?”
“Oh, yes,” Sir Hubert assured him. “The numbers, of course, but that means waiting until the duplicate appears. In the ordinary way no forged note will pass the routine scrutiny of a bank clerk. These can and do. To give you exact details, if you think they’ll help . . .” He searched for and found a letter on his desk. “Any flaw in the design is reported immediately by the engraver concerned and then registered to facilitate comparison should this at any time become necessary. An imitation of the plastic strip woven into the paper, applied later, will rub off when damped. And the critical watermark is made by a Dandy Roller and the use and control of the Dandy Roller in the industry is necessarily extremely rigid. Better controlled, I feel,” he commented, “than their sense of humor when naming it. The currency for last year was as follows: £10 notes—£278,000,000; £5 notes—£1,677,000,000; £1 notes—£957,000,000. Which I suppose, since only a little over six million pounds’ worth of forgeries in fivers has come to light so far, still gives us a definite edge on the forgers.” He put down the letter and looked up, bland. “I do trust, Mr. Fenn, that you find that helpful.”
“Surely,” said Fenn impatiently, “if it’s that serious the Bank of England can call in the issue and bring out a new design as the Bank of Scotland did some years ago?”
“They may have to,” conceded Sir Hubert flatly.
“But it wouldn’t do any good,” put in Commander Conway. “Now they’ve got the paper they’d soon copy the new one or one of the other notes and we’d be back on the merry-go-round.”
Seeing from Fenn’s expression that he was liable to say something outrageous, Delphick decided to draw the fire in order to give the deputy assistant commissioner time to simmer down. What was the matter with him? Didn’t look so much that he’d got out of bed on the wrong side as that he’d fallen off the end on his head. Surely Fenn must realize that there were limits beyond which even their lordships of the Special Branch couldn’t go. He interposed quickly:
“What I don’t understand is all this Stemkos stuff. One: with all his millions, what on earth does he want to get mixed up with snide for? Unless you’re figuring that he’s part of some foreign backing behind Tolla and company, in which case I should’ve thought he’d’ve been careful to keep out of the limelight himself. Two: why he and his wife and secretary are the only ones listed as actually passing the snide.”
Commander Conway grinned. “Good point, Oracle. Re the foreign backing angle, could be, looks a bit like it, but frankly we don’t know. On the face of it and on his reputation to date it’s difficult to see him being palsy-walsy with Tolla and his lot. For your other point—that was just a stroke of luck. As far as we know Stemkos and Company are the only people who’ve passed big amounts at a time. The luck was Jonathan Feldman being Johnny-on-the-spot in Switzerland for a powwow with the clearing banks when the Swiss Bank Corporation in Geneva got a large dollop of English notes from the Banque du Lac. He and the S.B.C. combed through ’em straightaway and found over a couple of thousand pounds’ worth of the snide. For once they were in time to pinpoint where they’d come from and after that it was easy. Lord Gatwood popped over to Geneva for a heart-to-heart with Telmark of the Banque du Lac. They got down to comparing deposit dates against clearance dates and the result’s pretty damning. Lord G. hit the ceiling and came back to get things organized and Telmark landed on the ceiling just after him and screamed for your Miss Seeton. No normal gang”—his voice became edged and aimed at Fenn—“would’ve laid on this lark—too much time and too much outlay.”
“For too little profit,” added his inspector.
“Too little profit?” echoed Fenn.
“Well, think, sir; just to produce the notes alone—without any of the rest of the organization such as getting hold of the paper, bribes, contact men, distributors; plus the fact you’re probably selling your notes at less than half their cash value—you’d need a first-class engraving printing press. That’s going to run you into a pretty penny. Then with your camera and the equipment you’ll want for setting up for the—at a guess I’d say they’re using the tri-mask process—” Seeing the other’s blank expression, “Roughly, sir, it means developing your photographs in three different colors, on three different steels for each side per note. All that lot’s going to tot up the bill a bit. And the scribe who etched those”—he indicated the notes on the desk—“after they’d got the photographs on the steels is a top man: he wouldn’t come cheap. And then apart from the three steels a side, there’s the overprinting of the numbers.” He shook his head. “One way and another, I wouldn’t say you’d get much change out of a hundred thousand, probably nearer double. But it all comes back to the paper. Most times your snide merchant will pick the holiday season because of the tourists, then’ll set up for a quick turnover and a fast get-out. As long as the paper’s near enough with the watermark and the strip to fool the public that’s all that worries him. Once the banks are on to it he’s had his lot, pockets the profit and calls it a day. But here the paper’s right. And that can’t be right, if you see what I mean. The etching,” he enthused, “is a lovely job. There are flaws but you’ve damn well got to hunt for ’em. And to me it all adds up that there’s more than just money at stake. Somebody for some reason has backed this bit of graft to the hilt.”
“Even if you’re right,” snapped Fenn, “I can’t see that you’ve a shred of proof that politics come into it. There’s nothing about an ex-protectorate in this”—he tapped the report, which he still held—“but if this man Tolla’s behind the distribution of forgery—and you say he’s been involved in smuggling for years—why shouldn’t he be doing it in the ordinary way of business purely for his own pocket? Which seems to me far more likely. As far as I can see, from what I’ve heard to date, none of this concerns my department. Why exactly am I here and what do you expect me to do?”
An awkward silence ensued. “There is,” said Sir Hubert at last, “a former M.P. who changed his political affiliations, lost his seat and was fobbed off with a post in the Treasury.”
“Estevel, the turncoat?”
Sir Hubert nodded. “From information received we know that he and Tolla have met on several occasions though they appear to have been at some pains to keep these meetings secret. Their meetings could be explained by the fact that Estevel has recently become interested in, and voluble on, the racial question—but then why the secrecy? I fear that it has occurred to our somewhat skeptical minds that in turning his c
oat the reverse may well prove to be one of many colors.”
“But,” objected Fenn, “I still don’t see how all this connects up with the paper you’re so worried about.”
Commander Conway took over to explain the arrangement with regard to the printing of notes, adding, “Only twice in history has the paper for snide been perfect: the Great Bank Note Conspiracy of 1862, when paper was stolen from the Portal mill, and—now. We’ve run a quiet but thorough check and all the paper is accounted for. Only one odd thing has cropped up.” He spread his hands. “You can’t call it proof, but even you will admit it could be a pointer. Some months ago Tolla’s government asked for a large extra consignment of notes, giving various reasons, amongst them the poor quality of the modem paper, which of course we can’t deny since we ourselves found the ten-shilling note uneconomic to produce and had to substitute a coin.”
“And did they get their extra cash?” asked Fenn.
“Sure—okayed by Estevel, signed for, sealed and delivered. Everything very much on the up-and-up, and it’s going to be the devil to prove any different. Estevel covered his tracks well, but there it is, our one lead, with enough coincidence round it to stink of fish. And me, I’d take a bet on it.”
“Which,” remarked Sir Hubert, “if you accept the premise, Mr. Fenn, and since it embraces both national security and a foreign government, does put the ball in your court. I should perhaps add that Chief Superintendent Delphick’s mention of the possibility of some foreign backing behind Tolla’s government is, or could be, very near the mark. At least such is our opinion from what little has come to light. Though I fear”—his tone was acid—“at this stage we can offer you no proof. To my mind it is virtually certain that a power, more probably a syndicate of powers—since in international politics your only and temporary friends are those who want something from you—are using the ex-protectorate as a front, and the destruction of our currency with foreknowledge would be very profitable business indeed.”
“Right, we’ll get cracking.” On his way back to his chair Fenn halted and turned. “But with all due respect, Assistant Commissioner”—he rapped out the compulsory overture to disagreement with a superior—“there’s one thing I must stress. You’re stating the country’s economy’s at stake; you’re postulating a plot by a foreign government, backed by another foreign power; you’re accusing a man who’s in confidential government employment—and yet you’re allowing the buffoonery of this woman’s visit to Switzerland. It’s no moment for what you yourself rightly call farce, and I insist that it’s stopped at once. With, of course,” he added witheringly, “all due respect.”
Sir Hubert’s smile was wintry. “With equal—um—respect, Mr. Fenn, I’m so glad that you do, and I suggest that you take your insistence to the proper quarter. I have protested, the commissioner has protested, the Home Office has protested, but when the Banque du Lac got Lord Gatwood to bring pressure to bear on the Foreign Office and the Foreign Office made an issue of the matter, we all had to yield. There is only in effect the prime minister left to approach. In spite of the inadvisability of causing unnecessary offense to one of the major financial influences in Switzerland, I’ve no doubt that a few words from you will have more weight than all that we have said.”
Deflated, red in the face, Fenn sat down. “I—I’m sorry, A.C., I’d no idea. I—I wasn’t to know . . .”
The A.C.’s smile warmed. “Naturally not, and you’re not alone. With regard to the Banque du Lac I feel strongly that they know not what they do. Karl Telmark, their director, has I fear completely misunderstood exuberant and reader-catching reports of Miss Seeton’s activities in foreign editions of our newspapers. And that she was once concerned with a defrauding bank cashier, allied to the fact that she is in his opinion ideally suited to their requirements in other respects, has immovably made up his mind. We explained that she had no idea that the cashier in question was defrauding and that, had she known, she would not have known what to do. But they thought we were being modest on her behalf, or obstructive on our own, and preferred to believe what they had read in print, and I’m afraid, like the rest of us, you’ll have to accept the situation, idiotic as it is. In my case the strong representations I made against her going were more, I must admit, for her sake than for ours, since the poor woman can have no notion as to why she has been seconded there and will I imagine wander about or sit in her hotel waiting for someone to tell her what or who it is they want her to draw, while M. Telmark will presumably sit in his bank waiting for her to solve their problems in forgery and high finance, of which she knows nothing. However, so far as we’re concerned we may as well reap the benefits—to be exact, what, to my mind, are likely to be the benefits—of the situation. Should the impact of our MissEss create confusion on the Continent and draw attention to the Swiss end of the affair, it will provide an admirable smoke screen for our own investigations at home.”
Fenn roused himself from thought. “Sorry to interrupt you, A.C., but I’m beginning to understand a little of what I read about your MissEss—the Battling Brolly I think they call her in the papers. And why in the devil’s name Battling? From what you say of her, she doesn’t sound a militant.”
“She isn’t,” Delphick put in. “It was just that . . .” How to explain it? “Well, I suppose it did seem a bit like that the first time we came across her. A young hoodlum was knifing his girl friend and Miss Seeton, who happened to be passing, thought she saw a gentleman punching a lady and poked him in the back with her umbrella, all ready to read him a lecture on good manners. The papers latched on to it and for them she’s been the Battling Brolly ever since.”
Fenn’s smile broadened. “If she really has this effect—is chaos-prone—isn’t she liable to be in some danger herself? With millions at stake they’ll stick at nothing, and since”—he grinned at Delphick—“she won’t have the benefit in Switzerland of the Oracle’s protection, oughtn’t somebody to be assigned to the job?”
Sir Hubert laughed. “Thank you, Mr. Fenn. It was a point that I hoped you might take.”
“I’ll put a man on to her.”
Give the A.C. credit, thought Delphick. By keeping his temper, except for the one icy blast, he’d got Fenn rowing in with the team and positively keen. He chuckled.
“You’ll have to brief your man—Miss Seeton doesn’t take kindly to protection in the ordinary way. She’s very conscientious, and now that she’s retired from teaching children to draw and is retained by us she’ll try her level best to do anything she’s asked to because she thinks it’s part of the job. But don’t expect her to understand. You’d never make her see people were trying to kill her—she’d think it wasn’t quite nice. What you really want to watch for is when she starts doing quick sketches. Not her usual detailed drawing, but what she calls notes and’s a bit ashamed of. They’re always worth a second and third look to see what it is she’s got on to now without realizing it.”
“Well, may her luck hold,” hoped Inspector Borden. “Wish I’d known she was going to fetch up with Mantoni though; I’d’ve sicced her onto him.”
“Is that the chap she’s having tea with?” asked Delphick.
“Yes, Elio Mantoni, a little Italian cock sparrow about knee-high to a grasshopper. Thinks he’s God’s gift to art. He’s not. Merely the devil’s answer to a painting-forger’s prayer. Lately he’s been hopping in and out of England like a flea with the jitters, so we took an interest. They’re using him in this snide racket as a runner. Not,” he added quickly with a glance at Fenn, “that we’ve got proof of that, but we’re pretty sure. We had him stopped today and his luggage searched—made out it was a routine spot check for drugs—but he was clean, not so much a bent penny. I’ve got a man keeping an eye on him, D.C. Haley—it was he who recognized Miss Seeton—but we’re not very hopeful. We’ve run a quiet watch on our Elio before, but never got a thing on him. How and where they switch the cash we haven’t a clue.”
The assistant commissioner�
��s mouth quirked. “If he and Miss Seeton are going to be on the same flight I would put it within the bounds of possibility, even probability, that you shortly will have.”
“Oh, no, sir, they’re both on delayed flights but they’re going in different directions. Mantoni’s off home to Italy, traveling via Genoa, so there’s no chance of their meeting up again.”
“You think not? I cannot agree, or cannot agree entirely. I find the coincidence a little too astonishing to think that it will end there. Moreover, the conceit to setting an artist to catch an artist has a peculiar fitness. As I’ve told you, our MissEss has proved before that she has this strange faculty, one might say misfortune, for attracting crime and criminals. It’s small wonder really that though she may never suspect them, they inevitably end by suspecting her. And after being put on this assignment, that she should go straight to the airport and proceed to hold a crooks’ tea party seems to me entirely typical of the kind of thing that happens to her. But that nothing further should come of it I should find untypical, unlikely and unbelievable.”
Miss Seeton glanced at her watch. There were less than two minutes left of the hour which Mr. Penrood had stipulated. Of course, one realized that the delay might, for some reason, have been prolonged. But still . . . Anxious, she stared around the cafeteria.
“You are unquiet?” asked her companion.
“Yes, perhaps, in a way,” agreed Miss Seeton. “I must admit to being a little worried. You see—” She found she had to raise her voice against competition from the loudspeaker. “The gentleman who brought me very kindly gave me some tea and told me to wait for him here, as my airplane wouldn’t be ready for another hour. But now it’s gone. The hour, I mean. And I’m not quite sure what I—” She stopped, perceiving that she had lost the other’s attention.
